#so both teachers and peers liked him

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

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

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,” 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness. 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks. 

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there. 

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall. 

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large. 

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture. 

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt. 

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you��d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out. 

You got a B. 

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88. 

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds. 

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare. 

Academia was truly hell. 

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,” 

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly. 

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—” 

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?” 

“I am, I wanted to—” 

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—” 

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?” 

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze,  “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,” 

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—” 

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,” 

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.” 

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease. 

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist. 

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin. 

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?). 

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do. 

“See you soon.” 

Oh, he would. 

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours. 

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to. 

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it. 

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?” 

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip. 

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal. 

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside. 

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—” 

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,” 

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,” 

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—” 

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,” 

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle. 

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall. 

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,” 

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,” 

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,” 

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. 

“You learn fast.” 

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism. 

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again. 

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it. 

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top. 

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck— 

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good. 

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought. 

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss— 

And you clearly needed sleep. 

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it). 

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’” 

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action. 

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you. 

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you. 

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—” 

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?” 

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch. 

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—” 

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?” 

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck. 

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—” 

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,” 

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm. 

What the fuck was that? 

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up. 

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working. 

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you— 

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you? 

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade. 

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory— 

And then you heard him say your name— 

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?” 

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together. 

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him. 

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall. 

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream. 

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—” 

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today —  and a deep royal purple one no less,  “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here. 

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head. 

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,” 

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,” 

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together. 

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment. 

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,” 

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom. 

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves— 

What the fuck were you doing? 

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor. 

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—). 

You needed to stop doing that. 

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right? 

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment. 

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he. 

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back— 

But why did his smile look so strained? 

There must be something wrong with him. 

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you. 

Why had he stopped you? 

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands. 

But this, this felt different. 

You were different. 

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism. 

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile. 

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm  — but not the  one he was looking for. 

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you— 

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?” 

And it was you. 

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?” 

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,” 

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease,  “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?” 

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

 “I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,” 

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?” 

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?” 

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,” 

“No, but—” 

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it. 

And he didn’t want to pull away. 

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—” 

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?” 

“But—” 

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,” 

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire. 

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?” 

And there’s only one answer — you. 

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours— 

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together. 

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager? 

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you. 

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM. 

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you. 

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him. 

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind. 

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better. 

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.  

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face. 

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you. 

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,” 

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip. 

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard. 

Fuck. 

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his  chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office. 

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms. 

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped. 

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings. 

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to? 

It was that time again. 

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart. 

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board —  his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name. 

God. Fuck.  

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes. 

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.  

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear? 

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?” 

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“ 

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,” 

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips. 

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—” 

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,” 

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up. 

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture. 

Double fuck. 

Why was this so difficult? 

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting. 

But you didn’t know how to go in. 

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him. 

Or wouldn’t. 

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it. 

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. 

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?” 

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?” 

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?” 

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?” 

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword. 

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there. 

“But?” You wait for it. 

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,” 

You pause a moment, “Really?” 

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his? 

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,” 

Your breath catches, “Really?” 

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,” 

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take. 

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,” 

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises. 

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—” 

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,” 

He stares, “What do you—” 

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,” 

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?” 

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,” 

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,” 

“I would say it depends,” 

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk. 

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?” 

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—” 

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,” 

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips. 

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more. 

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?” 

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again. 

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.” 

~~~~ 

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore. 

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks? 

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations. 

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head. 

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you. 

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.” 

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples. 

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave. 

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with. 

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all? 

Oh, great, you were becoming existential. 

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best. 

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike. 

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile. 

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn. 

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?” 

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?” 

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’” 

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,” 

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,” 

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?” 

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page: 

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this. 

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction. 

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?” 

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,” 

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin. 

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow. 

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,” 

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,” 

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again. 

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,” 

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly. 

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,” 

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,” 

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?” 

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?” 

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned. 

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—” 

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested — 

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in. 

Fuck, indeed. 

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist] #sab series [prof suguru] #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

[inupibaldspot]

From you, For him

| Part 2 of At him, For him

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Normal like no curse and stuff AU where Gojo is in love with Geto’s lover but this time he has the chance to change everything. This contains time travel!

I wrote it in a way you can understand what’s happening even if your don’t read part 1 btw

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

Gojo Satoru feels as if he can’t breathe.

He inhales. His chest hurts and he has a horrible attempt at keeping his glazing eyes in check as he fakes a smile and claps his hands together; there was a blur silhouette of Geto and you in a distance in tears ,both wearing matching rings.

“Woah—! Congratulations you two.” Shoko smiles wildly as she brings her hands close to her mouth,cheering. She briefly turns to Gojo and looks back at the couple. “Keep it together,Gojo… you’ve done that for years so why bother showing it now.”

Gojo lets out a laugh. “How cruel…” of course Shoko knows he has had this unrequited love for years. He breathes out. “I’ll head out for a second.”

Shoko nods as she reaches out and puts a cigarette and lighter in his pocket. He mutters a ‘thanks’ as he opens the door, cold breeze immediately greeting him. He breaths in again as his hands search for warmth in his pockets, turning to the alleyway.

Once when he is secluded, he brings out the piece of cigarette Shoko handed him earlier as he places it in between his lips, his hands bringing up the lighter with one on the lighter as the other hand wraps to protect the small flame.

He did not smoke often—more like he didn’t even the last last time he did. Gojo sucks in a breath, his throat feels hot but his chest is lighter, no-he remembers smoking back in high school simply because of Shoko and Geto. His only two friends would leave him for smoke breaks and he didn’t want to be left alone so he simply picked up the habit. 

Gojo quit after he met you since he didn’t feel the need to tag along Geto and Shoko anymore.

Somewhere in between college,meeting you and now, he didn’t seem to care anymore.

“Hey kid.”

“Fuck!” Gojo jumps, his teeth biting into the cigarette as his eyes glare sharply in the direction of the sound. A man sits along the far end of the alley way, away from him.

The white haired man contains his jumped heartbeat as he walks over the man who called him over. His eyes trail the dress he wore; it was a traditional dark piece of clothing and beads around his hand. This man was cosplaying as a Priest. 

He didn’t say the word ‘cosplay’ lightly because first, to begin with, the man in front had a ‘magic ball’ in front of him as if he was waiting for people to share their future and second, he wasn’t too serious because boy—! That monk had thick hair on his head, not the shaven look you’d normally see.

Gojo met scammers; near the shopping center, outside popular restaurant and tourist attractions, by his house ringing on his doorbell and right now, infront of him.

“What‘cha gonna tell me,old man.” Gojo says as he peers in, with also taking in a puff of smoke. “That I’ll be having a wife and two kids in my 30s… If it’s not that, it means one of you is lying.” By ‘one of you‘ refers to the scammer-I mean fortune teller he let in his house because he was bored. 

“Hahaha-! That’s not it.” The man laughs as he faces Gojo directly, it was then when he finally notices a stitch mark which stretches across his forehead. “Just wondering if you’d ever regretted things… ‘things’ which you wished you could go back and change..”

Gojo laughs as he drops the half-piece of cigarette on the ground, stomping on it. No long interested. “Of course. I still wish I could go back in time and not erase my answers because my teacher made all the answers to the MCQ ‘c’ just when I didn’t study.” 

Fuck—just why did Yaga REALLY do that? Gojo thinks back at the thought.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Gojo turns when he hears the man speak. 

The man stands close—very close to him as his hands were making a V-sign (a peace sign) , fingers pointed near his eyes before the old man was stabbed into his eyes.

“Oh my god— shit! That hurt, old man.” Gojo places his hands on his eyes as he tries to soothe the pain from it. “What are you trying to do—huh…?”

He blinks once.

Twice.

He takes a deep breath. ‘It’s fine.’ He thinks to himself. ‘I’ve just lost my mind a tiny bit because y/n and Suguru are getting married.’

Gojo let out the breath and opened his eyes. Same scene. He was by a tree, near a building; he remembered this place being behind the building for the Class 1-3 who were studying the normal curriculum whereas advanced classes of class 4-5 students were in another building. 

“What the actual heck is happening?” Gojo grumbles as he looks at the calendar on his phone. He was back in high school. He was sent back in time by about 7 years. “Fuck… I guess that man wasn’t a quack….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“That’s why I need you to help.” You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you stand, smiling. The teacher,Yaga Masamichi, was in front of you, sitting on his chair as he continued to talk- maybe complain would be a better word- about a certain boy from the advanced class. “The boy is smart but he lacks discipline! He needs someone as hardworking as you and maybe it’ll rub on to him.”

You’ve heard of Gojo Satoru. You’ve never seen him but he was very infamous in high school . First, for being the son of the Gojo Estate. Two, for being a very tall, conventionally attractive boy. Third, for being a delinquent. 

And that last part bothers you a lot, you’ve heard him get into fights, rumors of him smoking along the alleyway, ripping love letters into pieces and recently he skipped over all his tests making him fail his mid-terms. 

You gulp. Hope he doesn’t beat you up… 

Just then the door to the staff room slides open. You see enter, he was tall with white hair and lashes and the eyes in the most beautiful shade. No way this was Gojo right? He was so— beautiful.

Did he just make eye contact with you?

“Gojo come here.” Yaga calls out as he huffs. Gojo clears his throat as he walks to the teacher. When he was close enough Yaga continued. “This is y/n and I’m assigned to be your teacher. She’ll make sure you get all your works done plus make you study for the reassessment for the exam you skipped on.”

You watch Gojo who was towering beside you raise his hands and brought it up to his face, but from the angle you see the upward turn on the corner of his lips. Why was he smiling?

“Isn’t this -he points at you- from the normal department?” You huff when you were referred to as ‘this’. “You sure she is smart?”

“Don’t mess with y/n just because she isn’t from the advanced class— And also! In the last exam she was placed third overall , right below Suguru.” Yaga shouted back.

Your eyes trail back to him when the boy beside you seemed to still, You’ve heard of Geto Suguru too. Apparently a boy from the advanced class who was also popular for his good looks. But not only that— he had a delicate aura around him which makes people like him and to add on he was very much academically smart.

Gojo lets out a breath, as if it were more of an amazement in your opinion. You watch him take a small step back as he turns around and gives you a smile, god was unfair when he crafted this smile. “Then please take care of me, my tutor.” His face was close to yours.

‘My.’ You face almost burst with heat.

“Gojo stop bothering y/n.”

“Ouch—! That hurt sensei.”

Ever since then, once you hear the bell ring indicating school was over for the day, there would be Gojo poking his head into your class with a boyish grin plastered on his face, he takes your book-filled bag, slings it over his shoulder as you guys would walk to the library.

He sometimes passes by your classroom which is in the opposite building whenever he wants to go to the restroom in between classes—I mean he never did specify which restroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

And when he does, his gaze flickered towards you, taking in the way your gaze reflected the warm sun from outside.It becomes clear to Gojo then that even now, despite everything—in between ever but of confusion, anger and guilt, he doesn't actually want to lose you. To his best friend. To anyone else.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Warm.

The way the curtains fluttered from the gentle wind, letting in a cool breeze and a glow of the evening sun and you. You sitting not even an arm's length away and just like the pace of his heart which picked up, pushing every worry he could still have further and further away because there was no space for those in that moment.

There was just you. And he could feel your presence a lot closer now, her warmth not far away from him.

God, you were beautiful.

So beautiful, he would not mind spending the rest of his life memorizing each feature belonging of yours.

“Stop staring at me.” You let down the pen you were holding, looking away from your homework.

“I can’t stop.” He admitted.

You huff, the smirk on Gojo widened as he could see a faint color rush to your cheeks. “Just do your work…” you wave him off as you grumble.

“I’m already done,love.” He continues his teasing.

You pink as you let out a small shriek at the nickname; you rush close to him as you cover your hands on his mouth. “Shut up—Gojo, I don’t want to be murdered by your fangirls because of this.”

He pecks your hands by pursing his lips forward, into the palm of your hands making you shriek once more pulling away.

“Gojo!” You glare at him as you reach your hands out and comically wipe your hands on his blazer as he laughs at your reaction. He leans forward as he looks at your books. “What’s this?” He asks.

“Ah…” you say as you bring out a book closer to him. “I’m studying for my entrance exam for this university.”

“Already?” But that’s like months away.

“Yeah.” Your voice is laced with a smile, gojo almost sees shining glitters surrounding you. “It’s like… kind of my dream as a kid to go here.”

Gojo laughs at how adorable you sounded. “Why that university though?”

“My parents-“ you turn almost too quickly to face him but then you stop yourself as you clear your throat. “My parents went there and that’s how they met and fell in love.”

“Ah…” Just like you and Geto… His heart pains again as he is reminded.

You bend down as you lean your head on the table, letting out a sigh with your hands on your sides. “I hope I get in though…”

“You will.” He says confidently. He knows you will. “Nerds like you will get in.”

“Gojo, I’m not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“I’m not princess either!”

“Sure thing, love.”

“Oh— Gojo,stop that!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“I need you to be serious, Satoru!”

He listens to you shout, even without turning to your direction he could basically sense you ‘huffing and puffing’, a habit you took till adulthood. He reaches out into the bushes, pushing the leaves away. “I am—! Sheesh, let me breathe.” Gojo laughs.

You two were currently near the patch of grass by the football ground; you had lost your key to the music club room—a room which was basically unused but you guys needed a room so you two can continue on with your study lessons. 

You bend to look over the bushes while Gojo does around the bushes checking every shrub. “Oh lucky— someone’s cigarette and lighter is hidden  here.” His smile widens as he reaches out for the gift, someone had kept here. “Satoru, don’t steal others' stash.” He puts it down upon hearing your words.

“So this where you go after classes,Satoru?”

He knew it was inevitable but he hoped he could extend it for as long as he could.

In front of him, holding a key was Geto Suguru, smiling at him with Shoko, a lollipop in her mouth peers over from beside him. “What you doing?”

Geto throws him the key at him which is catches instantly.He wanted the two of his friends meet you but he selfishly hoped it would be after like maybe, after you and Gojo date. Wow—what an optimistic! Gojo gulps, afterall what would he do if the two of you fall in love again? 

“You found it!” You jump, unaware that the two figures were his friends. You turn your head to look at him, at him. Despite Geto Suguru standing near you, you looked at Gojo. The white haired boy’s heart pulsed, the slow and steady pump now erratic and heavy with emotions. Just you looking at him with a smile, at him like he was the only one on the planet m. For the first time.

“Who is this?” Shoko says as walks to to the bush and sticks her hands in. You laugh. “That cigarette was yours?” Shoko nods.

“This… this is y/n.” Gojo grumbles, speaking low. “She is helping me with my reassessment.”

“That’s what you get for skipping assignments and test.” Shoko teases. 

Geto laughs.

Gojo eyes at your reaction and sighs in relief when you were still acting the same. Thank god, there was nothing of that ‘love at first sight’ going on. “I don’t need to take those test.Even Yaga knows I’m smart.”

Your roll your eyes. “I guess we won’t have those study sessions of now on, Gojo.”

“Wha— no! I need it.” Gojo jumps, as he comically starts shaking you, as if he got the most shocking news of the century. “No- nope! You can’t do that. I need you—!”

“Geto, let’s get going now.” She turns. Shoko looks over to Gojo, they make eye contact and the brown hair girl smiles. 

He knows that smile. 

That’s the smile Shoko gives when ever she figures out something. And equipped with a teasing look, Gojo is certain she knows that he is in love with you. “Good luck,Gojo.” With his studies or with you? Geto gives you guys a wave as he also turns around and walks way. 

From then onwards, it’s as if the friendship which you guys have in the future,college days were happening now. Hanging out, study sessions, sometimes sneaking into parties and café date; the four of you. Just like right now as you’re in Gojo’s room, a flat rented nearby your future college.

“No way.” Shoko starts. “We’re all going to be attending the same college.” Her smile widens when you cheer and jump into her arms, she quickly looks over and sees a fond smile on Gojo’s face…hilarious!

Geto laughs as he takes a sip on his coffee as the two girls snuggle closer to each other. “Did you know about this?” He peers over to Gojo who finally seemed broken from his trance—you.

Gojo nods. “Yeah… I mean I’ve seen her study for her exams.” He clears his throat. “Have you played the new ‘digimon’ game?” He changes topic, whenever Geto speaks of you or to you, it makes him feel small. This isn’t good. He relishes this yet it was suffocation. Gojo would never hate his best friend—never, but sometimes it’s insecurity and sometimes it’s guilt which swallows him whole. ‘Is this okay?’ 

Shoko breaks away from the hug and she pulls on your cheeks fondly, she thinks you’re the most adorable human as she turns to Geto. “Smoke break.” Geto smiles and nods, following behind Shoko who led the way.

Gojo turns to you, eyes carefully trying to take in your presence that is before he notices something—your eyes are ‘lingering.’ He follows your gaze, carefully in the direction.

You were looking at Geto.

All emotions are wiped from his face. Gojo knew this could happen, you can fall in love with Geto all over again. He was the one who was messing with fate and time, yet— it hurt.

You turn to Gojo, your face tilts up to meet his gaze as your lips turn into a teasing smile which quickly flatters when you see Gojo’s expression. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of his hands. “…Satoru?”

He turns to you, and smiles. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“No…just thinking.”

You gulp wondering why it felt as if suddenly there was a huge rift when they were barely centimeters apart; for someone as big as Gojo his voice was so—so small. “…About?” You were almost scared to ask.

“Are you in love with Suguru?” Gojo beats himself for this, he has gone and done it now! 

You tilt your head. “where did that come from?”

“Friends don’t give each other love-filled lingering looks.” He scoffs. “So tell me-“ no he was being pushy. Gojo felt so backed into a corner for a moment but when he locked eyes with you, he was hurting you with the way he was acting.

He stands up. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“If I did love him, what would you do?” 

Were you testing him? 

“Please—please don’t fall for anyone but me…” he mumbles.

You watch as he slumps down on the floor, on his knees, burying his face into his hands, curling up almost as if to protect himself. Gojo is no longer confident egoistic boy you know, right now he seemed so weak; as if he was tired after a long journey. “I have surrendered myself to you for all of time; past, present and future I am yours…”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. Gojo feels like he is losing himself in his thoughts and also rambles with no coherence to what his mind has to say. “I don’t know what do do with this emotion but if I try to stop them they overflow and-” 

His heart seemed to thud to a stop in his chest and then start up again erratically, hands seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than hang close by his sides.

“Satoru, I love you…” you whisper and it is only then when he realizes you were also on your knees in front of him, thumbs wiping tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry for joking— I don’t love Geto. It’s you I love. Don’t hate me?”

How can he hate you when you were still his everything: you were his everything even when you were intertwining hands with someone else?

“It’s me?” He breathes out. “Did you say you’re in love with me?” 

You nod.

“Oh wow.” He says which makes you laugh.

“I love you…” He says, years of these words inside the depth of his heart, was dug out. “From the bottom of my soul, I’m head over heels for you, my love.”

You almost cry at his tone, so gentle.

He caresses your hair, tenderly, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands. When he eventually has his hands on your cheeks; your cheeks flushing as he gazes at you, captivated by your presence. Your eyes sparkle with wonder, your lips plush and rosy. 

You are flawless, perfect in this moment and beautiful in his embrace.

Gojo didn’t even realize when he started to get so close to you. His lips pressed against her pulse in a kiss before he nipped the skin.His limbs burned where he touched you, you were warm. So it was cold after all, he realized somewhere along the line. His hands were freezing, clinging to your lower back. 

Gojo wants to stay like this, holding you for a minute longer or forever.

A whisper in his head was telling him to let go—that it wasn’t right, but Gojo wouldn't. He was hanging onto a life line, it hurt, but if he let go now, he would drown.

Gojo was vulnerable. And you kiss him back. Kiss him till he is fine. Kiss him until all his worries fly— till he understands, you are equally so stupidly in love with him. 

Unbeknownst to you two, Shoko peeks over inside the door, a small crack reveals what’s inside “You think they’re done?”

Geto laughs. “Of course not…but give them more time and they’ll be in bed.”

Shoko laughs lightly making sure she isn’t spotted yet as she then peers over to the taller boy beside her. “What about you? You good?”

“Yeah… it was just a crush.”  Geto looked at Shoko from the corner of his eyes and his lips curl into a smile. Shoko was always so observant. 

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡—I tagged people who voted for time travel! Hope you guys don’t mind: @uuu55r64z46 @leviswifey-act62 @royaleashlyn @bakananya @bejwls @ritsatoru@washeduphasbeen @satorus-babygirl

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[sunderwight]

Okay, concept:

Luo Binghe grew up very poor prior to arriving to QJP. And when he first got to QJP, he was ostracized and neglected. So there are probably a lot of phrases, terms, and ideas that he didn't know were things until SY arrived and started actually teaching him. Right? So the bulk of what he did learn, he learned directly from Shen Yuan's own slightly messy attempts to fake ancient scholarly credentials.

Plus, QJP is supposed to be the peak of scholars and well-read, fancy intellectuals, and YQY probably also doesn't know shit about most of that stuff (having also been a former illiterate street child) and of course is incredibly predisposed to take Shen Qingqiu's side on virtually anything. Especially something frivolous or linked to their shared past, such as someone, say Qi Qingqi, accusing Shen Qingqiu of making up a literary reference or "gibberish" word. If something Shen Qingqiu says is something no one else seems to know, that just proves he's more worldly and well-read than the rest of his peers. Also, Shang Qinghua will probably know it, and despite his many (many) character flaws, Shang Qinghua reads a lot too. There's really very little to convince a former street child turned Demon Emperor whose former education began and ended with Shen Qingqiu specifically and Meng Mo (wildly out-of-touch with human culture anyway) to suspect that some of the difficult-to-source references his master makes really have no worldly source (in this world).

So Luo Binghe, in his quest to become as knowledgeable of all things about his shizun and keep up with him as well as possible, and maybe also put down some arguments he's overheard once and for all, eventually gets annoyed because CLEARLY there is a wealth of cultural knowledge contemporary to Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua that didn't survive to his own generation. His efforts at hunting down all the sources being referenced and origins of certain philosophical ideas or terminology keep coming up empty in certain departments. He's been over the entire QJP library with a fine-tooth comb, but QJP focuses on things pertaining to cultivation, history, and knowledge. Obviously, there are gaps. The archives are unlikely to keep pop cultural references and lowbrow literature, and Luo Binghe begins to suspect (from what tastes his master seems to share with his shishu) that that is that actual source he's missing.

The trashy yellow books and romance literature of their generation! Bawdy poems and lewd artworks so on! Heck, that's probably even where the shared "code" (bad English) comes into play -- disciples are always trying to sneak forbidden material past their teachers and smuggle naughty books into the dormitories. Knowing Shizun and Shang Qinghua, Luo Binghe honestly wouldn't be surprised if the two of them were racketeering that shit in their own disciple days. Shang Qinghua acquiring materials, Shen Qingqiu acquiring buyers, both of them making their extra spending money off of secretly supplying Cang Qiong's population with contraband fiction and art.

Also, that would explain why both Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua get flustered and refuse to elaborate if someone asks them what this or that strange turn of phrase refers to. Shen Qingqiu has a very thin face for actually discussing erotica, and Shang Qinghua doesn't like being caught doing illegal shit.

Luo Binghe desperately needs access to trash lit that's older than he is. However, most of that stuff is not printed to last, and turning it up is like trying to find old Spirk zines without the internet.

Shang Qinghua, the obvious go-to source, also seems to not really have anything that old anymore (intimidating him is laughably easy, if he had anything he would have coughed it up by the second or third time Luo Binghe asked and frowned at the same time), and if Shen Qingqiu did have anything he wouldn't want to be questioned about it. Asking too much might even get it destroyed in an act of excessive embarrassment.

Which means there is just one other person Luo Binghe knows who might be able to lead him to some sources. One other person he is absolutely, 100% certain was extensively reading trashy literature around the same time that Shizun was a young man. Someone who would know where to go to even begin looking for it.

Luo Binghe is going to have to ask Tianlang Jun for help with something.

#svsss #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain

[your-nanas-house]

The Beginning

◇ Pairing: Tom Riddle X professor!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, manipulation, forbidden relationship, Tom Riddle, bath, nudity, dub-con, short age gap

◇ Summary: Tom notices that his favourite professor is a bit stressed.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Both character are aged up. Part 2 Part 3

The room was filled with the chit chat of students who were taking the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, a subject often called simply DADA by everyone.

In the background of the big lesson room, there was soft music that created an almost pleasant atmosphere in contrast to the type of class that was taking place which had quite heavy topics that frightened many and intrigued others.

One of those people who were fascinated by the subject was Tom Riddle himself, clever boy, Slytherin and much more, especially the darling of professors, of every professor, except Albus Dumbledore, so the young professor Y/l/n was no exception.

There was a special bond between the wunderkind student and the professor, almost intimate if someone misinterpreted it but it was nothing like that or at least that was how it was for Y/n, the young witch had only managed to get her job a few years earlier and right from the start, thanks to the passion for her subject shared with Tom, they began to bond.

The Slytherin student who had now come of age and managed to become the head boy as well as a prefect, had approached the teacher to find out more secrets about magic and because he surprisingly found their conversations interesting as well as entertaining.

This was the real reason why he had started a few months after he met her to pretend to meet her by chance while walking around the castle, thus starting a routine between the two of them that happened almost every day if Y/n wasn't busy with her duties as a Hogwarts professor, which happened sometimes and which annoyed Tom for some strange reason.

Y/n was convinced that Tom saw her as a mother figure, someone to follow and learn from, and so did the young adult, but everything changed one evening.

After a busy astronomy lesson Tom wanted to visit his favorite teacher before heading back to his dormitory but when he reached the door of her classroom, hoping to find her still there, voices made him stop in his tracks.

The door was slightly open and he could easily see what was going on inside Miss Y/l/n's classroom.

She was inside, leaned against a table as she listened attentively to what someone was saying to her, Tom couldn't recognise the man so close to the woman with that look that the student had learned was lustful from the experience of his peers.

The whole situation awakened something all too well known inside the Slytherin heir, envy, pure green envy and resentment turned against them, something animalistic flared up inside him, a need to prove himself just as he had done at the orphanage when he was still a child.

Perhaps that was the reason that started the break of the platonic feelings the student had for his teacher.

New thoughts ran through his head as he decided how to move the pawns of his game in such a way as to receive what he wanted and thought he deserved, waiting patiently for the most suitable moment which came one summer night.

It had been a few months since the beginning of her senior year but they were almost at the end, his attitude had not changed in the slightest towards Miss Y/n and so the young woman did not suspect anything when she received a letter from Tom asking her for urgent help and giving her the coordinates of where to meet.

Worried, the young woman rushed to what she discovered was the prefects' bathroom, she was breathing heavily and was ready to solve whatever the problem was.

The young woman however had expected everything but her favorite student to wander calmly around the bathroom as he arranged the water and suds, meeting her eyes with his cold black ones, a faint smile forming on his face when he spoke "professor".

The atmosphere was suspicious in a way, suspicious but relaxing, since the aroma of soap filled the room as Tom tended to his clothes leaving them propped elegantly on a chair so they couldn't get wet "what's going on, Tom? I got your owl and I came as soon as I could" Y/n declared while she looked around, studying the bathroom in order to understand the riddle and discover why Tom Riddle had made her run all the way there.

She didn't even realize what the boy was doing before he was surrounded by the water and the foam caught her attention again.

Tom was standing in the tub, his clothes forgotten on the chair as the water made his pale skin and nearly Greek god muscles stand out; Y/n couldn't help but notice how his student had grown over the summer, making space for a decidedly attractive young man who reminded her very much of a Greek statue while her y/e/c moved around studying the parts of his skin on view, reaching his neck and finally his face.

She only realised she was holding her breath when their eyes met again, the situation they were in became much clearer to her and a blush appeared on her face making her turn quickly to give privacy to the young man who was staring at her amused with an unfamiliar twinkle behind his pitch black eyes.

She could hear him moving in the water, probably moving closer to where she was before speaking again "I've noticed that you are under a lot of stress lately....I thought a bath might help you, professor" the Slytherin revealed with a mischievous smile that relented slightly when she politely declined several times before attempting to leave the room, soon ending up in the water though, Tom's arms wrapped around her as if they were two snakes, his breath was warm against her neck and she could feel him take in her scent before letting his lips graze the delicate skin of that area "I know you want it too" whispered the young man almost in an attempt to seduce her as he sensed the shiver that ran through her body.

"No one will have to know, my mouth will remain closed" he whispered again, licking this time behind her ear before starting to play with her lobe using his teeth "come on...professor".

Miss Y/l/n's eyes flattered closed despite the fact that she tried to fight her lust, but it was immensely difficult with Tom's large, long hands, which traveled slowly all over her body exploring and almost expertly touching the areas that would make her give in.

It was as if there was a study behind it, his hands traveled with the wisdom of someone who had studied but not yet experimented with practice, this however did not silence the voices telling her not to do it.

The struggle in her head continued and the more time passed the harder it was to resist, especially now that the young adult's body was right against her back and she could feel everything from his muscular chest to his abs to his hard cock against her lower back.

His warm breath was against her now cold neck, making her

shiver and sigh deeply memorising how Tom was touching her because it had been quite some time since she had fucked anyone.

Despite the urge boiling inside her, Y/n shifted, slipping from the wizard's strong grip, stopping his next movements by placing her hand on his smooth chest.

Tom's black eyes met her y/e/c's, his large hand with long, skinny fingers wrapped around her wrist, slowly moving it to his lips, his tongue tracing its way to the inside of her hand before stopping to allow their lips to meet in a strangely soft kiss.

Miss Y/n's tits were against Tom's muscular, pale chest, her hands buried in his black hair as the boy's arms were around her waist bringing her even closer to him.

Their lips moved slowly, both of them lost in the shared sensation, exploring one of the tastes after another. It all ended, however, when Y/n regained control, noticing the head of his cock brushing against her entrance almost as if teasing her.

Reason because she forced herself to pull Tom away from her before licking her lips, weighing up her various options, she wasn't going to go all through with one of her students, it wasn't even supposed to end up like this and yet there she was in a bath with the most talented student at Hogwarts trying to seduce her.

Tom moved closer just as her internal debate ended, it only took her hand to stop him and her gaze followed by a teacher's tone to make him obey "get out of the water, sit on the edge of the pool...this is to stay between us, it won't happen again and I don't want to talk about it ever again, do you understand?" she asked after a few seconds the last question before admiring how Tom's body, shifted and emerged from the water to position itself like she had asked.

And there he was, Tom Marvolo Riddle, in all his glory and nakedness, his legs spread for her and an intense gaze focused solely on her. The young professor had listened to several conversations of the horny schoolgirls going after Tom but had not at all expected what she had in front of her now.

That didn't frighten her though, they had already reached a moment of no return and her hands instinctively moved to the young man's muscular, hairy thighs; they traveled a slow, teasing pace that made all the remaining blood go right down into his now rock hard cock.

The wizard admired closely as Y/n's hands moved over his length, pumping him a couple of times using the water as lubricant before she moved her face closer and left little licks on the tip.

Their eyes met and her mouth continued to work on him, exactly as her hands did, causing small moans followed by hisses that came out of Tom's perfect lips.

His dark eyes had not yet moved away from her just as Y/e/c's were still focused on him, it was intense.

Her tongue came out of her mouth to lick the entire length a couple of times and then take him completely in her mouth, deep throating him without him expecting it.

Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, Tom's thighs shaked slightly under her hands as sinful grunts escaped his lips; his hips began to move without even meaning to, his tingling hand lusting for dominance gripped her wet hair in a tight grip so that he could choose his movements.

His hips moved swiftly as he fucked her mouth mercilessly focused on achieving his first peak of pleasure, it was a almost suffocation feeling, Tom needed more, much more, but he had almost reached his peak.

The wizard only released his hold when he came, now leaving Y/n free to move as she wanted, despite this the young witch focused her attention till the end on his tip, sucking gently as her hands massaged his balls almost as if she was milking him.

As soon as she realized she had taken every last drop, Y/n slowly pulled away, swallowing it all while looking into Tom's eyes.

The young professor had to avoid him in order to reach the entrance to the prefects' door without falling for another attempt at seduction by the student.

The two looked at each other in silence, Tom wanted to say something but Y/n silenced him with one last kiss, followed by an elegant movement of her wand and three words "this stays here".

As soon as she finished speaking she walked out of the bathroom leaving Tom standing there all alone, looking at the door, his body now dry and his uniform back, it was as if nothing had happened, as if everything had only been in his head but the lipstick marks proved something else.

In fact they only confirmed the wonderful and unexpected sensations he had felt in those few minutes he had been with her, he knew that she had sensed that it was the first time he had done this kind of activity but he also knew that she wanted more, he wanted more, there was something more and Tom was going to take it at all costs.

Things had not begun and ended that night in the prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts, the wizard would make sure of that and he would not put an end to what he had managed to get…what he had been craving for some time and now knew he could have.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @huntress-valkyrie , @lostmyremembrall, @pastelpiisces

#tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle oneshot

[maybankswhore]

you look pretty , xavier thorpe

pairings: xavier thorpe x reader

summary: literally just xavier being absolutely smitten with you.

Your stomach was in knots as you followed Xavier to his shed. The two of you were assigned to be study partners , something the teacher’s would do sometimes to help conversation between peers and try and encourage socialization.

Xavier Thorpe had always been cute to you. He was the boy with the shaggy brown hair that every girl at school swooned over. He had charm and charisma without even trying.

The two of you hadn’t ever spoke before. You were always way too shy , brushing the idea of confrontation off as silly. He had girls like Bianca— who were so beautiful , so intelligent and strong. Xavier hadn’t ever really paid attention to you like that , and you didn’t blame him for it.

“I don’t bring many people here.” Xavier sighed as the two of you strolled up to his shed , small and barely noticeable sweat beads dripped down his neck. “But I think you’re trustworthy enough.”

You squinted your eyes. “What if I’m the exact opposite?”

Xavier paused for a minute and hummed , taking a millisecond to think it over before shrugging. “Little Y/N could never—” he teased and spun back around to unlock the door.

Little Y/N.

So small but enough to make your cheeks turn bright pink at the small admission of him noticing you , more than you thought he did.

You walked in behind him quietly. Xavier immediately started straightening up but it wasn’t too messy to begin with. You couldn’t stop looking at everything he drew , the style so uniquely Xavier Thorpe–like. He had a way to make the paintings look alive , in a way that wasn’t picture perfect but in a way where you could feel each scene he was imitating.

You must’ve gotten lost in being in awe—and it was also you being nosey– but Xavier cleared his throat to break you out of your trance. Your head shot up , embarrassment flooding you as you imagined how you must’ve looked just staring around his room.

You were so caught up in your own embarrassment that you hardly caught the light pink dusting Xavier’s cheeks. “They’re nothing special.” He shrugged , digging into his slack pockets casually.

“They’re beautiful.” You blurted to reassure him.

He gave you a soft smile in response , feeling his chest get heavy at the look of endearment on your face.

An awkward silence engulfed the both of you after that. Neither party knowing what to say or do now , still not used to the close proximity and hanging out thing. With butterflies in your stomach , you gave the room a look over before looking back to Xavier— who’s eyes were already on you.

“So you study the first section and I’ll study the second and we can regroup after and tell eachother about what we read.” Cracking a bit as you spoke , you made an offer so Xavier and you didn’t have to suffer in that silence any longer.

“Seating is—” Xavier’s mouth pulled together awkwardly. “Limited. Sorry.”

You shrugged and began sitting down where you wear standing , pulling things out of your notebook. “Then we can sit here that way we’re together.”

Xavier watched you sit and get to work , barely passing him another look. He could tell you were nervous , a bit shy towards him. Your scrunched up face and tired eyes made him smile lightly , appreciating how your hair framed the features of your face , accenting your best qualities.

Xavier bit his cheek and sat down , still looking at you. “I like your hair like that.” He commented easily , a knowing smirk pulling on his face as his compliment flustered you.

Afraid to meet his eyes you simply blushed and smiled at your textbook. “Thanks.”

Minutes past and you found yourself getting fidgety. Xavier’s eyes practically burned into your head as you tried focusing on the reading. You tried not to think too much about how you were sitting or how you looked as Xavier watched you. You tried to play it cool like all the movies had taught you.

You had a silly little crush like all the other girls at Nevermore. You were nothing special. Xavier was always nice.

Or that’s what you liked to tell yourself.

Pressing your lips firmly together , you took a deep breath and mustered the courage to look up at him. His green eyes finding yours almost instantly. He bubbled with amusement.

“Xavier! You haven’t read a thing yet.” You sighed. His textbook wasn’t even open.

“It’s just boring me.” He exasperated. “We’re at school all day and then we have to bring it to our personal time! We literally live here.”

You laughed and couldn’t help but agree. “That’s true. But I also don’t want to not study and end up having to live here forever.”

“Living at Nevermore forever?” Xavier blew air out of his cheeks. “Talk about nightmare fuel.”

“Tell me about it.” You giggled.

Xavier paused and smiled as he watched you laugh with him. He likes how your eyes were so expressive , and how easy you laughed. Even your laugh sounded pretty. He was taken by you.

“You’re really pretty , Y/N.” Xavier blurted , his eyes wide with surprise at himself. A boyish look on his face as he waited for your reaction.

Your heart swelled at his compliment , and your heart beat like crazy.

“So are you.” You breathed back. You smiled , and Xavier’s lips turned up even bigger. He felt pride swell in his chest that you thought that.

Your stomach swirled with butterflies and you could just feel something good was happening.

#wednesday #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier #xavier thorpe #taylor swift #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe blurb #xavier thorpe oneshot

[temptaetions]

spellbound secrets ✩ stray kids (m.list)

welcome to the spellbound institute of magic! have a look around, but don't peer too much — you could end up in a sticky web of secrets, lies, and love.

general content warnings: fluff, smut, angst, possible darker/heavy themes. warnings for individual fics vary, please read them accordingly before proceeding.

˖⁺‧₊ angel eyes - bang chan ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @temptaetions

✩ pairing: bcc x reader

✩ specialty: healing | memory inducement

✩ genre: teacher x student | strangers/idiots to lovers

✩ synopsis: you’ll think you’re in paradise, and one day you’ll find out he wears a disguise, don’t look too deep…

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ one's elixir - lee minho ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @felixitate

✩ pairing: lmh x reader

✩ specialty: alchemy | potions

✩ genre: acquaintances to lovers | academic mentor

✩ synopsis: you’re a walking disaster. not just in minho’s eyes but for anyone in the academy so when he was asked to supervise you, he had to agree to ensure everyone’s safety. but is it worth the risk to involve himself in something that even you can't control?

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ sweet escape - seo changbin ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @temptaetions

✩ pairing: scb x reader

✩ specialty: interdimentionalism (pocket dimension creation) | empathic transference

✩ genre: friends to lovers | secret admirer

✩ synopsis: forever, perfectly together…and tell me, boy, now wouldn’t that be sweet?

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ fleeting mirage - hwang hyunjin ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @felixitate

✩ pairing: hhj x reader

✩ specialty: illusionism | phantasmagoria

✩ genre: rivals to lovers | childhood sweethearts?

✩ synopsis: as both the top students in your program, getting along should always have been maintained between you. however, something always sparks any feud, hindering your cooperation by whatever means necessary. would you be able to put it aside when your positions start to get threatened?

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ cherry bomb - han jisung ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @temptaetions

✩ pairing: hjs x reader

✩ specialty: fusionism | sentimental awakening

✩ genre: coworkers to lovers | mutual pining

✩ synopsis: lips on my lips, hearts beating as one…but you slip out of my fingertips, every time you run.

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ in bloom - felix lee ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @felixitate

✩ pairing: lyb x reader

✩ specialty: floramancy | herbalism

✩ genre: classmates to lovers | forbidden love

✩ synopsis: watching him from afar while he tends to those flowers never fails to make your heart flutter. but for the sake of your secret, you’ve kept your distance. until when can you avoid him before he notices the signs of your waning abilities that only he can maybe help with?

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ silver springs - kim seungmin ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @temptaetions

✩ pairing: ksm x reader

✩ specialty: catoptromancy | empathic transference

✩ genre: exes to lovers | semi-first loves au

✩ synopsis: i know i could've loved you, but you would not let me, i'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you.

✩ read here!

˖⁺‧₊ shifting feelings - yang jeongin ₊‧⁺˖

✩ sorceress: @felixitate

✩ pairing: yji x reader

✩ specialty: polymorphy | divination

✩ genre: enemies to lovers | soulmates

✩ synopsis: he’s an enigma. with enchanting eyes that became everyone’s whispers each time he passed by but you’re not shaken. who’s to say you can’t unravel the truth when he slowly reveals this part of himself that he’s been persistently guarding the more you pry?

✩ read here!

host notes: hey! thank you for reading our collab, we planned this so quickly it makes my head spin. just for reference, all specialties in italics are secondary to their primary specialty, or an extension of it. everyone is a wizard. if you’d like to know more about each story then please head to our respective mail boxes! feel free to comment or send an ask our way to be added to a taglist. please have your age and/or year of birth in your description, otherwise you will not be added to the taglist. we hope you enjoy!

temptaetions © 2024 || felixitate © 2024. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #lee know x reader #lee know smut #changbin x reader #changbin smut #⁠hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #felix x reader #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin x reader #jeongin smut

[radiocrypt-id]

The bad kids haven't really looked too closely at the Rat Grinders (meta wise I know it's a commentary on different play styles and how shitty xp farming is and how op players/parties can become by doing the bare minimum if they put in the time while everyone else plays the damn game) but I find the split perspective problems absolutely fascinating. I can't wait for the Bad Kids to look at the Rat Grinders with envy and anger that the Rat Grinders got to live a normal highschool life without all this insane danger and experience being a teenager without it being the end of the world for them. Right now they just hate the Rat Grinders energy and are matching it back (which is a very high school thing to do. To have beef with a whole other group of kids and not even know why but you'll die on this hill because they started shit first)

Because to the Rat Grinders, from a purely outside perspective, the Bad Kids are fucking monarchs of the school, right? They skipped classes, ran around town, fought people, got arrested, hung out with a big devil? Every new staff member came at their recommendation? One of them has both her dads working at the school?? The destroyed school property, got teachers killed, straight murdered the coach? These fucking kids run around and are apparently scott-free? because the principal liked their chaos enough to let it go and help them avoid the police? To the Rat Grinders, the Bad Kids are untouchable. They're exempt from the law. They're liars, cheats and need to be humbled. It's unfair. From everyone elses perspective, it really does look like the Bad Kids have been given crazy favourtism.

Meanwhile, all of the Bad Kids have died at least once. They've been irreparably changed and are in a constant state of fight or flight. They assume everything is dangerous and anyone might be an enemy because for two goddamn years that was the exact case! They couldn't trust any adult first year! Literally anyone could have been infected with Kalina second year! who knows what happened with the Night Yord but I fucking bet they had issues with Yorbies pretending to be helpful just to kill them! Everyone, for two years, has been out to get them! They can't even sleep! And now they have to grind so hard or they fail. Adaine has a seemingly full time job after school basically every day because she literally can't afford to live? Fabian has taken on the most physically strenuous classes and sport one dude could and has dreams of also being a social legend because he's fucking lonely in that big house and he just wants to fill it. If anyone in the party fails or dies Riz is shit out of luck and wont ever get into a university? He so desperately wants his friends with him so he's working over time and ignoring his limits to make up for his party members not caring about the future. Fig is going through the strangest arc I've ever seen in my life? she's hard avoidant and taking three classes, so a 250% work load, because she's desperate to fill her time so she can't think about all the other work she has to do that if she ignores too long could crush her under the debt of her band from her label, or how alone she feels without her girlfriend around. Gorgug is so desperate to prove himself that he's doing four years of school work in one, trying to play catch up and also prove himself at the same time, he's taking it all so seriously but also is so fucking tired. And Kristen. Mother fucking Kristen "hey girlie" applebees. Expected to dedicate her life to a god with no direction, with the weight of failure being her gods death, while also being in school and also at your friends insistence needing to run for student body president and getting your priorities so mixed up and being completely left behind by her peers who didn't have to rework their entire world view and understanding of life in the span of a few months every few months.

The Bad Kids are in a terrible place. They're suffering. I want them to just say it out loud, to stop pretending they have it handled and are fine. I want Riz and Adaine to yell at the party to get their shit together. I want Fabian to tell someone how alone and abandoned her feels. I want Kristen to scream at Cassandra that she agrees, that it's not fair, she's just a kid, how could she be enough all on her own with no help? It sucks a god can only rely on a child, for both the god and child! They're both suffering from this arrangement! Neither is happy! I want Gorgug to beat the shit out of Porter with his inventions and rage at the same time, to make the best shit and use it in the most stunning way anyone has ever seen. I want Fig to finally get some freaking help, to have her teachers and parents reach out in a meaningful way and stop telling her to figure it out alone because clearly the pressure is too much for her to handle and she's drowning. I want someone, anyone, to look at the Bad Kids and tell them to stop. To help them. But I know it wont be that easy. I know it'll be the Rat Grinders yelling at how unfair it is the Bad kids get everything while they're on the sidelines that'll get under the Bad Kids skin and they'll yell about how awesome they are and that they didn't ask for any of this shit to happen to them and to fuck off. I know it's gonna get so much worse before it gets better. I know they'll figure it out and that it'll be a painful road there.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #dimension 20 fhjy #dimension 20 fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #d20 spoilers #d20 fhjy #d20 #kristen applebees #figeroth faeth #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #adaine abernant #somebody help these kids man #they're being failed by the system #words

[livinghostly]

miss me if you want to — megumi fushiguro x reader

a/n: happy late birthday pookie wc: 3.6k megumi ends up at his old middle school for a mission, and reminisces on his time there, with you. fluff/humor, happy ending, gojo being his dad self

megumi kept his hands in his pockets as he scoped the halls of urami east middle school, desperately trying to ignore the entourage of sorcerers behind him and their barrage of questions. unfortunately for megumi, nobara just discovered a commonality. (“fushiguro, let’s go beat up that guy! for old time’s sake, you know!” “kugisaki, you can’t just point to every man and ask to beat them up. we don’t know anybody here! and you can’t say old times sake if you didn't even go here, right?”)

it took all his willpower not to turn around and curse them both back to jujutsu tech, their voices burning through his ears and building an irritation in his gut. any of his old classmates who recognized him seemed to gape, just before ducking their heads and scurrying down the hall. it didn’t give him much to work with regarding the assignment. his friends giggled, poorly hiding it behind their hands.

it was hard for the nostalgia of his middle school and the presence of old peers to settle in with the constant whispering behind him, even if part of himself wasn’t sure that he wanted to reflect on his time there. he remembered the cream-colored walls and tan uniform jackets being less harsh on his eyes, every memory he could recall was hazed over with a dark grime.

the smell of freshly waxed floors and chalk dust washed over him like waves, passing his old classroom’s doors that were propped open. he could hear the muffled lessons, and wondered the last time he really used any academics from–

“fushiguro, why don’t you have anything in the trophy case?” nobara pondered, dragging her finger along the glass border.

“they’ve gotta have one for the best stink-face, right?” yuji howled with laughter. “you’d totally win!”

“can you guys get it together? we’re not going to get anywhere if you keep messing around,” megumi said, not bothering to spare them a glance. he refused to prove itadori right with his stink-face. “go walk the south corridor, there’s a few offices for the staff, they might know something.”

“fushiguro,” yuji whined. 

“go.” 

reluctantly, his friends shuffled away. “yeah, i think we kind of pushed our luck that time,” nobara mumbled.

finally, he reveled in the silence. there was a bud of anxiety in his stomach, a nagging feeling that just around the corner would be a teacher to chastise him for his history of delinquency. on the other hand, the possibility of seeing one of the many faces he had beaten and bruised.

megumi rounded the corner that led to the library and various study rooms, keeping his gaze on the windows. he remembered the landscape being different, more sullen, but still captivating him as much. he remembered his frequent trips to the library when he wasn’t spending his time rounding together the bullies and failures that infested the school.

the library wasn’t special, but he could always–

“megumi?”

megumi’s eyes widened as he whipped his head forward. the voice, though unexpected, was unmistakable in his mind. his bud of anxiety bloomed when he saw you, your head tilted in the same bewilderment. out of all places, he didn’t expect to see you at the place you graduated, just over a year ago.

the fog that coated all his memories seemed to dissipate, recollection of you clouded with a glow that couldn’t compare to the way you looked now. your school uniform was haphazard, white button up untucked and rolled to your elbows and your dark jacket was discarded on the library cart you leaned on. your confusion washed away and your face was taken up by a bright smile, and with that megumi blushed furiously.

“y/n? i didn’t expect to see you here.” he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure, and closed the gap between you so all that was left in the way was the cart. you craned your neck to meet his gaze, he’d grown a bit. “don’t tell me they made you repeat.”

shaking your head, you laughed. he missed that. “you’re telling me, you’re supposed to be all the way at jujutsu tech. what are you doing here?”

“i asked you first.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. always so combative.

“i use my free period to help out here, it’s only like a five minute walk from the high school.”

megumi hummed. so you decided to stay close. it was always a toss up. 

“so, how’s jujutsu tech so far? everything you wanted and more?”

megumi smiled, recalling the day he told you that’s where he would be attending, and you found it completely ridiculous. hilarious, even. a religious school, for him? if you hadn’t met gojo before you would have thought he was sentencing megumi there as some sort of punishment for his delinquency at school. unfortunately, you had met gojo, and the idea of him teaching at a religious school and dragging megumi with him only drove you to further hysterics. 

the humor you found in all of it almost made up for the lies he was feeding you. a part of him longed for you to have some cursed energy to see all that he did, so you could understand the life he lives. maybe if you did, you would go to jujutsu tech with him, and he could share more of his life with you.

but megumi knew you were much better off without it, and without him. here, in your home environment, you were glowing. you were living a good and safe life, and he would keep it that way.

so, he fed you more white lies. kept it all vague and lighthearted so you could sleep easy. the school staff was capable, his studies were improving, and his classmates were… tolerable, at best. or so he claimed. the lighthearted jokes at their expense were always followed by a compliment on their character, you knew he was fond of them.

before he knew it, the two of you were strolling around the campus together with your shoulders glued to each other like you were back in routine. everything about being with you again was timeless. you still exaggerated with your hands and paused at the ends of your sentences to enunciate with your facial expressions, and always stayed on his left side so he didn’t have to face down the beating sun when he was looking at you. and he was always looking at you.

every once in a while, your hand brushed up against his and his movements would stutter. he would wait for some sort of reaction, though he wasn’t sure why. confirmation, that it was okay? or to see how much he could get away with. you acted as if it was nothing, and he wondered if you’d stay like that if he closed the distance and finally grasped your hand with his.

megumi had your school blazer draped over his other arm. he wasn’t much of a talker, even with you. but it seemed once you were able to get his shoulders to relax and his guard slipped a bit more, he rambled on about the more trivial things in his life. his friends– “i wouldn’t call them that” – and their endless enthusiasm. it’s like they were born yesterday, and every day in tokyo they lived like a fish out of water. they dragged him into a lot of things, but also held him back. megumi rolled his eyes when you said it was probably a good thing, since you weren’t around to do that anymore. you also weren’t very good at it.

megumi couldn’t look at you when you smiled like that, like an all-knowing entity that can see through the cracks in his image. like you knew him better than he knew himself, because in some ways you did. he looked at the ground, his shoes, and the trees, anything that couldn’t perceive the blush that ran up his neck.

“fushiguro?!”

he didn’t realize the lax in his composure until he tensed up again at the screech of his name not too far behind him. his smile dropped and he was brought back to the reality of his situation, being on a mission, scrounging for any murmurs about this curse he was meant to be hunting while dragging around two idiots with him. 

nobara and yuji were pale from shock, stiff as boards at the sight of their fushiguro cozy with some stranger. nitta was next to them, jaw agape as she stared and slithered her phone out of her pocket.

megumi’s eye twitched.

“fushiguro, is this why you sent us off to the teacher's lounge? to flirt?! with a girl?!” yuji cried, pointing an accusatory finger as he fell to his knees. the pavement cracked beneath him as he slammed his fist into the concrete in despair. 

“fushiguro, don’t tell me you’ve gone soft for some pretty girl? we’re here for business!” nobara claimed, crossing her arms.

“they’re your friends you were talking about, ‘gumi?” you hummed, looking at him. you batted your eyelashes with an amused expression. 

god, no. he couldn’t spit out the words when he was barely holding on to his composure at the nickname. these people, in the matching uniforms? never met ‘em.

a gust of wind weaved itself through your hair and yuji was at your feet, his incredible speed surprising you enough that you sidestepped right into megumi’s chest. his breath hitched, somewhere between a gasp at the sudden contact and a sigh of disappointment towards yuji’s behavior. nobara was quick behind him, her anger had dissolved into a teasing nature.

humiliation swelled in his chest and lumped in the back of his throat, in the back of his mind he was routing all the ways he could get back at yuji later for the way he was acting. 

“you told her about us?!” yuji said, his excitement warming the air around him. 

“‘course he did,” nobara smirked. “we are your best friends, aren’t we, ‘gumi?”

megumi sighed. he wouldn’t live that down. “y/n, this is itadori and kugisaki, they’re the other first years at jujutsu tech. this is y/n, we went to middle school together.”

you smiled and offered a finger wave.

“middle school, huh? and you’re still here?” nobara’s eyes sparkled. you wouldn’t admit out loud that the intensity in her grin made your stomach turn. she placed a hand on her chest dramatically, “you get in too much trouble? got held back? i understand the life–“

“you must have the funniest stories about fushiguro!” the pink-haired boy interrupted with his laughter. “did he ever–“

“i need to walk y/n back to her class before she’s late,” megumi cut him off sharply. “head back to the car and i’ll meet you there, after i get back we should get going anyway.”

without a second thought, he grabbed your arm gently and tugged you with him to turn around. you were able to call out a quick, it was nice to meet you! before you were pulled around the corner.

his steps were quicker than yours so his hand made its way to the small of your back as he ushered you to meet his pace and put the distance between you and the gawking seagulls behind him.

your heart stuttered at the contact but you didn’t stop him, and instead leaned closer to his side. that seemed to jolt some sense into him, his fingers tensing and relaxing again on the soft fabric of your uniform and ultimately deciding to stay put. that didn’t make him any less hyper-aware of it, though. he flickered gaze from you to the sidewalk, back to you, and the sidewalk again. 

“i’m sorry about them. they’re idiots sometimes,” he mumbled. “most of the time, actually.”

the path to the highschool felt oddly familiar. the trees waved gently in the wind and beckoned him back to his memories of walking you home from school, the warmth of the sunshine on his skin much the same as the warmth that sprouted in his stomach when he was around you. 

he always stood straighter when he was beside you, squeezing your hand tightly when crossing the street and tucked you under his arm when passing by anyone he deemed suspicious. which, to a young megumi who saw the world in black and white, was much of the population. in those times where his adrenaline was pumping, he never thought twice about protecting you. even against what you couldn’t see, like curses, strolling through the streets unchecked. 

“don’t apologize, ‘gumi. they seem like fun.” you chuckled, rubbing your knuckles gently. you couldn’t blame them for their reactions, nor could you blame your friend for not ever telling them about you. he was always a bit reserved. “i think they’re just excited to learn something about you.”

you had classes with him, and there were often times he would come in late with bloody knuckles and his hair tousled. most days he would tell you why, how they were smoking on school grounds or picking on someone in the cafeteria. other days he wouldn’t, he refused to even give you an idea of the things they said or did, and though it drove you crazy for a few hours you would eventually drop it. 

and he got to keep it to himself, the way other boys would talk about you. despite not knowing you, they made their assumptions and boasted about untrue speculations. rumors and comments were short-lived when he was around, and he wondered if it stayed that way after he left.

megumi carried the secret of the jujutsu world on his shoulders, all the unruly death he’d witnessed, his sister’s curse. despite the way he’d grown in the jujutsu world and how desensitized he’d become to some things, they still haunted him. he’d would’ve liked to keep something good a secret too, just for a little while longer. 

“yeah, well, i think i’d rather keep you to myself.”

“don’t tell me you’re embarrassed of me.” your teasing tone was in one ear and out the other for megumi. his tongue swelled in his throat as he tripped over his own words. you laughed, and he seemed to relax.

his hand had slipped from your back and rested between you. you found the confidence to grasp the sleeve of his uniform and keep a hold of it comfortably, watching his expression melt into a smile he couldn’t hide behind bitten cheeks.

you weren’t one to ever think you could change megumi fushiguro, though there were many times you were the one repeating in his ear to just let it go so you could go eat lunch together. (on the flip side, there were also times you were chanting his name off the sidelines watching it all unfold on your lunch period like an MMA fight). you never sought to make him a softer, more well-rounded student, nor did you ask him to ever open himself up to you.

but he did, and despite the time passed be still preened his vulnerability to you like an open wound seeking care. 

“i missed you, y/n,” megumi said suddenly. 

“those jujutsu tech kids can’t replace me, huh?”

he smiled, shaking his head. “it’s not even close.”

the roof of the highschool peaked over the trees ahead. 

“i missed you too, ‘gumi.” a question laid on the tip of your tongue, and you quickly swallowed it before it could tumble out. “do you think… that you’ll come by again? when it's not for some school project?” 

“i’m sure i could find a reason to.”

you looked up to him, meeting his amorous gaze. it was your turn to blush, scrunching up to hide the bashful smile that threatened to take over. “you have my number, you know. it hasn’t changed.”

megumi nodded. “yeah, things have been… busy, for a while now. it’s hard to get away.”

the two of you closed in on the school’s entrance, still tiptoeing the line of hand-holding. megumi faced you fully now, silent, and blocking the sun’s rays as he stared down at you with his eyes full of adoration. he looked at you like he did on graduation day– a heavy cloud of fear hanging above him, pouring down the terrifying thought he would never see you again.

“call me and tell me all about it, yeah?” 

he smirked. “i will.”

he always clung to darker clothes and aesthetics, but you thought he looked best in the sunlight. his dark hair was coated with a navy luster, similar to that of his eyes. you could see his reddening cheeks better, when there wasn’t any shade to hide them.

“thanks for walking me back,” you said, your gaze flickering around his face, soaking in his appearance while still in front of you. he had already changed so much since the last time you saw him.

“it’s not a problem, i’m happy to spend time with you.” megumi paused, reaching for the door handle with a pit in his stomach growing. “i hope i didn’t make you late.”

you smiled. “i think i’ll be okay.” 

a beat of silence passed, and your face twisted into one of concentration as you stared him down. a small sigh left your lips, one of surrender as you settled on your decision. he registered the shift in your demeanor and he narrowed his eyebrows as he observed.

you grabbed the lapel of his uniform suddenly and tugged him downward to connect his lips with yours. the initial impact softened when he registered his surroundings and relaxed, molding against your grasp and sliding his hands over the curve of your waist. relief washed over you and you ran your fingers over the nape of his neck. he paused briefly, to catch your reaction as you regained your breathing, and then nudged his nose against your cheek before kissing you again.

megumi’s breathing was quick, excitement drumming through his body as he focused on you, and only you. he never had the luxury of anticipating this, expecting such affection from you was reckless and selfish despite all the times he’d thought of it. here you were, before him, unknowingly giving in to his delicate fantasies.

you pulled away, breathless as you met his eyes. his smile was gentle, expression refrained while his admiration poured into his steel grip on you, keeping you close.

“call me, okay?” you let out a winded laugh, brushing your thumb against his flushed cheek.

megumi nodded, swallowing the desperation that clawed his throat. you stepped away, and he ached for your warmth on his skin again. he was still reeling from the interaction, helplessly watching with an emptiness in his hands as you slipped out of his grasp and opened the door for yourself. 

you disappeared, and he was left alone with the resounding click of the door. 

bonus 

“y/n! oh, they grow up so fast.” gojo cradled nitta’s phone in his hand with a wobbly lip, wiping a theatrical tear from his cheek. a fuming fushiguro was pictured with all his focus aimed towards his friends, with you awkwardly smiling at his side, completely ignorant to nitta’s rapid clicking. gojo swiped through the photos quickly, watching megumi’s mouth snap open and closed over and over. he sighed longingly, “the one who got away.” 

nobara leaned forward on her crossed legs, tensely gripping the loungeroom couch. “i knew they had history, fushiguro was totally defensive over her.”

beside her, yuji was perched on the armrest with his eyes blown wide– bearing resemblance to a gargoyle. “yeah, he got all clammy and weird. i’ve never seen him like that before.”

“well,” gojo set the phone down on the coffee table, for all to see. “megumi can be a little rough around the edges, but he’s got his moments.”

“so, what’s she really like? was she shoving people in lockers like fushiguro? i bet they were some sort of sick power couple, she seems like she’s got a dark side.”

their teacher smirked, leaning back in the armchair as he listened to their conspiracies. ‘sick power couple’ was a quite generous interpretation of your and megumi’s younger days– gojo recalled the awkward preteens you were, bumping into each other and melting into a flushed state during study nights (strictly stated by megumi not to be referred to as dates). gojo never, ever helped such situations, often making them worse with a shove or teasing comment at the boy’s expense. 

“ha! i doubt it, she was way too nice to us.”

you were moreso a bystander to megumi’s antics, sometimes a cheerleader. but it was still like you to snap, or slap, him back to his senses whenever he got all ‘high and mighty’ like some ‘reactionary douchebag’ –stated in your own eloquence. gojo remembered the times you’d unlock the front door and throw it open with one hand, dragging a frustrated megumi whose physical bruises mirrored the ones on his ego. you’d throw him to the nearest chair and welcome yourself to the apartment’s amenities while he wallowed in silence, both of you waiting for the air to settle and ignoring the presence of his guardian and his amused expression.

“man, fushiguro must be pretty bummed right now.”

the loungeroom door swung open abruptly, the door handle cementing itself in the drywall. megumi presented himself in his rage, his cursed energy fiercely blazing around him and crackling at his fingertips. his expression was dark, eyes immediately drawn to the center coffee table with nitta’s own slideshow presentation of yet another humiliating moment for him. 

nobara and yuji were struck with fear, paling in solidarity with the wallpaper. nitta quivered behind them, crouching.

gojo let out a low whistle. “someone’s going through it. don’t tell me she left you on read.”

#fushiguro megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro fic #reader x megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen megumi #spleen writes #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi x reader fluff #megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen

[endlessthxxghts]

Ch1: New Beginnings

teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k

Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.

Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of reader’s outfit (no size descriptions). Tío Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). “Author Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings” because it may result in spoilers (but there’s smut here…).

A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm🩶 to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx

series masterlist || main masterlist || updates blog

August 2024

“Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?” Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned. 

The school year hasn’t started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! she’d tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?

“Oh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and that’s actually why I asked you to come in,” she states. “Are you aware of how smart that girl is?”

Frankie can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, she’s always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,” he beams. 

“Oh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,” Mrs. Adams says genuinely. “So much so that I actually think she shouldn’t be attending here anymore,” the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements. 

Frankie’s eyebrows twist in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. She’s one of our brightest. But,” she sighs. “She is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. I’d go as far as to say she’s a prodigy.”

“Oh,” Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesn’t know where she’s getting at. He tells her as much. 

“What I’m trying to say is- Elena isn’t getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate she’s moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public school—at least here—cannot provide her with that.”

Frankie has always known his daughter’s natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic she’s really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhausted—because they worked on a topic she’s really good at. It’s too repetitive for her, but he wasn’t sure what other options he had. 

Frankie takes a moment to think. “Even if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately don’t have right now,” he says with a heavy breath. 

Mrs. Adams’ smile grows ten times bigger. “Mr. Morales-”

“Frankie, please,” he corrects. 

“Frankie, there’s a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but I’ve spoken to the Director of Admissions. There’s a waitlist, and barely any get admitted—and it’s by semester, so you’ll have to keep up with re-enrolling her—but I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.”

Frankie sits in Mrs. Adams’ office, utterly stunned. He’s sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. “I- I don’t know what to say…” Frankie trails off. 

“I know it’s a big step,” the teacher comforts. “But think about it.” She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. “Here’s the director’s card. I’ll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.” 

Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities won’t be so rare for her as she gets older. That’s all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person. 

So why does he feel so nervous? He’s dealt with change before, and he’s dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life could’ve been on the line—but nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all he’s ever known. It’s been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. It’s 12 o’ clock right now—recess time—but he wouldn’t doubt she’s propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert. 

“She’ll be escorted here in a few minutes,” the front desk lady tells him. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Frankie says, resting his back against the wall. 

A few minutes pass and the office’s door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughter’s giggles, an excited aura filling the room. “¡Papi!” she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach. 

“¡Mija!” he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. “Wanna go get dessert?”

Her eyes light up like a million stars. “Please!!” she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankie’s grasp. 

Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driver’s seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. “Brownie sundae spot or-”

“BROWNIE!” Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. “Okay, mija, brownie spot it is.”

Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elena’s wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. “Ay, tranquilo, tranquilo,” relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elena’s little head.

Today’s milestone, however, is much bigger than any they’ve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena. 

“Papi,” she calls. “Are we celebrating something?” 

Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. “We might be, mi amorcito.”

“Hm?” She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad. 

Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. “Hey, guys! The usual?” 

Elena answers first, very excitedly. “YES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!” She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy. 

“What’s the occasion?” The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie. 

“We’ll see after I talk with this little lady,” Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elena’s little cheek. 

The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter. 

“So,” Frankie states. 

“So,” his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free. 

“Do you know how smart you are, mija?” Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what she’s gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.

“Duh, papi!” She says, a troublemaking giggle she’s had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner. 

“Alright, little smart ah-” Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. “You little smarty pants,” he corrects himself. 

“Daddy, were you about to call me a smartass?” She scolds. 

His cheeks flush a bright red. “You spend too much time with Tío Santi,” he deadpans. 

She hums, nodding her head triumphantly. 

“Anyway,” he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. “You’re so smart, mija, I was wondering… well, I was wondering if you feel like you’re actually learning?”

“What do you mean, papi?”

“Well, everything you’ve been learning so far is super easy for you, isn’t it?” 

She ponders for a moment. “Yeah, it’s easy,” she confirms. 

“Does it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?”

“A little, yeah,” she says a little softer. “But it’s okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me I’m her assistant,” she giggles with pride. 

“You’re too good, amor,” he chuckles. “But what if I told you,” he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. “A really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?”

Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. “Me?! Really?!”

“Yes, baby!” Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. “And what if I told you they want you to go to their school?” Elena’s hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. “Would you wanna go, mi niña inteligente (my smart girl)?”

“So… I’ll learn harder things?” She asks.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks she’s having anxiety. 

It’s not. “Then…” She settles for her usual diva answer. “Duh, papi!” She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey she’s about to embark on. 

She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her father’s arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. “Thank you!!” She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair. 

The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Morales’ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.

For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous. 

You’ve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons you’d give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all. 

So, now that you’re starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your life’s passion—yeah, you’re pretty nervous. 

This school was created by the state’s local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldn’t care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system. 

However, with time and careful planning, the program’s ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needs—regardless of their prodigal status—for little to no cost. It’s definitely an ambitious goal, but it’s one you’re absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.

You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principal—Ms. Sabatino—caught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasn’t even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could. 

It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their “semester pregame,” they called it. 

“You have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!” Ms. Smith—Linda, she corrected you—exclaimed. 

“Powerhouse?!” You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?

“Yeah, you powerhouse, you!” Mr. White—Blake—chimes in. “You’re all anyone is talking about! Honestly, we’ve been dying to meet you.”

And lastly, Ms. Marshall—Leah—joins in. “You’re a real legend, ya know that, don’t you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,” she smirks, referring to their school’s mascot, the Rebels. 

You flush under all their praise. “I really don’t know what you guys are talking about,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for our kiddos, like any of us would.” A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things you’ve done, but for the amazing students you’ve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isn’t a better feeling. 

The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think you’re just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement don’t escape your super-teacher hearing. 

Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. “Are you going to come though? We really would love to have you. We’ve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,” she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face. 

“I’ll have you know-” he starts. “Oh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!” Ms. Smith cuts him off. 

You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not me…but I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?”

“YAAASSSSSS!” Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. She’s definitely the life of the party with these three. “We have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. It’s a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but it’s all a part of the fun,” she says with a wink. 

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. “Perfect! I can’t wait,” you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. It’s been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what you’ve been needing.

“Oh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!” Santi tells you, giving Frankie’s shoulder a punch of encouragement.

Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santi’s hand away with a scowl. “No.”

“Fish,” Santi reasons. “The Millers haven’t seen you in a hot minute since my ‘Lena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and ‘Lena!”

“We already celebrated,” Frankie corrects. “At the diner.” 

“An adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

Frankie sighs. Santi’s right. “Who would watch Elena?”

“I already spoke with Yavonna last night,” Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice. 

“Let me talk to Elena-”

“Fish, she’ll be fine-”

Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. “Let me talk to Elena,” he repeats, “and let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I don’t do anything without running it through with her first.” 

Santi’s face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, “Fuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!”

Frankie grimaces. “Pope, cállate, por favor,” shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night. 

“Tell ‘Lena Tío Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,” Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face. 

“No,” Frankie says. Then he shuts the door. 

Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. “Baby, tío Santi wishes you good night!”

Elena comes running down the stairs. “He left already?!”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo,” Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead. 

“It’s okay,” she says. “You kicked him out again, didn’t you, daddy?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I did,” Frankie stutters. There’s no lying to this little Einstein. 

“Hey, baby?” Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. “Do you remember Yavonna? Tío Santi’s girlfriend?”

Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Yeah!”

“Well, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girls’ night?” He asks. 

Elena’s smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mmm, tío Santi is nice and all, but he’s too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,” he retorts. “So, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.” 

“Oh, okay,” Elena says as she giggles. “Have fun, papi!”

“I will, baby, thank you,” he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.

It’s Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. He’s nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involved—in both the child and the guardian’s life.

He’ll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isn’t like he wasn’t involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like he’s also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart. 

He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal today—Ms. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they aren’t charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers. 

He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again. 

“Mr. Morales?” A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. “Ms. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.” 

“Thank you,” he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering. 

“Mr. Morales! Come in, come in!” Ms. Sabatino waves him over. “Sit, make yourself comfortable! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you as well, ma’am, and please, just Frankie is good,” he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor. 

“Okay then, Frankie,” she smiles. “Let’s see here,” she says, squinting to her computer. “Do you have the enrollment forms?”

“Yes, right here,” Frankie sets the folder in front of her. 

“Perfect, thank you,” she replies. “Here, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elena’s profile.” 

Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. “While we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?” she tries to joke, sensing Frankie’s anxiety. 

Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. “Well, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,” he starts. 

“The cost is no issue, I promise you,” she reassures. But it’s not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, he’ll be damned if he comes off as a freeloader—even though absolutely no one here views him that way. 

“No, I understand, but it’s more so that-” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m a single dad. I’m the one catering for both Elena and I. We’re not very well off, but we’re also not entirely poor. Just enough to…not really afford this place,” he shakes his head, he’s rambling. “Anyway- sorry. What I’m trying to say is, money isn’t an issue, but I can’t just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isn’t in a monetary sense.” 

This piques the principal’s interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that it’s done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. “I respect it,” she finally states. “A lot.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, not really sure how to respond to that. 

Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort. 

“I have one idea,” she offers. 

Frankie’s ears perch up. “Yeah? Anything,” he replies.

“It’s a lot to ask of a parent,” she says. “And I know you’re eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if you’d like to say no, then say no, that’s all I ask.”

“Deal,” Frankie tells her.

“So, last semester, the head of our PTA—the Parent-Teacher Association—quit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly… anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, it’s a lot, but you’ll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.” 

Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. It’s evident in the shocked look on his face. 

“Like I said, I don’t need an answer right now-”

“What about the existing PTA parents?” Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this. 

“I appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would… to be frank… be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell you’re nervous, but I can also tell you’re ambitious. I can tell you’d do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but they’re more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kids’ experiences.”

If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parents’ priorities are. He’s absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Are you sure?”

He isn't, he thinks. “Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh- okay, then,” Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. “Read this over- they’re just some little rules we’ve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. We’ve never had any issues before…besides last semester… but yeah, it’s just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if you’d like to quit.” 

He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. He’s definitely not cut out for this. “Thank you, Ms. Sabatino. I’ll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,” Frankie says as he exits.

What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car. 

The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. He’ll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.

Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day. 

You’re in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone. 

[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!

[5:48PM Leah] I’ve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get here… 

[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, I’m not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.

[5:49PM Leah] Blake, I’m kidding, get your ass over here. 

[5:49PM Blake] I’ve been outside, smartass. 

[5:53PM Leah] Linda, we’re on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you don’t want a ride? 

[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, I’m sure! I’m still picking out what I’m gonna wear to be honest. I think I’m gonna be a few minutes late. 

[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?

[5:57PM Leah] 👀

[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: 👀

[5:58PM] Umm. No. I can’t make myself look nice for my friends? 

[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no. 

[5:59PM] Wow. 

[5:59PM] Okay, I’ve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit. 

You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you don’t necessarily have to get all dressed up. And it’s not like you’re getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then it’s been about an hour since you’ve got some… but human interaction? Yeah, no. 

You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since it’s in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts. 

It’s 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so you’re not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive. 

When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time. 

With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night you’re going to have. One that makes you think maybe you should’ve caught a ride. 

The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. “Tequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!” She sings, already on her fourth to your first. 

The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.

Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. It’s just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar. 

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage. 

Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. She’s content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and that’s all that matters. “We’ve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,” she explains. “I don’t know what I’d do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,” she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since you’re watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away. 

It’s your turn for your eyes to gloss up. “That’s really beautiful,” you tell her. 

Leah laughs a little. “Yeah. But don’t tell them though. I’ll have to strangle you,” she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think there’s truth behind that. 

You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, “Promise,” you respond with a smirk. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want?”

“What are you getting?”

“Was honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. I’m tapped out.”

“Me too,” she grins. “I’ll get what you get.”

Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. “What can I get you, doll?”

“Two beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?” you ask a little shyly. 

The bartender gives you a sweet smile. “I got you, honey.”

She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. “I gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,” you say, already whipping around and making your way back. 

In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling it’s okay. 

Two minutes, she mouths. 

You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, you’re a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch. 

As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and you’re quick to jump. “Hey, watch it!” You yell over the noise. 

A large hand grabs onto the guy’s shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesn’t stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. “Benny, watch where you’re fucking going, man!”

“Oh, shit,” the tall, lean man turns to you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. “Can I… Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?” He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the man—Benny, apparently—away from you and to the other end where their other friends are. “Pendejo,” he mutters under his breath towards his friend. 

You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, it’s like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to. 

“Hi- uh, I’m- I’m Frankie- look, I’m real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,” he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on. 

As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this man—at Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too. 

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie,” you manage as you look up at him. He’s still standing. You’re sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, he’s tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand. 

Little do you know, he’s also fighting the same battle as you. 

“Can I get you a drink, Frankie?” you ask. Usually you’d never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more. 

“Uh,” you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he can’t hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink? 

He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. “I’ll have a beer,” he tells you. 

“Coming right up,” you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartender’s attention. 

You text Leah a quick I’m sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything. 

The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesn’t accept. 

Frankie is really nice. Really handsome…and sexy…but you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice. 

As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, you’ve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that he’s a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. You’ve been witness to it a few times tonight—a hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drink—and it does nothing to calm your core’s ache. 

The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.

“Oh-!” you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours. 

Although quite nervous, Frankie’s confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hair’s width away. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Been dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,” you admit.

You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where he’s looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp. 

He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldn’t care less right now. 

Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again. 

Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.

His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses. 

Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you don’t even know it yet. 

He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink. 

You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you. 

“Fuck, querida,” he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip. 

“Frankie,” you beg. For what, you’re not entirely sure. 

“Can I taste you?” He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action. 

Fuck. “Ye- yeah- yeah, okay,” you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, it’s a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it. 

Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. “Are- are you sure? I don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable,” he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re quick to grab onto him. 

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-” you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. “Yes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,” you say, tone a little needy on the backend. “You just took me by surprise, is all,” you whisper. 

“Surprise?” He can’t stop his curiosity. 

“I- I don’t know, guys don’t usually like-”

You don’t get to finish your statement before Frankie’s face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. “So what you’re saying is,” he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you weren’t propped up on the counter, you’d be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. “This pretty little thing hasn’t been treated properly in a long, long time?” He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety. 

“How do you even know she’s pretty?” You quip back, matching his energy. 

“Oh, I know she’s fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,” he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him. 

“You flatter me,” you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break. 

Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. “What’d I say?” He mutters to himself. “Fucking gorgeous,” he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine. 

Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. “Fucking delicious, too.” 

“Jesus, shit-” you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.

He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations. 

He continues his tease until he hears you huff. You’re getting impatient. “Baby, please,” you whine. “Please don’t tease,” you pout at him then, and whether it’s real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face? 

Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again. 

Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.

“Oh, Frankie, yes-” you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue. 

You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you. 

“I’m c-close, Frankie- fuck- I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum- oh my God-” you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm. 

The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and you’re so spaced out you don’t even realize Frankie’s been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankie’s fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankie’s doing. 

Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. “That good, huh?” 

“Finger lickin’, baby,” he says lazily. 

He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. “Frankie-” you start. 

“Yes, yes I did,” he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask. 

He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place. 

“You okay?” He checks in. 

You melt under his sweet attention. “Never better,” you beam. 

You two stand there in each other’s presence before you finally pipe up. “So how do you wanna…” you trail off. 

“You wanna head out first? I got a bit of a… mess to clean up anyway,” he says, gesturing to himself. 

“Oh! Right, yeah. Okay,” you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasn’t just inside of you. “I’ll see you out there,” you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out. 

You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?! 

You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and it’s really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway. 

Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than you’ve ever experienced. 

“There you are, silly!! Where’d you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear it’s been like an hour!!!” 

You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say it’s okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool. 

“Hey, sorry!” You scream over the music. “Just needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,” you lie. You’re too overstimulated—in many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet panties—to handle more ridicule from these three. “I think I’m gonna head home now, though, I’m kind of tired,” you tell her. “Where’s Blake and Leah?” 

She drags you back to your guys’ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease. 

When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later. 

Except, he doesn’t.

Monday, August 19th. 

Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area. 

No luck. Of course. 

Frankie’s Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping. 

“¿Qué pasa, papi?” What’s wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs. 

“Estoy bien, mi amorcito,” I’m okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head. 

Elena didn’t bug further, but he knew she would soon. 

Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged. 

Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, he’s suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him. 

He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye: 

Ground Rules

He flips to the page. 

He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are. 

His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he can’t help but bite back a laugh. 

No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions. 

He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. “AHH! DADDY, DADDY, LET’S GO,” she’s jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix. 

“Alright, alright, mi vida (my life), I’m coming,” Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back. 

Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elena’s level. “Good morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?” 

“YES-” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Yes! Yes, that’s me!” She says, a decibel calmer. 

Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Elena, I’m Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!” She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly. 

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles. 

Ms. Sabatino rises. “Mr. Morales, it’s great to see you again!” He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. “May I walk you both to her class? I’d like to introduce you to her new teacher,” she directs the question towards both of them. 

Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankie’s very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesn’t even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. “Oh, papi, please will you come?” 

“Of course, baby,” he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory. 

“Great!” Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. “Right this way.”

On the way to Elena’s new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, she’s the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but she’s practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. She’s a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesn’t really like that label much. 

When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena. 

Frankie really doesn’t know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elena’s voice is a muffled daddy, what’s wrong? throughout his panicked mind. 

What’s wrong? He thinks. 

What’s wrong is that Elena’s new teacher is you. 

And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.

Fuck. 

I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!🥹🥹 I poured everything I have into this story, and I’ve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.

Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!🫶

Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!

#endless thoughts fics #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedrostories #one shot #fic #smut fic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut #francisco morales #frankie morales fluff #fic: new beginnings

[luveline]

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 

"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 

"That's alright. Take your time." 

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 

"What's his first?" he asks. 

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 

"I could say the same thing." 

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N, 

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 

Gratefully yours, 

Aaron Hotchner. 

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[winkwonkwankwenk]

hey girlie it’s me asking for that football player choso x nerd reader smut who offers to tutor him😉

I had so many ideas for this but in the end, I wanted to write him as a whimpering mess corrupted by reader!!

☆*: .｡.Summary .｡.:*☆

Choso is a star athlete who's still virgin- and has no clue about sex. Not a shocker that he's also failing anatomy, which is where you come in to help. What better way to teach him than hands-on ;)

Word count: 1.8k

SFW/NSFW

Pairing: Dumb Jock!Choso x Tutor!Reader

He’s not what you expected.

Choso sits beside you with a quiet nod, fidgeting with his fingers as you pull out a textbook. The two of you had met through your teacher, both of you in the Anatomy class your college offered. You were the one of the students with the highest grade, he was the student with the lowest. You had actually been given an academic accomplishment aware the day you met him in your teacher’s office. He was just as quiet then as he is now, eyes down as if they weren’t up when he was on the field a few days before. What he lacked in book smarts he made up for during games. Thanks to him, your college was going to the College Cup. Maybe if you brought that up you could get him to talk.

“So…congrats.”

“On?” His voice is a rasp, barely above a whisper. 

“On all the wins, I've gone to a few games. You’re incredible.” You smile softly and his cheeks flush pink. Cute, you didn’t expect someone so popular to be so bashful. 

“T-Thank you.” He sinks in his seat a little, eyes on his lap. He’s used to compliments but they sound different coming from you. “Congrats to you too, on the award I mean. You’re really smart, I wish I was.”

“Thanks, and you are.” You put your hands on his, squeezing them gently. “Sometimes your brain just needs a bit of help.”

“Then I’m glad I have someone like you to help me.” Damn that smile, it’s like his face is as bright as the sun. 

He’s a fast learner, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. You catch him staring at them but before you can ask, he jerks his red face away. Weird. He’s acting like he’s never been this close to a girl before, like a first grader on valentines day. You laugh quietly at the thought, there’s no way you’re the first girl he’s been around. He’s handsome, small eyes and thin dark brows with jet black hair cascading down his shoulders. There’s a mark on his face that drags across his nose, maybe a scar from football. You try not to look at it much, but it’s the only blemish you’ve found on his face. 

“Y/N, what’s a clit?” He curiously looks at you, pointing to words on the page. How’d he even get that far?! You zone out for five seconds and he’s read through ten chapters! “It seems kind of useless.”

“Useless? It’s literally the best thing to play-” Your face burns and you quickly close your mouth. “Let’s just flip back the chapter before, okay?”

“Is it something weird? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just surprised-” You move your hands from his to your lap, “-You’ve never…?”

“Never what?” God, he can’t even finish the sentence. Did his parents never give him the talk? He was the same age as you, he had to at least know something but the way he looked at you was so curious and oblivious. 

“Choso, are you a virgin?” Normally, you’d think the question was too pervasive but how else were you supposed to ask it?!

“What’s a virgin?”

“Have you ever had sex?” Your voice is a whisper, the library quiet enough for it to seem like a shout. “Hooked up with someone?”

“No, I thought people only did that to make babies.” He says it so casually, shrugging a little. “Why else would someone do that?”

“For fun.”

“...Fun?”

Choso’s never thought of it that way, he’s never really had to. Unlike his peers, when puberty hit him he didn’t run to release it. He kept to himself, focused on sports like his father wanted and grades like his mother pleaded. He had always been well behaved, not an ounce of rebellion in him. College had introduced him to new things like Alcohol and porn, but he wasn’t that into any of it honestly. 

“Is something wrong with me?” His shoulders slump, tears in his eyes. His football friends always talked about doing it but he hadn’t really thought much about it until now. “Am I supposed to have done it?”

“No! It’s up to you when you’re ready to!” You scramble to comfort him, cupping his face and smiling. “You’re the one who gets to decide. I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s totally normal to not have done it yet.”

“How do I know when I’m ready to do it?” He says in between sniffles. 

“Well, when you like and trust someone enough I guess.” You shrug, “I don’t even really remember my first time. I was pretty young and the guy was one of my first boyfriends. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal…” He repeats.

You finish studying a few hours later, leaving the library side by side. He’s quiet, eyebrows furrowed and focused on the sidewalk. You give him a gentle nudge and he jumps, apologizing frantically for zoning out. Cute, you didn’t mean to call him it out loud but it slipped out. His face reddens and he thanks you, hands in his pockets as his thoughts churn. Whenever he’s ready? With someone he likes? What if he’s just curious? Is it okay to do it then?

“Y/N?”

“What’s up?” You glance up from your phone. 

“Can we…do it?”

And that was how he ended up where he is now, whimpering and sobbing under you as you slam down on his bare shaft. Tight, so tight, it feels like there’s a rubber-band around his cock. Your hands are planted down on his chest, groping it as you suck up every sound that dares to leave his mouth. He’s drooling, head thrown back as his fingers dig into your thighs. Soft, it’s like squeezing a pillow. Weightless, he feels like he’s floating, mind numb as you bounce up and down on his cock. He’s never felt so hot, like he’s going to melt away when you clench around him. He cries out, cock jolting inside of you before spurting a sticky load. You don’t stop, you don’t give him time to recover. His neck is covered in dark red and purple marks left by your mouth, barely any of his pale skin left untouched. Your glasses hang from the bridge of your nose, button-up only halfway buttoned, leaving your bra and breasts exposed. Your room is humid, air thick with the scent of sex. 

“What would your parents think, hm?” You taunt, tongue tracing the scar on his nose as he shudders. “Their precious little son, filling up a woman he met only a few hours ago.” 

“Y/N, ‘m sorry, I‘m sorry~” His voice is a choked sob, eyes rolled back as he cums again. So he likes being degraded? You can do that. “Please, please, please~”

“Please what? You wanted to ‘do it’ remember?” You slowly stop, sliding his cock out until his tip is nestled in your cunt. “You came crawling to my apartment tonight in nothing but gray sweats and a tight compression shirt like you didn’t think I’d get turned on from that.”

“Y/N~” He cries out when you sit back down, sending his cock back into your warmth. You’re kissing him again, devouring his lips with yours as you grind. His legs are starting to feel numb, vision blurring as his mind fogs. How many times has he came now? At least ten.

“C’mon Choso, don’t go stupid on me.” You coo as if you aren’t crushing his cock between your walls, “Does it really feel that good?”

“Mhm~ good…more…” He can’t think straight, can barely speak. He lets out a sweet little strangled scream when you pin his hands above his head and speed up, “Anngh~!”

You’ve been trying to ignore your building orgasm but if he keeps making those cute sounds you’re going to lose it. His body is so honest, hips arching to meet yours and tongue hanging from his mouth whenever you lean down. God, those eyes are so pretty rolled back. Sweat glistens on his muscles, especially his plump chest and those pink inverted nipples. You want to swallow him whole, suck his soul from his body. You’ll do that next, you’ll take his cock into your mouth and slurp it until it sprays clear shots. Your filthy thoughts are interrupted by your orgasm, pleasure popping in every nerve when his cock hits your spot. You moan into his mouth, his eyes closing as another load spills into you.

“Choso?” You poke him, panting. Your eyes widen when you realize he’s passed out, “Choso!”

“Wet…’s wet…” Is all he manages to mumble, in and out of consciousness. 

You laugh breathlessly, slowly getting up to get a washcloth. The cocktail of your fluids string between the two of you, his milky semen dripping from your pussy. You stumble into the bathroom, legs shaking and knees sore. He stretched you out good, thick cock rubbed your walls smooth. You hop in the shower, washing away the stench of sex before going back to your bedroom. He’s still fast asleep, snoring softly and body sticky. You gently shake him away and smirk when his snores turn into low grumbles. 

“Hurts…” He winces when you pull him up, his arm on your shoulder as you lead him to the shower.

Your hands are delicate now, wiping him down as he sleeps in the tub. His eyelashes flutter every so often, eyes peeking open as if he thinks you’ll leave him. You kiss his forehead, whispering praises before helping him back to bed. He lays his head on your lap, nose between your thighs. You gasp when he parts them, hazy eyes looking up at you hungrily. 

“C-Choso, what are you- ohmygod~!”

“Wan’ taste.” Is all he says before slurping between your folds. Your scent had woken him and his cock up. 

Your hands tangle in his wet hair as he gulps down every drop from your cunt. His tongue is merciless, digging inside of you until his nose is buried into your pussy. You moan, rocking against his face. You push his head down, back arching when his mouth moves to your clit. 

“You said this was the best to play with…” He flicks his tongue against it and you muffle your cry with your palms. 

You’re sweet, sticking to his tongue. He sucks your clit while looking up at you so innocently, as if he doesn’t have a face full of pussy. How the hell was a virgin eating you out so expertly? He twisted and curled his tongue inside of you, grunting when you tugged his hair. Good, so damn good, fuck you just want to push him back to ride his face. A low buzz fills your fuzzy mind and before you know it you’re unraveling in front of him, pussy twitching and spasming around his mouth as you arch into his ministrations. You slump against your bed frame, thighs trembling as you come down from your orgasm. 

“Y/N, I learned a lot tonight.” He whispers with a soft smile, kissing your clit. “Thank you.”

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#wink writes 💗 #choso jjk #choso jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk fanfic #choso #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #kamo choso #choso kamo smut #chousou #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk

[un-lawliet]

Hellooo hope ur having a good day! Can I request the first years founding out about Y/N being Gojo’s girlfriend and Megumi is not surprised at all LOL they’re literally his parents. <333

(THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST I ADORE THIS TROUPE THANK YOU THANK YOU i hope this is ok :)))) )

“Not So Secret.”

— In which the first years want to find out what is distracting their teacher, and Megumi is fed up.

“This is stupid.”

“Shut up Megumi!”

It was stupid.

It was stupid that Nobara and Yuji were peering through a crack in the door using each-other to balance as they both held awkward positions to see, fixated on catching the conversation that their teacher was having over the phone, in what Itadori coined as the “Secret Mission”.

“This is the fourth time he’s stopped teaching to answer his phone.” Yuji whispers, raising his finger to rest on his chin, his eyebrows scrunched in conviction.

“Exactly!” Nobara adds, whipping her head to look at Megumi eyes narrowed, crossing her arms, “It’s weird.”

They should be training, their weapons left abandoned in the training yard. It was Nobara’s idea to follow the white haired sorcerer, and Yuji had dragged Megumi along, despite his complaints, claiming, with a look of acute determination, that this was far, far more important than any training.

Satoru Gojo was an enigma to even those closest to him, his actions seemingly devoid of a will or want for understanding. His borderline erratic nature is what made this new repeated routine of ditching the first years for a something so benign as a phone call so inanely baffling.

“S’not that weird.” Megumi mumbled, because it wasn’t, because despite his constant affirmation that he was forced into a family with Gojo, he knew the man, and he knew who Gojo was calling.

The way the man’s entire face lit up when he glanced at his ringing phone, how he practically skipped out of the classroom without a second glance to his precious students.

His glee was palpable.

Gojo was on the phone with you…obviously.

“Itadori move I can’t see!”

“Huh? Aren’t we supposed to be listening???”

“Yes! But I can’t hear anything over your stupid breath in my ear, back up!”

“But then how am I gonna hear!?”

They were being way too loud, Gojo could absolutely sense them, even without his six eyes, and Megumi couldn’t understand why their teacher was pretending not to notice.

—“Maybe if you stopped talking we would actually hear something!” Itadori huffed.

“You stop talking!”

“No, I think I’ll talk plenty.”

“Megumi.” Nobara hissed, both her and Yuji now staring at him, “Take this idiot away please.”

“Both of you are being loud y’know?” Megumi deadpanned.

And they both glared at him indignantly.

“Well at least we’re trying!” Itadori frowned, “You’re standing so far back, there’s no way you can hear from there.”

Megumi could easily tell them, at this point he was considering it just to get them to stop this God awful attempt to spy.

But honestly? It was too warm outside to train and Megumi the was not in the mood to sweat today, and with Gojo distracted he could guarantee at least ten more minutes where he could relax.

When he had first moved in with Gojo, he remembers how the man paced around his apartment, practicing ways in which to tell you he’d basically adopted two children, on a random evening without telling you first.

Megumi recalls how Tsumiki had giggled, a sweet smile of her face, and asked if you were his girlfriend to which Gojo began to gush about you.

Your hair, your eyes, the way you laughed at his jokes, Gojo had shared every little detail about you, only freezing when Megumi insisted, “So, she isn’t your girlfriend then?”

“It’s complicated, you wouldn’t get it.” Gojo had glared, hands on his hips as he muttered “Brat” under his breath.

And Megumi held back a grin.

Now, almost ten years later, you had practically become a Mother to Megumi, doting on him and Tsumiki without question.

You were a teacher in Jujitsu Tech, just like Gojo, only you took the second year students under your wing, and you adored teaching them.

Every mission you came back from, you came with pretty bows to match Tsumikis hair, and when Megumi started using his technique you were his biggest cheerleader, bringing his demon dogs treats, and patting his head with shiny eyes, weeping about how proud you were of him.

And at some point the white haired idiot managed to finally grasp your affections, Megumi doesn’t know how or when but he does remember over hearing Gojos obnoxious laugh after he kissed you when he assumed nobody else was home.

Brazenly declaring his love for you in which you bashfully reciprocated, leaning into him with a giggle.

“You’re laughing.” Gojo had said, “I told you a joke and you’re laughing, I love you.”

And Megumi ignored how he had to hold back a smile, refusing to acknowledge the warm feeling of family that resonated in his chest.

He was good at playing oblivious.

“How is someone so loud so hard to hear?!” Nobara was back to pressing her ear against the door, ignoring the two boys. “I mean seriously it’s like he’s not even there!”

He probably wasn’t, Megumi thinks, Gojo likes to mess with people, he would never give up this opportunity to tease his students.

Nobara was facing them again, her eyes crinkled with mischief, before she’s gesturing to Yuji.

“Itadori, come here.”

“What? Didn’t you just say to back up?”

…

“Come here.”

“Ok.”

Megumi watched, amused as Yuji made his way back to her, oblivious to the devilish look in her eye.

“Now what? I can’t hear anything either you know, so what do you-”

Itadori yelped as Nobara pushed him through the door, a charming “Of you go!” on her lips.

Both she and Megumi jumped to each side of the door, shielding themselves from the eyes of anyone who was in the room as Itadori groaned.

“The hell Kugisaki? You could have just asked me to go in, I would have done it!” He pouted, rubbing his head.

Nobara rolled her eyes, “Is he there you idiot?”

“Is who- Wait huh???”

Nobara moved to look into the room, trailing Megumi behind her, curiosity getting the better of her.

The room was empty, a door leading to the back of the school hanging open, Itadori stood, his mouth open as he pointed furiously.

“Is that Y/N?” He gasped, his eyes shining with disbelief.

And Nobara glanced over, her eyes widening as she watched you kiss Gojo on the cheek, the pair of you holding hands as Gojo ate an ice cream that you must have brought back with you.

“Y/N and Gojo? Gojo and Y/N?” Nobara and Yuji were speechless.

“Megumi look, look!” Itadori grabbed Megumis shoulder and yet again, Megumi found himself being dragged against his will.

Gojo was looking at you, a ridiculous smile painting his features, as you fussed over him, readjusting his blindfold, so you could see his pretty eyes.

“There you are.” You sighed, your voice light as he winked at you.

“How was the mission hm? You’re back early.” Gojo mused, a hand reaching up to pinch your cheek, pulling it slightly, “Someone’s getting stronger.”

“Would you rather I stayed away longer?” You teased, swatting his hand away.

“Nah, how would I get ice cream during a hard days work without you.” And you gasped, your eyes flitting over his face.

“I completely forgot! You’re teaching I’m sorry oh my God-”

You’re cut off by his laughter, leaning down to whisper cheekily in your ear, “Look behind you baby.”

And you did, your eyes widening as you see Gojo’s first year class poorly hiding, observing the pair of you.

“Ah.” You sighed, then your eyes widened “Wait Gumi’s there too?”

Gojo pulled you back to look at him, nodding “He’s really opening up huh? I knew he would~”

You nod, opening your mouth to reply, before you were suddenly interrupted by Nobara and Itadori’s horrified exclamation;

“YOU KNEW??”

And as you heard Megumi’s groan, trying to silence his stupid friends, you and Gojo both laughed, leaning into each other, enjoying the company.

the end.

masterlist here <3

(A/N : i love writing nobara, she’s lit my fave character after Gojo i think- BUT also i love hana i hate that people hate her because she’s a “nobara replacement” she ISNT leave her alone!!!)

ANYWAY THANK U FOR THE REQUEST I HOPE THIS IS WAS OK :))

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk leaks #gojo satoru x reader #jjk manga spoilers #jjk nobara #yuji itadori #jujutsu megumi #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk itadori #jjk megumi

[garfunklefield]

So cute!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Fem!reader/Megumi Fushiguro Warnings: AGED UP MEGUMIIIII, fluff, opposites attract (golden retriever reader x black cat Megumi), emo Megumi, girly reader, a very extroverted and dramatic reader be warned, awkward confession, sexual tension, public sex, exhibitionism, grinding, over the clothes grinding, dry humping, thigh riding Megumi, male whimpering, sub Megumi Word count: 3218 DESC: You confess to Megumi

I rushed this shhhhhhh

ASKS and REQUESTS are open!

You were never going to be compatible, at least that’s what everyone told you. You were loud and annoying, laughing and exclaiming your opinion every chance you got. Bubblegum pink shirts and jean miniskirts. Next to you in your college math class was the quiet and stoic Megumi Fushiguro. Wore all black, MCR shirts, and nail polish… he was emo and you were far from it. You never thought you’d ever speak to him, let alone ask him on a date that he’d accept. 

You weren’t compatible. He was cold and unwavering, staring at you through every loud joke you spoke. He never laughed. He never smiled. All he did was look around like he was bored out of his mind. Then you’d say something he found utterly annoying and his signature scowl appeared, shining your way to make you feel bad. So you weren’t sure why you started to develop feelings for him. It started slowly; Your heart would flutter when you got paired up for projects, and then you found yourself scooting your chair a bit closer to him, wearing nicer perfume, and even dressing in tighter clothing. You never thought Megumi looked in your direction like that. He’d give you a once over when you asked him how your outfit was, then he’d say it was fine. Why couldn’t he look at you like that? All you wanted was Megumi to look at you and go “Oh wow”, was that too much to ask?? 

You found yourself pouting beside him on your shared desk, waiting for class to end. Your lips were painted with a gloss that was a light shade of pink that contrasted your skin tone, pink blush atop your cheeks, and your hair pulled back into a style that took you an hour. But no!!! He didn’t even glance in your direction. Was it never going to happen? Was it not destined to be?

Then you heard him clear his throat. It was a small noise so you didn’t turn around. But then he said your name. You turned your head too eagerly and watched his eyes narrow at your curious expression, “Why are you doing that?” 

Your expression morphed into a frown at that, “Doing what?” 

“That,” he motioned to the now scowl on your face, “You’ve been pouting all period. What’s with that.” He blinked a few times and frowned as well, giving you a quick once-over. His eyes only trailed to your shirt, not looking at the skirt that you had also chosen for this class period, “And you’re dressed up.” 

You groaned and turned away dramatically, raising a hand, “Well excuse me if I want to look nice, Megumi! I’m just upset someone hasn’t acknowledged me is all,” your voice garnered a pointed edge, raising in volume. Of course, it did; You weren’t exactly known for being the most quiet student. A few of your peers turned their heads to watch as you over-escalated the situation, as you always did.

“You wanted me to acknowledge you,” he asked blankly, so much it didn’t sound like a question but an accusation. 

“Maybe I want you to look!” You said too loudly, causing the teacher to give you both a warning glance. A few students snickered behind you and a pang of embarrassment filled your cheeks in a warm blush. Now. You were confessing now. You didn’t want to confess now! But the cards were turning that way and you couldn’t stop yourself from the words that tumbled out, “Maybe I like you, Megumi,” you continued, hushing yourself to a lower tone. But it still, as always, was loud. You could feel the eyes of every student burning holes into your skin, as they laughed and judged at the hole you dug yourself in.

Megumi blinked a few times, staring at you blankly. There was no emotion on his face aside from his typical look. Great. He was going to reject you, you knew it. He had every right too! You both weren’t compatible. It was a fact. He was too quiet for you and you were too loud for him. It would never work. And you clearly overstepped. Maybe public confessions weren’t his thing! God, if only you could hide away forever, it would do you some good.

“You…” he trailed off, “Like me? Tch…” he tilted his head to the side, a look of irritation crossing his face. He was irritated that you had a crush on him? God you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. This wasn’t at all how you planned this day to go. You didn’t want anyone else to see or know your shame. You needed to go home and eat a tub of ice cream at this rate!

“Just get it over with,” you grumbled and raised your hand, attempting to exit this classroom, “May I go to the bathroom?” The teacher nodded and you got up, grabbing your stuff as you did so. You weren’t coming back. Not after this embarrassing moment. You were never coming back to class. You could transfer, right? Transfer schools and then skip town! Megumi watched you get up, taking in your outfit fully. Your blouse was tight and baby pink, unbuttoned a bit to show some cleavage. It was so tight if you stretched the wrong way you could see between the buttons. Then your skirt was purple, with several layers of frills. Each frill was a different shade. You had borrowed it from your mother and never returned it. 

He glared in your direction, a bigger frown pulling at his lips, “So you confess then leave?” 

“You’re rejecting me, of course I’m leaving!” You turned around, motioning with your free hand to him, “I’m embarrassed, Megumi. This is totally humiliating.”

“I… wasn’t rejecting you,” he looked to the side, promptly avoiding eye contact. He … wasn’t? That wasn’t possible. He didn’t say yes! He looked completely annoyed when you told him! Was that not the case? Was he just bad at expressing his own emotions? Was he secretly feeling the same way? Or was this a whole “I wasn’t rejecting you yet” situation? 

“You- you weren’t?” You blinked a few times then groaned, turning around and exiting the classroom dramatically. Your coat dragged behind you, looped around your right arm. You didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the entire class, although you practically already did. It was too embarrassing! The least you could do for yourself was to walk away and hope he wouldn’t follow. 

But secretly you hoped he would. You hoped he’d follow and you could continue this conversation like mature adults, even if it meant humiliating yourself even more in front of the guy you liked.

You closed the door and began to walk down the hallway. It was quiet, aside from your footsteps echoing. It was quiet, making your eyes wander around the hall. Tile floors with long columns rising and touching the ceiling. Cream-colored walls and rows and rows of awards. You were never the sporty type, so you didn’t have any awards on the wall. But you knew Megumi’s friend, Yuji, had like seven in several random sports. You then heard a door open and close behind you. It was a ways away and there were several other classrooms around you, so you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t bother to turn around. 

But you heard footsteps follow you, as they got closer they became louder. Then you felt someone grab you from behind. Large arms grabbed your torso like anchors and braced you against a lankier body. A face rested against your shoulder blade, with hair brushing against your exposed skin. Your cheeks heated up at the sensation and you knew exactly who it was. Was this his way of saying he liked you back? Was this his way of confessing? In some strange way, it was kind of endearing.

Your eyes fluttered closed and a hand brushed against the two clasped around your stomach, tapping a few times, “Megumi… let go,” you mumbled, trying your best to keep your composure. 

“No,” he retorted, inhaling gently. His voice was quieter than yours, barely above a whisper, and raspy. His warmth radiated from his breath and his cheeks, which were against your skin. 

“I want to talk face to face,” a frown pulled at your bottom lip, which jutted out in a glossy pout. 

“Too bad,” he exhaled, “Let me do this. It’s better than a sappy confession, you know.” 

“Are you saying my confession was sappy?” You found yourself snapping back before a smile appeared against your frown, “…Does this mean you’re confessing?” 

Megumi’s body went rigid and you felt him slowly let go. He took a bit to stand up, relishing in your scent and touch before he cleared his throat, “There's a possibility,” he spoke, watching you turn around with the same irritated expression, “That our feelings are mutual.” 

You gasped and clasped your hands together, “I knew it!” 

“No you didn’t,” he shook his head. 

“Yeah no I didn’t,” you shrugged, “So you like me Megumi?” You grinned, letting go of your hands to twirl a loose strand of hair around your fingers. He watched with a different kind of gaze, something almost soft, as you continued, “What is it about me? Is it my eyes? My hair? My outfits?” 

Dark blue eyes looked from your hand to your face, “I like your character, not your body or face.” 

Ouch. So is he saying he doesn’t find you attractive at all? Your eyes widened and you let out a laugh, “Oh so the outfits did nothing…” You looked down in a newfound embarrassment at your outfit. Then at your body. 

None of it? He didn’t like any of it? You could understand if he wasn’t a fashionable guy, but that wasn’t the case. Megumi was emo in every sense of the word. His hair was black and spiky, his eyes covered in a bit of smudged eyeliner, and his outfits were always on point. Maybe a mix between scene and emo… He wore studded belts with black shirts and bits of color popping out. So did he just not like your outfits at all? Were you not as fashionable as you thought?

“Well… I do like the outfits. The whole pink thing is … cute. But it’s not exactly why I like you. You have…” a fat ass? “…unshakable character.” Close enough. 

“Unshakable character? So you actually like my personality? Even though we’re, like, the total opposite?” You blinked a few times then nodded, “I agree. Your personality is hot.” 

Megumi didn’t expect to hear his personality or really any facet about him being hot. Since his cheeks turned a pale shade of pink. He stared at you with wider eyes than yours previously, then turned on his heel, pulling up the collar of his jacket to hide his embarrassment, “Not what I meant,” he grumbled, looking away to the side. Whenever he was flustered, you soon noticed, he just turned to look annoyed or aggravated. Rather than really embarrassed or flustered. It was cute, now that you realized what it was. So then previously, whenever you’d do or say things and he got irritated, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all!!! You felt yourself becoming a bit elated at hearing that. He liked you. He really liked you! Either that or you were incredibly annoying. 

“So what now?” You asked after a few moments of silence, letting go of your strand of hair to put your hands behind your back. 

Megumi looked back at you and dropped his jacket collar, his eyes turning back to their regular neutral state, “What… what now?” 

“Like… are we dating?” You tilted your head to the side, “I think we should. I’ve been waiting so long, and you’ve probably been waiting, I dunno, a while. It makes sense,” you explained, beginning to tilt your body side to side. The air was different now. You wanted to break the distance and kiss him, or anything that would destroy this new tension you felt in your chest. You didn’t want to hold back and keep a gap in between you two, but you did for the sake of being in public. You weren’t sure if Megumi felt the same tension, although you saw his hand flex and twitch beside him. 

He nodded, “I’m fine with that.” You couldn’t help yourself, as a squeal escaped your open mouth and your arms wrapped around his waist. You pulled him into a quick and tight hug. But not tight enough to satiate the tension building in your body. Megumi looked down at you with wide eyes, but wide eyes filled with something different. You never expected him to feel sexual attraction, if you were honest. He never seemed like he expressed that kind of interest. So it surprised you when you hugged him and you felt a tent press against your lower abdomen. 

Megumi Fushiguro never considered himself a pervert until he met you. Never in his life had he ever considered touching himself in public until you started wearing those tight skirts, tight jeans, and tight tops. He could see the fat of your breasts protruding out from your bra, poking through your shirt. Then the fat of your thighs, coming out from your tight jean skirts. How you’d try to pull them down but it would be no use because he could still see the plumpness of your ass. 

It was a miracle you didn’t get him hard when he hugged you from behind. But you hadn’t noticed the raging hard-on after the tension began to build. You sensed it, he could see from how you looked around anxiously. Then you hugged him. You had to hug him. He tensed when his erect penis brushed against your lower body, perfectly molding against you. What he wouldn’t give to grab your ass and grind it against him. He didn’t need to be inside of you, if he could just feel you it would be enough.

“Um…” He tried to begin but his voice came out as a raspy whisper, “I’m sorry.” Were the only words he could muster out after all that silence. You pulled back for a moment and stared up at him with wide eyes. You looked so good looking up at him, he just wanted to ruin your perfect face with his cum.

“Megumi…” You spoke delicately, which completely contrasted with your typical volume. One of your hands trailed from his waist to feel around his jeans, “You’re hard huh?” A teasing edge found your voice as you pressed two fingers against the bulge in between his legs. He looked up to the ceiling for a moment, inhaling sharply and making sure he wasn’t too loud. Being noisy after only one touch? Pathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking back down at you. But you weren’t looking at him. You were staring at the boner. He wished so badly he could look into your head to figure out what you were thinking. Soon you began to walk and walk, pushing him into a corner of the hallway. Megumi was frozen, a warm blush completely covering his face. Was this really happening? In public? God the thought of almost being caught was turning him on more than he wanted to admit. 

“W…wait,” he whimpered, putting two hands on your hips as you spread open his legs, “What are you doing?” Megumi bit his lip, your plush leg coming in between his own. Then you started some magical dance, grinding against him in a way that perfectly rubbed his cock in his jeans. He let out a breathy gasp and leaned his head against the corner of the walls.

“Shh,” you murmured, leaning forward to rest your head against his collarbone. Two hands snaked around his neck and pulled him close. Your thigh was the only thing giving him any amount of friction and god he loved it. Megumi found himself grinding back into your legs, even if you couldn’t feel it he didn’t care. He needed to cum and he needed it to be with you. 

The pleasure was building between his legs and it was getting harder and harder to keep quiet. He bit down on his lip again and whined faintly into your ear, panting like a dog from just this simple interaction. It was a weird warmth; Like he had been humping a heating pad. But he loved it. He loved it so much. He ground his hips against your chubby thigh and pulled you in tighter, just to feel your warmth. 

“H-hah… f-f..fuck,” Megumi groaned, pressing his head into the crook of your shoulder and neck. He inhaled sharply before he felt himself completely unravel. The warmth got too intense and he felt himself spill into his pants. Hot cum covered his underwear as he kept grinding, whimpering, and moaning into your skin just to get his high. He rode his high on your thigh like a pathetic little bitch, begging mindlessly as he did so. 

It was so hot. You two just did something sexual in public. You know how risky that is?? And you didn’t get caught! He could feel himself becoming hard again just from the thought. He needed you to cum just as much as he did. One of his hands trailed from your waist, down your skirt, and into your panties. You were already wet, of course. You tensed a bit and bit your lip, grabbing onto his shoulder to steady yourself. He couldn’t tell what you were feeling but he could see the pleasure on your face as you let him rub circles around your clit. Megumi wasn’t very experienced in this field but he did what he could, kissing along your neck just to give you more sensations. He licked one area of your skin, before gently biting down. 

You gasped and pressed yourself up against him again, “M..Megumi…” You whined, resting your head back to feel the pleasure. He was working your senses, rubbing circles against your cunt in a way that made you throbbingly wet. He could feel how you lightly squelched against his palm.

“You’re so wet…” He smiled breathlessly, laughing quietly as he went back to biting the area in your neck. He wanted you to be as sensitive as he was. And he really wanted you to cum. Megumi began to speed up his fingers, massaging you with a bit of force now. It worked. You must have been aching to cum since within a few minutes you unraveled against him. You let out a tight gasp and arched your back, grinding yourself against his fingers as you came. He could feel the wetness drip onto his palm and it got him going again.

But as he went to pull his fingers out of your underwear to taste, and savor, your flavor, you both heard someone clear their throat. Megumi’s head shot up as his penis head shot down. He was staring face to face with his best friend Yuji, who was staring at the two of you with wide eyes.

“...Can I join?”

#jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #x reader smut #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi smut #megumi x you #garfunklefield writing

[little-miss-vader]

Gentle Hands

Pairing: Anakin x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Anakin doesn’t like being touched. Everybody knows they shouldn’t touch him unless it’s absolutely necessary. Until…

Word count: 6.5K

Trigger warnings: 18+ smut and drinking

A/N: Slow burn baby! It’s Clone Wars era Anakin cuz I’ve been watching Clone Wars a lot but just imagine early ROTS Anakin bc Hayden. Okay? Okay. Also we are so back. Ps, Zeltron spiced wine is an aphrodisiac. Just fyi. No relation to this piece of writing, of course.

It was a regular day. There was a soft buzz of commotion in the Jedi Temple. Nothing loud enough to annoy you but if it was gone you’d notice. Footsteps, voices speaking, the sounds of droids doing their business. It’s what normally woke you up everyday, the relative silence of the night would begin to turn into the early morning sounds of Jedi business. In all honesty, it made you feel excited to wake up. To see what new mission would be brewing, to hear the stories of the most recent expedition. The war had its effect on you and your Master but it never broke your spirit. You were proud to be who you were, to do what you do. You were even prouder to have Master Plo Koon as your teacher. He was the kindest one, at least to your knowledge. The two girls you often hung out with on your off time told you stories of how their Masters were very strict and had little to no empathy once the war had started. You deemed yourself lucky and even more so, grateful.

Your eyes watched the small skylight that was fixed to your ceiling. Being one of the older younglings, and now a Padawan, you got to move to your own living quarters in the main complex of the temple. They all had skylights and balconies whereas the younglings were bunked in big rooms in the lower levels of the temple so they would be harder to get to incase of an ambush.

You watched the thin clouds move across the bright blue sky quickly, telling you the weather was warm with a breeze. Your legs slid off the bed, your body following suit to bring you to a sitting position. The cold marble floor of your apartment was hidden by a single carpet right by your bed and your feet revelled in the feeling of the soft fibres keeping them warm.

The clock read 7:45 and you sighed. You only had 15 minutes to be up and outside before breakfast was served and with a sigh you walked on tiptoe across the cold floor into your bathroom.

With a lazy flare you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Your hair was still damp from the shower you had taken late last night instead of sleeping. You brushed out the damp curls and they turned into soft waves. You decided that was good enough before changing and heading out the door. The second you opened the door you were greeted by your Master.

“Glad to see you awake.” Plo Koon spoke with his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a half smile as you reached out a joking fist to punch his arm lightly.

“You stalking me now?” You said and the sound of your own voice speaking for the first time today shocked you. It sounded like you just woke up for sure. A small laugh was heard coming from your Master and it brought a smile to your face. “What’s the plan for today, Master?” You asked in hopes to sway him from thinking you’d slept in.

He gave you a shrug. “Only thing I’m planning is breakfast. We’ve been on the go for weeks. You and I both deserve a small break.” He said as he peered into the space behind you. It was a mess. Your hand pulled the door closed with a nervous laugh.

“I could eat.” You replied with a shrug and he turned on his heels and you followed him to the dining hall. The two of you walked until your eyes landed on a taller figure. His dark clothes immediately made him stand out as he spoke to one of the Clones, you believed his name was Rex. With a shaky breath you watched as Plo Koon walked over to him. They spoke about something and you tried to unglue your feet from where he had left you standing. When you finally began to move toward them, Anakin glanced at you. Your breath caught itself in your throat and before you could take another step he nodded to Plo Koon and walked away.

“Your staring doesn’t go unnoticed.” Your Master said simply as he walked past you and it took every ounce of will in your body to move and follow him. As you walked you could have sworn you felt a pair of eyes on you and you whipped your head around to see Anakin talking to somebody you didn’t know, his back was turned to you and his hands were folded behind his back. You rolled your eyes, kicking yourself for being stupid enough to think he’d ever look in your general direction.

It wasn’t as if you two had never spoken. You were the same age, both partaking in the same level of Jedi training under equally fantastic Jedi Masters. Although, your interactions had never exceeded anything beyond polite and courteous conversation due to being in the same room as each other.

As the years went on, he became a bit taller, his hair grew and he chopped off his Padawan braid, his shoulders got broader, and your heart started beating a little faster every time he was around. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. It wasn’t some strange feeling that came out of nowhere. It was very prominent in your head at all times, your growing attraction to the boy. It was almost more aggravating to deal with when you knew it was happening. You’d fight yourself every day on repressing the thoughts that would populate in your minds eye at the sight of him. You’d heard multiple stories of his aversion to people. He didn’t like being touched, he barely even liked talking to strangers. You’d seen somebody try to give him a side hug once after he and Obi-Wan had successfully completed an assignment and the look on his face mixed with his blunt words of rejection made you fear ever coming close enough to touch him. The idea of touching him was reserved for your fantasies now.

The day had gone achingly slow and it felt as though your brain was far away from your body. Your master allowed you to go eat breakfast with your two friends and the three of you chatted and caught up, though you didn’t retain much of what they said. You barely even spoke, assuming a listening role, too busy thinking about the eyes you had sworn you felt on you earlier.

Once you had finished eating you returned to your Master who was sat amongst other amicable Jedi. The two of you walked through the gardens while Plo Koon gave you advice and some of literature to read up on. You nodded your head and made a mental note to visit the archives and pick up whatever he was talking about. He dismissed you, having no further work to give you. It had been three days since your last mission had ended and you thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t gotten a new assignment as you made your way across the long and beautifully decorated hallways of the Jedi Temple. Your eyes scanned the art that hung between every window. You heard quick footsteps behind you and your body turned in an instant, your relief was obvious when you saw the face of your friend who had clearly been wandering around looking for something to do.

“Where are you off to?” She asked as she slowed her pace, nearing you. You met her halfway.

“Just the archives. Master Plo Koon gave me some stuff to check out.” You spoke and she rolled her eyes.

“Just once I wanna hear you say you’re doing something normal.” She laughed and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. The two of you fell into step together as you walked toward the room full of all the information a Jedi could possibly need.

“Jedi’s don’t live a very normal life.” You responded and she simply shrugged her shoulders. She was a bit erratic and always had been an unconventional person. It had always been clear she longed for a normal life but she wasn’t from a good family nor a good place, she knew she was better off here.

“Well you’re not a Jedi yet.” She nudged you gently with a small smile on her face. You turned your body to face her as you walked in front of her with a look of mocked shock on your face. Turning the corner, you began to say something snarky in response but her hand reached out to you and her eyes went wide.

“Y/N watch ou-“ She pursed her lips, cutting herself off when you felt a light thud against your back. You felt hands grip your shoulders gently and you whipped around to see who you had so carelessly walked into. You were faced with a chest at first but with a small upward tilt of your head you saw the curly hair and blue eyes you spent most days thinking about staring directly at you.

Of course it would be him.

Your embarrassment was painted over every aspect of you. Your shoulders slumped and your cheeks reddened. Until you realized that there was no glare, no scowl. He looked down at you with what seemed like a hint of a smile. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest as you backed away from his touch. His hands seemed to attempt to linger on your shoulders before dropping to his sides. With a deep breath you began to apologize and he looked between you and your friend.

“Didn’t see you there, my fault.” He said gently as he slipped by the two of you. “Have a nice evening.” He finished. You looked back at your friend and you couldn’t imagine your facial features were much different from hers. With wide eyes and slightly parted lips you both shook your heads as he walked away.

“Sorry!” You finally blurted out behind him, causing your eyes to squeeze shut. You wished you could curl up inside yourself and die when all you heard in response was his distant chuckle. The two of you watched as he entered a room and closed the door behind him and the second he was gone, your friend began to cackle.

“Sorry.” She mimicked as you stared at her. “Man. I was expecting him to tell you right off.” She continued to speak through her laughs. You didn’t say anything. You shoulders were burning where his hands had been and your stomach felt like it had been tied into knots. Another deep breath eased you into being able to move again.

“He’s so weird.” You said, brushing it off in an attempt to neutralize her. It worked and you desperately tried to change the subject by asking her about herself. The two of you walked and she rambled on about some mission she had just come back from until you got to the archives. When you were done downloading everything onto a small device, you turned to her. “I have to go back to Plo Koon. I forgot to ask him something. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You lied, desperately trying to be alone. She nodded and said something about seeing you tomorrow, you weren’t listening, before leaving you to go find something else to do.

You rushed to your apartment in the Temple, finally letting out a deep sigh when you heard the door of your safe space close behind you. You tossed the small device that held all the information you needed on the small table in the middle of the apartment before sitting on the couch beside it. You felt as though there wasn’t enough air in the apartment for you to breathe in, which made no sense, but you opened your balcony door anyways.

The soft sounds of the fountain in the garden and the bustling of people below you didn’t seem to clear your head. You sighed, feeling as if you might finally be going insane. The thoughts in your head were clambering over one another in order to be heard as you paced the main room. You ran a hand through your hair and tightened your fist at your scalp with another weary sigh. Without a second thought you began to drop all your clothing off your body, leaving them behind you like a small trail to the bathroom. You adjusted the shower to be on the coldest setting and stared at the water, thinking of how water never looked cold or hot; it always just looked like water. Before you let yourself think your way out of it, you stepped in and a loud yelp escaped your mouth.

“Shit!” You yelled as the freezing water unrelentingly pelted against your skin. You cursed under your breath as if you were mad at the water for not realizing you were uncomfortable but you pressed your eyes shut and took heavy, pursed lipped breaths. When you began to feel as if you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand reached out to the faucet and you turned it to a higher heat setting. The sudden heat hitting your body made you feel like you could drop to the ground so you did. You let yourself sit on the floor of the shower and warm up. Your breathing became normal and your heart rate slowed. The thoughts got quieter but they were still there. The feeling of the hot water on your shoulders mimicked a feeling you’d felt earlier and that’s when you stood back up and turned the water off completely.

With legs that felt like jello you dried off and pushed yourself toward your closet and found something to lay down in. You’d sleep early tonight and forget about it all in the morning, you thought. Soft linen pants and an equally soft shirt adorned your frame and you decided a drink wouldn’t kill you. You settled into a spot on your couch with crossed legs, a large glass of wine on the table, and a salty snack you’d been waiting to try in your lap. Your hand reached for the small remote next to you and you watched the screen in front of you flicker to life at the press of a button. You let whatever was on the Holo play, not bothering to find something you enjoy. You just wanted something to distract you.

Hours passed and your eyes were yet to get heavy. There was no level of relaxation that could make you go to bed. You glanced at the clock on the wall and chewed at a piece of skin that had released its hold on your lip. You lifted the glass to your lips and found it to be empty. The bottle was on the table, empty as well. You rolled your eyes and let a breath out from your closed lips causing them to flutter and make a funny noise. You felt seemingly alright for somebody who’d polished a bottle of Zeltron spiced wine, you thought. With a swift motion you stood up and wobbled like a newborn deer.

You might have slightly misread your sobriety level.

It took a few steps to steady yourself but you did it. Your hand reached for your hooded robe on the hook by the front door and you slipped on your boots. The pairing looked silly with your pyjamas and you decided to tie up your robe in a small effort to hide it.

You opened your door slowly and peered around the dimly lit hallways before stepping out completely and closing the door behind you, locking it twice to make sure you did it. Your footsteps seemed so loud no matter how quietly you tried to walk, they echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings. It wasn’t a crime to be out at night but as a Padawan your Master should always know what you’re doing, and Plo Koon was definitely in the dark on your actions.

You wandered through the hallways and noticed how vastly different they looked without the natural light pouring through the ceiling high windows. The paintings almost had an eerie look about them and the dim lighting had the opposite of a warm effect on you. You ignored your paranoia, it was just the wars sick effect on you. You began to hum to clear your thoughts, a tune you remember from your childhood. You didn’t remember much other than your life at the Temple but you held on dearly to the small bits you remembered from before.

Without you even realizing, the hallway you had wandered into seemed to have broken light fixtures and it was completely dark. You slowed your steps and reached into the Force for a brief bit of direction. You felt something in front of you and you felt your heart begin to race. You froze in place and squeezed your eyes shut when you felt it get closer. A small thump made a yelp escape your lips as hands gripped your shoulders tightly. One hand left your shoulders and your eyes widened in fear, your mouth dropped open but no sound escaped.

The loud hum of a lightsaber igniting filled the air just as quickly as the blue light that illuminated the face in front of you. Your look of horror didn’t wash away when you saw who it was.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing sulking around in the dark?” Anakin spoke in a hushed yet aggressive tone. Your mouth opened and closed but you couldn’t get any words to fall through. He raised an eyebrow, his shoulders dropped and he looked more relaxed now that he knew you were harmless. It seemed he had the same fear as you did, walking through the dark halls. “Have you been drinking?” He asked, his hand never left your shoulder and you turned your head slowly to look at it before looking at him again with a nod.

He laughed. Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” You said, your voice barely audible.

“Nothing. Just the second time today you’ve walked directly into me.” He mused.

“I wasn’t walking.” You shrugged.

“All the same.” He shrugged back, his hand dropped from your shoulder and he made his way next to you, his hand now found a spot on your lower back. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

You shook your head. “I left my room for a reason.”

“And what would that be?” His voice had never been this quiet before, it made you feel safe.

“You ask a lot of questions. Why are you sulking around in the dark?” You built up the courage to speak to him like a normal person. Your drunken mind didn’t even notice that he hadn’t once let his hand fall away from your body since you had bumped into each other.

“I was going to the gardens to think.” He answered and it shocked you, you almost thought he wouldn’t. You looked at him for a moment before shrugging again, giving your head a tilt.

“I was too.” You said with all the certainty you could muster, which wasn’t much. He smiled again, it was rare you saw him laugh or smile and in the last minute or so, you’d seen both. It made your stomach feel warm and it wasn’t just the wines fault.

“Right. Let’s go then.” He played along, guiding you down the dark hallway with his lightsaber. He disengaged it when the exit of the Temple came into your vision. The door was pushed open by him and the hand he had on the small of your back, ushered you out in front of him. You realized his level of touchiness when he rushed over after you to place his hand back on you.

Your heart felt like it was making its way up your throat and you couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. Something in your stomach began to feel warm and your head felt so far from your body you thought you could faint. You didn’t want him to stop touching you so when you both got to a small spot in the garden, surrounded by bushes, you pulled him over by his arm and sat on the soft grass. He looked down at you with the ends of his lips curled and sat crossed-legged across from you. You mimicked his position and inched forward so your knees were touching his. Every single place that was touched by him went fire hot. You’d never felt like this. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or him, either way you would live like this forever if you could.

When he didn’t protest to your knees touching his, you looked at him. “Thought you didn’t like being touched.” Your words came out slightly slurred but you tried your best to hide it by articulating a little better.

“That is circumstantial, Y/N.” He responded, eyeing you. It seemed as though he was trying to read you. You felt judged but not in a bad way. You allowed him to look, even sitting up a bit straighter. Your head tilted again at his response. Your hand absent mindedly fiddled with the grass under you, twirling the blades between your fingers.

“To what?” You asked gently, feeling a quiet in your mind that you hadn’t felt since he had touched you outside the Archives. His eyes watched your hands play with the grass when he spoke.

“You.” He didn’t look at you. Was he nervous or lying? You couldn’t tell and it caused a small laugh to escape your lips. He finally looked at you, his puzzled features were desperately scanning you to figure why you would laugh at him.

“Me? You want me to touch you?” You laughed again. You wouldn’t be surprised if in a few moments you woke up in a cold sweat on your couch. Your nerves were gone, and he was here with you. He was touching you, he was looking into your eyes. It had to be a dream.

“What if I do?” He leaned back on his hands, his long torso extended in the most delicious way and you didn’t bother trying to disguise your staring. There was an intensity in the air that made it feel okay to be like this. You felt like you were heating up more and more by the second and you wondered if he felt the same. You watched his chest, it moved faster than a normal persons would, signalling that was breathing heavily.

“We did a mission together once.” He spoke again, snapping you out of your trance. You looked at him, your head shook as a reaction. That was two years ago, when you were both 20. You went on a mission with three Jedi and three Padawans including yourself, Anakin, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan. They thought a big mission like that would do better with a larger group.

“I’m aware.” You said nonchalantly. You remembered it but you were shocked that he did too.

“You helped carry me back onto the ship. You got me water and dressed the cut I got on my face.” His hand touched the scar over his eye instinctively as he spoke. You looked away, following your arm down to where your hand was gripping the grass gently.

“It was nothing.” You shrugged.

“It was protocol,” He started, a shrug of his own mimicked yours. “But it felt so intimate. I felt like electricity had run through me every time you touched me. Every time you apologized for accidentally hurting me I felt my heartbeat in my ears.” He looked at you and you prayed he didn’t see you holding your breath. You ripped one piece of grass out of the ground and raised it to tie it into several small knots, the same knots you felt in your stomach. There was no use in pretending his words didn’t affect you the way they did.

“You can always tell me to stop if you want me to shut up.” He whispered as his hand reached to yours, taking the blade of grass from you and replacing it with his own hands.

“There’s no way you’re doing this right now.” Your drunken words came out a little louder than you wanted and you laughed as a response at your own inability to self regulate. You slipped your hands out of his and crossed them over your chest.

“What? You think you’re the only one here capable of feeling things?” He smirked, a joking tone laced in his voice. Your eyes widened and you looked at him.

“You don’t act like it. You’ve never spoken to me for more than a few minutes. You found me drunk and alone at night and suddenly you felt electricity all those months ago? Your heartbeat in your ears?” You laughed. Sober you wouldn’t dare speak to anybody like this. You were kind and curt no matter what the scenario. It felt like you had been possessed by an over-confident, aggressive, and unserious version of yourself. You didn’t mind it when you saw the look on his face. He had been joking but your serious response clearly wasn’t what he had been pining for.

“Would you rather I follow you around like a lost puppy? Or try to talk to you every chance I get? Why would I make my feelings obvious, Y/N?” He asked, his voice was still gentle and it made your arms tingle with the feeling of goosebumps raising.

“Maybe. Maybe I do. I spent years watching you, praying you’d let your eyes linger for long enough to see how highly I feel about you.” Your words probably didn’t make sense, but you felt they did. He got it, you could tell by the way his eyebrows pushed themselves apart from their furrowed position and his eyes adopted a more understanding emotion.

“Why dwell on me being an idiot and not focus on the fact that if you were anybody else you’d have been left alone for the night?” He asked and you rolled your eyes. Was he really that arrogant?

“Because you being an ‘idiot’ made me feel like a bigger idiot and a bit of a creep.” You said bluntly and he laughed.

“If I told you how I felt about you, I’d be the creep.” He chuckled and you raised your chin in curiosity.

“Do tell.” You mused, the serious air leaving almost immediately as leaned back on your own hands with a grin.

“No.” He shook his head with a small grin finding his features as well.

“Please? I’ll tell you if you tell me.” You tried to barter and even though you felt like a young, naive, school girl you enjoyed the aura of the interaction.

“Fine.” He sat up, his knees raised and he draped his arms over them and you followed, sitting in the same position. Your faces were a few feet away on account of how long his legs were but you stared at each other for a moment, stifling giddy laughs and smiles. “At first, I thought you were the most talented Jedi I’d ever seen. You’re smart too. Dedicated.” He started and you smiled.

“I know all of that, Anakin. Get to the good stuff.” You gestured your hand in the air as if saying ‘hurry up’ and he rolled his eyes.

“Patience.” He made a mockingly serious face before going on with his grand revelation. “I like that you’re confident in yourself. Everything I’ve heard about your missions was always positive, the trust your Master has in you is incredible.” He cleared his throat. He was beating around the bush and he knew it. You groaned a bit and he held his hand up. “But you’re also beautiful. I can always tell who’s laughing when I hear you. Even if I’m not looking. I know it’s you. It’s very distinct. If the suns raised every morning just to see your face and head your laugh it wouldn’t surprise me. I can always feel when you’re around, your presence alone is so loud… Warm and.. Inviting. I always think about you and whenever I catch it I beat myself right the hell up.” He shrugged.

You stared at him. That wasn’t what you expected. Not from a man with his reputation. You expected something baseline and boring. Even a bit sexual. He is a man after all but he shocked you for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

“Why would you beat yourself up?” You asked, skillfully dodging all the soft and mushy stuff he had mentioned. He shrugged.

“Obvious reasons, Y/N.” He said simply and you nodded. “Your turn.” He smiled and you internally screamed at yourself for promising this to him. It was only fair but Maker, it was embarrassing.

“I hate to be the person who says something as easy as ‘I feel the same’…” You trailed off and he leaned forward, like he was eager to hear what you had to say. It made you feel special. “But I do. I might even feel more intensely than you.” You took a deep breath to help yourself get it over with. “I admire you more than you could know. I’ve never known anybody who’s been through so many adversaries and came over them to be as amazing as you. I think of you every day and since earlier, it’s gotten almost unbearable to deal with. I think about you during the day and I dream of you at night. I know it’s not right but I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. Every aspect of you.”

You didn’t get very far in your confession before Anakin pushed both of your legs down and pulled you toward him. You almost floated toward him and into his lap. Your eyes stared at him wildly as his hand touched the side of your cheek, stroking it gently. “Anakin..” You started and he shook his head.

“Please let me try this. It’s all I can ever think about.” He whispered and you didn’t object. His nose touched yours and your eyes fluttered shut. His breath against your lips made some kind of switch inside of you flip and you pushed your lips against his as your hands grabbed at the fabric on his back before moving up to the nape of his hair. He moaned against you and you let out a heavy breath between your lips. The sound alone made you push him down on his back and you clambered over him.

He held you tightly to his body and rolled the two of you over so he would be over you. Through heavy handed kisses he whispered something but you couldn’t make it out.

“Hm?” You asked, pulling away. He stared at you with an intensity you’d never seen before and it made your blood feel like lava in your veins. You anticipated his response.

“Keep this up and I’m going to have to take some extreme measures.” His voice was gravelly and his breath hit your face with every syllable. You felt your breathing become erratic and sharp. You stared up at him and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes almost closed at the feeling. You pulled him back toward you, engaging him in another longing kiss. You moaned when his tongue slipped between your lips. Your hips moved up toward his instinctually and he pushed them back down with a sound that almost sounded like a growl.

“Don’t.” He whispered.

“Why not?” You responded. The wine had taken its natural affect on you and at this point, having him was all you wanted.

“I want it to be special.” He said as he pulled away from you. He had a level of restraint that he was struggling to maintain and you could feel it.

“You’ll have plenty of do-overs.” You mumbled before pulling him back to you and he gave in. He untied your robe and looked down at your pyjamas that were hiding underneath and a small chuckle escaped him before he began to pull away the clothing on your body. He left your panties on before he pulled his own shirt off. His pants stayed on and you didn’t care. You could stare at his body forever, so you stared with wide and lustful eyes. It was far better than you could ever have imagined and it made you squeeze your legs together.

His hand traced down from your cheek to your chin, across your collarbone and down the side of your body. He hit a spot where you were a bit sensitive and you jerked at the ticklish feeling. He smiled, tracing his finger up and down a few times to see your reaction. You whined in response and he didn’t waste anytime in giving you what you wanted.

His hand felt ginormous between your legs and you sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers danced over your panties. He felt how wet you were and a smirk washed over his face. “I’m not even gonna say it.” He laughed gently as he increased the pressure of his movements against you.

“Say what?” You said, your words mixed into the sound of a moan.

“How wet you are and how much I like it.” He leaned down and began to pepper kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he slipped your underwear to one side and ran his fingers through your folds. Your back arched and you spread your legs a bit more for him and he smiled against your skin. “Good girl.” He whispered, causing a small whimper to leave you.

Anakin’s fingers worked your throbbing heat gently, starting with one pumping in and out of you at an alarmingly slow pace. You wriggled under him and he used his free hand to hold you still. “Patience.” He repeated his words from earlier. You tried to keep still while he added a second finger and increased his pace, curling them ever so gently. Moans fell from your lips and you tried your best to silence them. You focused on staring up at the stars above you, not even caring that the two of you were doing this outdoors, hidden between a few bushes.

After what seemed like a decade, he pulled his fingers out of you and pressed them against your clit. Your own excitement was all he needed for lubricant. He rubbed it slowly while sucking gently at your neck. “Anakin.” You moaned and he hummed as a response. “Please don’t stop.” You said desperately.

“I like it when you beg.” He whispered as he moved his fingers in quick circular motions against your clit. You felt your entire body jerk up toward him at the new feeling. You’d done this yourself multiple times and it had never felt as good as it did right now. Your eyes squeezed shut as your felt yourself get closer and closer to euphoria. Your hands gripped at his hair, pulling and tugging it, causing a moan to leave his mouth and you felt the feeling come barreling at you like a freight train. You felt your body begin to vibrate and all it took was a few words from him to tip you over the edge. “Cum for me.” He whispered and a yelp left your mouth as you released every bit of tension in your body. You grinded against his fingers and he slowed his movements. You rode it out until you were able to open your eyes. When you did, you saw him staring down at you and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry..” You started and he shook his head.

“Please don’t be. I’ve thought about doing that for months.” He smiled and you returned the expression. Your embarrassment left as quickly as it came and you began to reach for his pants. His hand rested over yours. “Have you ever had sex?” He asked and you shook your head reluctantly. He sighed. “I can’t do that right now. I won’t make that something that happens when you’re drunk, let alone in a field outside the Temple.” He finished and you sighed. A nod followed.

“Okay..” You smiled and he gently pulled your shirt back over your head and began to raise your pants to your waist again. You lifted your hips to help him as he got you dressed before he put his own shirt back on. He grabbed your robe and tied it around you the same way you had done earlier before brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You’re beautiful.” He said and you pushed at his chest lightly. He grasped at his chest as if he’d been shot and fell over onto his back. You laughed at him and he laughed with you. It was nice seeing this side of him, it made him seem like he was just a normal boy. You liked feeling normal.

“I want to take you out. Somewhere nice.” He sat up, his hand rested on your leg. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Like a date? As if we have the time.” You laughed gently.

“We both have time, while the council decides on what we need to do about this stupid war.” He shrugged and you looked at him, resting your hand over his on your leg.

“Fine. I’ll go on a date with you.” You nodded.

“Don’t sound too excited.” He joked as he stood up, pulling you up with him.

“I’ll try not to.” You smiled at him and your cheeks went bright red when he laced his fingers within your own, holding your hand as he walked you back through the dark hallways to your apartment.

When you finally arrived at your door, you unlocked it and he stepped in with you. You turned back to look at him with confusion.

“I couldn’t find my key. That’s why I was wandering around earlier.” He said sheepishly and you laughed harder than you had in years. It took a few moments for you to compose yourself.

“Oh that’s why you said and did all that? You just needed a place to sleep?” You joked and he rolled his eyes.

“I’d have found a cleaner apartment to do so if that was the case.” He joked back and you giggled.

“You can stay here.” You smiled and showed him the bathroom and the room, even though your apartment was small and you didn’t really need to. He made his way to your couch and you scoffed. “You just made me cum in a field and you’re trying to sleep on my couch? Go to the bed.” You said as you walked into the bathroom and you heard him chuckle behind you.

“You got a point.” He said as he sat on the edge of your bed. He pulled his shirt off and folded it neatly on the floor beside him, ignoring the fact that half your clothes were strewn across the room carelessly. He could fix that later.

The two of you laid down and he held you close as you fell into a deep sleep. You’d never slept that well before and neither had he.

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars #anakin x fem reader #anakin #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin smut #anakin star wars #star wars smut #anakin x you #anakin x reader #sw anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x y/n #padawan anakin #star wars prequels #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #star wars x reader

[uravitsy]

‘YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL’ SATORU GOJO

ACT ONE.

summary. gojo visits your grave once a year, reflecting on the limited time he had with you while going through the stages of grief. ☆

warnings. angst, sad!gojo, fem!reader! gojo x you, grief, established relationship, some smut if you squint, bittersweet ending

a/n. this is a short story i wrote over the summer, i wanted to dabble into the idea of gojo not being able to fully process his grief without the help of his students. it is a bit sad though.

ACT TWO : ̗̀➛ ACT THREE : ̗̀➛ FINALE

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

"Does Gojo-sensei seem…different today?" Itadori asked absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair while balancing a pencil on his nose. He was doing everything else but the work he was supposed to finish before class ended. His two close friends, Megumi and Nobara, spared him a quick glance, as if debating whether to answer his ridiculous question.

"When is that nutjob ever okay?" Nobara bounced back another question, making Itadori stop balancing himself on his chair to think for once. The pencil he had on his face clattered onto the ground. "If anything, he's more extra than he was yesterday."

"Exactly," Itadori frowned, the invisible lightbulb above his head continuing to flicker as he thought long and hard about what Gojo could be upset about. He knew it was a stretch, and he himself wasn't too good at reading emotions, but he was sure something was off—from the way Gojo's smile seemed wider to the way his laughs went on for a second too long. "What do you think, Megumi?"

The black-haired boy stopped moving his pencil across the paper. His face remained stoic as the two beside him turned to look in his direction, anticipating an answer from him.

In short, Megumi did know why Gojo seemed off today, and it was all because of his vague memory of you.

He was a clueless child back then, but he felt it. He felt the love you and Gojo shared, something he had seen before between his own mother and father. It was strong, beautiful, like a song that only you and Gojo knew the lyrics to. It was a dance—a slow burn into the spotlight of a world you two created.

He admired it. He admired you and the person you helped Gojo become.

And though your memory was beautiful, it was also tragic. Megumi did mourn you since he remembered bits and pieces of you, but he was sure Gojo mourned you the most. Especially since today was the anniversary of your death. For as long as he's known Gojo, he knew that this one day out of the year was the time when he'd crack more jokes, tease him more, and laugh the loudest—all to mask his pain.

And he couldn't help but think it's because Gojo never properly grieved for you.

"He's the same as usual," Megumi lied. It wasn't their place to know, nor was it his. Everyone had their secrets and the stuff they keep to themselves. Who were they to pry into his business? "You guys should just drop it."

And with that, he went back to his assignment, ignoring the gawking stares from both of his friends.

"Well, now I'm even more curious," Itadori pouted, resting his chin on his hand as he looked out the window just in time to see Gojo's back as he skipped off campus. "He's literally leaving in the middle of the day!"

"Itadori—" Megumi started but got interrupted by his friends' loud voices.

"What?!" Nobara pushed Itadori away from the window so she could look. A sudden spark of curiosity consumed her as she cracked a mischievous grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We should follow him!" they both said at the same time as they rushed out of the classroom with such speed they left papers flying behind them.

Megumi could only sigh. His peers were likely to get in trouble and drag him into their mess somehow. It never fails. He thought for a moment about how he would benefit from following them to make sure they didn't get caught leaving school grounds without a teacher, but he came up with nothing. He figured he should take his own advice and mind his own business, let those two knuckleheads do whatever they want and suffer the consequences for it.

They could potentially run into dangerous curses, dangerous people, or dangerous people controlling dangerous curses… and then suffer grave injuries. You know what? Maybe he should follow them from a distance.

Meanwhile, the door to the flower shop gave a soft ding as Gojo opened it. His tall frame took up the space in the small shop. Gojo ducked his head as he came in, careful not to knock over the potted plants that rested on the floor and shelves in no particular order. The air was stale with an earthy smell that was oddly comforting. It was good to know that the place remained the same after a year—the only thing that stayed the same in his chaotic life.

"Satoru!" an elderly woman looked up from her newspaper at the sound of the doorbell, thick circle glasses making her eyes appear large and almost fish-like. "Good to see you! How have you been?"

"Mrs. Yamada," Gojo bowed respectfully to the elder, to which the lady playfully pinched and pulled his cheeks. "Missed you too!"

"You silly boy, you know you can visit anytime and not just once a year, you know (Y/N) would've loved that, hm?" Mrs. Yamada made her way behind the counter, already grabbing and wrapping up a single flower. A flower that was your favorite, the same kind you'd always get whenever you would come into this small flower shop.

Gojo never understood why you didn't let him buy a whole bouquet of the flowers you loved. "Then I'd have to take care of all of them," you'd say, your laugh like a sweet melody in his ears that he constantly wanted to replay. "When it's just one, I feel like it lasts longer, you know? I seem to appreciate it more."

The memory made him frown slightly. If you allowed it, he would've bought the whole damn store for you, and you wouldn't just be stuck with a single flower. He didn't get it. He didn't get you. Even after all these years, he was still trying to figure you out.

"Ah, she used to come in every Sunday morning to say hello," Mrs. Yamada smiled warmly. "Always ready to hound me for something sweet to eat. (Y/N) had a nose like a hound and a stomach like a sumo wrestler." The brown wrapping paper crinkled against the elder's fingertips as she folded it around the flower. "Oh, how I miss her."

"Come now, Mrs. Yamada," Gojo leaned against the counter, tapping the wood with excitement. "She'd want us to smile, to celebrate her life, right?! Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"Satoru…"

Gojo waved his hands dismissively. "The usual price for the flowers, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Yamada rang him up at the cash register before sliding the flower across the counter toward him. But before Gojo could grab it, she pulled it away. "I wanted to tell you before I closed up shop for the day, but… I will be retiring next month."

Gojo's smile fell then.

"I am getting too old, and ever since my husband's passing, I find it quite hard to manage this all on my own, no matter how much I love to do so," she patted the counter lightly, eyes glazed over in a daze as if recalling a memory. "I will be closing the shop and moving to America to stay with my daughter."

"Then are you going to sell the building?"

Gojo found himself asking before he could even think about what to say.

"I'll buy it."

Even in death, you were expensive. How was that possible? Gojo found himself using his savings to buy a whole flower shop that you weren't even here to see. But did that matter to him? Of course not. You were worth every penny—and the shop, to him, was nothing more than a shiny penny that he could buy for your sake. All because you loved it and would visit it often. Gojo couldn't let it close down; it was too valuable for the sake of the memories it held.

So now he owned a flower shop. What the hell was he going to do with a flower shop? He didn't know a damn thing about flowers.

"(Y/N)…" Gojo whispered your name as he pushed open the metal graveyard gate, the bolt making a loud creaking noise that echoed into the summer breeze.

It didn't take Gojo long to find your headstone. After all these years, he knew this cemetery like the back of his hand; at this point, it was like a second home to him. The only place where he could truly let the mask fall as he mourned for you.

In the years you've been gone, he had a long time to think—to wonder why you of all people had to be taken away from him. It made him question, curse, and cry to a higher power above if there was one. Would they be listening? Did they hear him? Did they understand the pain he was put through? And if everything was a part of the higher power's plan, then why was (Y/N) written in with such a tragic story? Why did her life become a song of such somber music?

It wasn't fair. And to Gojo, he would never make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, it's a beautiful day, (Y/N)." Gojo smiled warmly at your headstone before sitting on the smooth tile, rummaging through his bag to pull out a rag so he could wipe the dust that was on top of your engraved name. "Though I bet you're complaining about how hot it is. I know, it is a little toasty, but a beautiful day nonetheless."

Wiping the concrete clean, Gojo made sure it was spotless with all the cleaning supplies he brought. He had to make up for the year he was away; that's why he always deep-cleaned your headstone since he knew he wouldn't be back until next year. He wanted you to watch the seasons go by with a pretty headstone, one that sparkled whenever the sun cast its rays on it.

"Hm?" Gojo tilted his head as if to hear your unspoken question again. "Oh! I'm doing good. Still teaching. You'd love these lot of kids, though. They have such great potential and are such a reckless bunch who enjoy escaping off campus to follow me here."

"Crap! He's onto us." Gojo heard Nobara's voice from the bushes behind him.

"Do you think he knows?" Itadori asked in his typically clueless fashion.

"He knows, dumbass." Megumi sighed before emerging from the bushes with twiddledee and twiddledumb trailing behind him. Their bantering stopped once they saw Gojo sitting by your headstone, the air suddenly becoming still as they made their way closer.

"Gojo-sensei, we can explain—!"

"Don't even," the white-haired man laughed before gesturing toward the headstone. "(Y/N), meet my students. Students, meet (Y/N)!"

"Ah! Nice to meet you!" Itadori bowed in respect, and so did Megumi.

"Why are we bowing to a dead—" Grabbing ahold of Nobara's hand, Itadori forcibly pulled her down so she could bow as well.

"Oh, you kids are in so much trouble," Gojo said with a gleeful smile. "I'm already thinking of all the ways to punish you."

"In my defense," Megumi started, "I tried to stop them."

"Yetttttt you're still here." Tilting his head, Gojo looked at his students playfully. "I hope you all enjoyed this field trip, but let's head back to campus, yeah? And get ice cream along the way!"

"Oh! Ice cream!" Itadori and Nobara spun around in a dance as they made their way toward the entrance of the cemetery, the pair just finding it best not to question who you were or what you were to Gojo. They could finally sense what Itadori was talking about that morning. He was different today, and it was clear he was sad. "La la la la la!"

"Let's go, Megumi. Do you still prefer chocolate?" Gojo turned to walk away but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Megumi staring at your grave with an expression he couldn't read. "Megumi?"

"Gojo-sensei…" His student turned to look at him. "I just want you to know that it's okay to be sad, to grieve for her."

Gojo chuckled, tucking his hand in his pocket as a breeze cut through the air, its chilled warmth wrapping around the pair. "Who's to say I don't? I grieve her every day."

URAVITSY 2024

#༊*·˚ uravitsy #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x female reader #jjk smut #smut #anime #angst #jjk angst #lovers #short story #gojou satoru x reader #bittersweet #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #tw death #romance #lana del rey

[enter-the-bogman]

Reading through the Tortall books in publication order is funny because you start with Alanna “the village healing woman taught me all she knew” going off to become a knight, and end with Numair “world’s most powerful mage” as young Arram Draper first learning magic at the Carthaki university. Because of the 40 intervening years and five(?) different series further developing the Tortall universe, the magic system is now SO much more complex.  Arram is learning an elementally-based, heavily theory-dependent form of magic where conceptual power is applied to physical objects or energy constructs. His teachers make him develop skills in non-magical areas like juggling, jewelry making, and gardening so eventually they can safely guide him through complicated applications of magic. In comparison, Alanna complains that Duke Roger is spending too much time on theory in order to prevent her and her peers from learning “actual magic” and becoming his rivals. And then she throws purple light at things until they explode or she passes out! We also learn from Arram’s misadventures that most of “magic” is creating methods of applying, storing, and accessing power so the user doesn’t drain their own life force and pass out or die. Alanna uses NONE of these techniques; instead, she pulls her magic directly out of her own life force, thinks about what she wants it to do, and hopes she reaches that goal before draining herself. She even (sometimes) factors in the impact of magically draining herself of energy while attempting tasks that require both magical and physical endurance (such as when deciding how much magic to spend warming herself when making her blizzard hike to claim the Dominion Jewel.)

For one thing, this makes Alanna insanely powerful. In In the Hand of The Goddess, she breaks open Roger’s magically locked door (presumably designed by Roger himself-- an immensely strong and well-trained sorcerer) by shoving her own magic into it until it MELTS. This builds an Alanna who decided magical theory was useless at age 12 because she has an immense access to magical potential energy, and who never learns the basic life-preserving models of magic usage that are taught in intro-level classes. She doesn’t have an interest in learning more sophisticated forms of magic, except in healing, which she cared about enough to learn non-magically. So when she heals, she uses magic as a guide or a supplement, rather than depending on it and then draining herself.  Since she isn’t attempting complex magic, most of the time the limitations of drawing directly from her own life force doesn’t impact her that much. The things she does magically all have much more efficient alternatives, but they require an understanding of magical theory and ability to store energy that Alanna never learned! If she wants to do larger spells, she just keeps feeding energy into it until it breaks or she does. 

The intervening series and Numair’s story makes Alanna’s simultaneously more and less believable. It now makes sense why everyone with even a slight understanding of Alanna’s type of Gift gets angry at times and tells her she’s using magic irresponsibly. (Before, we only understood Alanna’s side of the argument: “Well, I didn’t die and it worked, so calm down.” !!!) The fact that she never actually dies and only rarely is seriously harmed through her own magic use now requires some suspension of disbelief!

#I would love to see the moment when numair first saw alanna use her magic #and realizes that she pulls from her own life force to light a CANDLE #i'm sure they'd have a huge fight with numair trying to convince alanna to at least TRY meditating and alanna refusing out of stubborness #tamora pierce #sincerely cockleburr #tortall #alanna of trebond