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#no art for this one because I didn’t know what to draw LOL

livvylubug · 2 months

Note

How is Uzi’s vision in her other eye? Did ripping out the other one damage it?

And how does having her core offline affect V?

Uzi’s other eye is thankfully fine, apart from the few glitches that come with having so many physical injuries.

V’s core isn’t so much “offline” as it is just plain damaged, you could say she gets a robot equivalent to heart burn sometimes? She’s definitely not completely fine cause she has her fair share of problems arising from the damage.

#no art for this one because I didn’t know what to draw LOL #V experiences a few program glitches #she can no longer heal herself anymore #atleast not the big wounds.#murder drones after death #Uzi also cant heal anymore but that’s more because she no longer has the absolute solver.#atleast to her knowledge :)#murder drones #murder drones au #after death

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gojonanami · 4 months

Text

❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

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

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ 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, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol) | part one | part three | part four

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,”

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly.

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,”

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home.

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,”

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close.

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?”

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips—

RING. RING. RING.

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams.

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out.

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then.

Probably not. That would be far too lucky.

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed.

It was too much of a risk.

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs—

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you.

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky.

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now.

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other.

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking.

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream.

Perfect.

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,”

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?”

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?”

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?”

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here.

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy.

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began.

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?”

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?”

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—”

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive?

Fucking unfair.

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what?

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,”

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,”

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,”

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,”

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of.

“And I want us to do that—”

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?”

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over.

It didn’t.

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk.

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.”

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter?

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see.

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea, most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,”

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library.

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,”

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer.

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence.

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression.

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—”

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,”

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes.

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward.

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,” you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one.

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew.

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow.

“Are you calling me self absorbed?”

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,”

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped.

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears,

God he’s even pretty when he blushes.

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,”

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,”

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?”

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?”

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus.

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?”

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,”

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester.

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students.

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,”

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.”

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over.

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students.

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material.

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right?

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else.

Something you knew very well.

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you.

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?”

You blink, “how’d you know that?”

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds.

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,”

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?”

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,”

“What students?”

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,”

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium.

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly.

“No,” and he only smiles wider.

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,”

“I’m not—“

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,”

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again.

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,”

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,”

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started.

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you.

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since.

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing?

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you.

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best.

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was.

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester?

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst.

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross.

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,”

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand?

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,”

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?”

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you.

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?”

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,”

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning?

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for?

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks.

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,”

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery.

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly.

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions.

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide.

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you.

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms.

God, this wasn’t a dream was it?

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you.

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he—

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?”

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,”

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?”

Your blood runs cold. Fuck.

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity.

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?”

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?”

“Nothing,” you insist.

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him.

Nothing good ever came from your want.

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze.

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be.

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade, “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add.

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,”

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow.

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,”

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,”

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,”

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?”

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him.

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,”

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter.

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about.

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep).

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions.

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days.

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work.

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook.

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him.

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down.

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week.

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,”

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?”

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise.

So you make the decision for both of you.

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do. He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor.

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter.

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?”

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?”

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone.

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly.

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,”

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.”

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him.

But why did it hurt so goddamn much?

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.

Was it really not a big deal to him?

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two.

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.”

Just fine.

“There was a problem with your reservation,”

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed.

One. Bed.

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town.

“There is a couch though,” he offers, pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone.

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?”

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show?

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders.

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down.

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head.

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,”

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?”

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,”

“We’re both adults—“

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation.

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone.

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,”

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,”

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?”

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower.

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not).

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin.

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry.

Oh. My. God.

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door.

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him.

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek.

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground.

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open.

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,”

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,”

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it.

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face.

This was going to be a long weekend.

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see.

Fuck his life.

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor.

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once.

God, he sighed, it was such a mess.

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem.

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water.

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most.

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds.

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water. Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat.

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out.

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you.

It didn’t.

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep.

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in.

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he?

Not when it was you.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack.

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side.

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar.

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck.

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do.

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,”

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him.

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink.

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?”

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,”

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?”

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t.

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,”

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,”

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside.

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,”

“Professor—“

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.”

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,”

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,”

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs.

“Of him?”

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,”

“Not your type?” he asks.

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car.

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders.

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?”

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur.

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters.

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be—

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,”

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,”

“No—“

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,”

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,”

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,”

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same.

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep.

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it.

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it.

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop.

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight.

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep.

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight.

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely.

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title?

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he?

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman.

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair?

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut.

Just for a moment.

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you.

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor.

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect.

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine.

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet.

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow.

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you.

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto.

So much for sticking to your sides.

Fuck.

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard.

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with.

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with.

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him.

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM.

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM?

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs, jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed.

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s.

Fuck.

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart.

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him.

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning.

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist.

Fuck.

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now.

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away?

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?”

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down.

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats.

Could this possibly get worse?

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car.

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead.

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand.

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck.

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down.

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help.

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go.

But you didn’t know how to begin to.

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed.

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone.

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be.

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head.

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this?

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,”

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention.

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone.

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh.

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,”

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp.

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well.

And you realize how close you are to him.

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either.

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go.

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again.

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity.

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut.

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat.

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried.

RING. RING. RING.

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality.

The department head.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.”

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start.

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken.

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you.

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed.

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake.

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart.

Was this fate versus free will?

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart.

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto —

And so maybe he should let it.

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper.

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open.

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words.

Just as you always were it seemed.

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop?

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try.

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?”

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,”

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?”

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?”

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself.

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this.

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that.

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A.

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor.

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was.

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,”

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,”

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,”

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end?

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?”

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent.

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-”

“It was unspoken—”

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—”

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—”

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle.

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch.

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—”

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile.

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?”

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist.

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?”

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—”

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open.

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need.

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?”

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—”

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip.

RING. RING. RING.

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—”

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,”

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again.

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body.

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?”

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #suguru geto fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru imagines #geto suguru x you #geto x you #geto fanfiction

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junosswans · 5 months

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FMA sketches by Ace Attorney's character designer, Iwamoto Tatsuro

For the past week, Iwamoto-san has been posting sketches of FMA characters on his twitter as a part of his daily sketching challenge and they are absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

I really want to share his art over here and also translate his posts for you all because I think his commentaries are quite insightful for people who are interested in character design!

[Those who know their AA lore would recognize him as who voiced Edgeworth (Mitsurugi) in the games :3]

Anyways, below are his FMA sketches he's shared on twitter so far! (Contains: Ed, Hughes, Kimblee, Mustang, Breda) You can click on the dates to see their original post. I will add to this post if he shares any more sketches, it seems that he has been on an FMA roll xD

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25/11/2023

If you draw your favourite things out you will know them better! So, this is Edward Elric from #FullmetalAlchemist.

Even if you have decided on the pose you want to draw, it is better to sketch out these three first:

the moment before the pose is struck

the pose itself

the moment after the pose is struck

then decide which image works better for your art. I learned this from a really great senior of mine, and it is very solid advice.

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29/11/2023 (Translator's note: I decided to move this one to the top because it is my favourite. No I don't accept criticism.)

I have been drawing Ed's automail again.

I like it when the machine part has a distinctly different silhouette compared to the human body, so I added some original ideas to the design.

What design should I draw next? Perhaps I should draw the military uniform?

# (combined two posts because they’re the progression of the same piece.) #

26/11/2023

Again, it is the time of "drawing your favourite things to know them better!"

It feels so good to draw such great characters...

27/11/2023

My Photoshop has been crashing for mysterious reasons the whole morning, and I tried to troubleshoot in the afternoon and it was a PAIN. Computers are really difficuuuuuuuult--

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28/11/2023

Iwamoto-style drawing Masterclass: Bonus!

It is the "Give the leather and metal items a bit of flare/shine to immediately make the drawing look more complete"-jutsu!

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30/11/2023

I wanted the clothes to give off an oversized, loose impression.

Canon Hughes didn't seem to be wearing a shirt underneath... hmm.

03/12/2023

I am beginning to understand the structure of the military uniform better...

Realising the butt flap/cape didn’t actually connect to the upper jacket is a shocker to me.

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03/12/2023

A continuation of yesterday's sketch

...or so I thought, until I realized how King Bradley and Kimblee during the Ishval war had a different overcoat design, in which they actually wore a single long coat instead of a separated upper and bottom set.

###

04/12/2023

When his clothes were unbuttoned, there was something that looked like an additional button on his right chest... I wonder if it could be fastened from the back?

(Translator's note: sorry, I have no idea what button he's referring to here lol)

###

05/12/2023

I like how each character's personality was expressed through the way they dress. Contrary to his appearance, this person was very intelligent, which makes him such a great character.

#Lia translates #tweet translation #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #Fma translation #edward elric #roy mustang #solf j. kimblee #heymans breda #maes hughes #iwamoto tatsuro #ace attorney

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inbetweenhours · 1 year

Photo

Ah the miracle of making character references and then not using them at all... Literally what is wrong with me why did I do that?

I was playing with a brush and line-art style and ended up just drawing a bunch of flower husbands based off some pose references I found on Pinterest. There’s technically a 6th one but I got too embarrassed to post it lol.

Pose references under the read more I used with the few sources I could find :]

guys I was reverse google image searching for my life and only found the source for one, plus a friend found the other. If you happen to know the sources for these feel free to tell me.

credit is in the picture thankfully, but it was still hard to find for me lol. I do believe HERE is the creator though.

Again, credit in photo. A friend on discord is the one who tracked this one down for me though because it seems their Twitter was deleted. HERE is the assumed credit.

The rest are uncreditted because google reverse image search and the like 3 different websites I was trying to find sources with just didn't help. Idk, once again if anyone can find them I’d like to credit them. Even if they were just references for the pose, they helped.

This one looks like it has a signature but I unfortunatly cannot read it

#flower husbands #empires shipping #empires smp #empires smp 1 #smajor #solidaritygaming #hourspost #hoursart #just for silly fun really yknow #anyways i think thats all my tags enjoy

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dontyoufeelitangel · 2 months

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I found some old vivzie pop art, I deep scrolled her tumblr for this😭

+ my commentary on it.

She called this; archangel Gabriel, will we see them in hazbin? If so, will Gabriel’s design still look like this?

Based on the angels we have seen in the show I think this character design will be scrapped and re-done.

I’m not a furry but ugh I’m a sucker for all these werewolves, out of all vivzies characters, they’re definitely my favorite!!

Do you recognize them? These are Vivzies werewolf characters. They are most well known for their appearances in the Die Young animation.

So um, I’m obsessed, ANYWAYS here’s all their names:

Roxi (pink red yellow, left bottom corner)

Koko (purple sticking out tongue, left bottom corner)

Garfield (black and white checkered, far right)

Mint (mint green, tongue out, bottom middle)

Jiji (light blue body, dark blue hair, main singer in DieYoung, red eyes, gold earrings, middle)

Niquie (small pink, yellow eyes, sitting on Jijis head, top middle)

Whitney (neon yellow, red checkered pattern, middle left)

Dixie (light yellow, red nose and eyes, middle right)

Dani (fluffy black with white long face, light yellow eyes and black freckles, bottom right)

Jaux (pure black fur, white eyes, top middle right)

Gina ( black fluff covering white face, tucked behind Dani and Garfield, right)

From 2013 these are early designs for “angels and demons” which would later be recycled into Hazbin Hotel. The line-up is: Niffty, Husk, (idk who she is someone help me out💀) & crymini.

I love this design of crymini SO MUCH MORE than the newer one.

AAAHAHANNANSNSH I LOVE THIS ONE!!

So this is also from Angels and Demons (which would later become Hazbin hotel)

so the lineup is; Mimzy(she’s stunning), Niffty, Husk, Angel Dust, (that one girl who I don’t know), arackniss, crymini, Baxter, and Alastor.

I love this because we really get a look at the older designs of the Hazbins and also the retired characters that didn’t make it into Hazbin hotel.

Angel dust having a blob fish and an angel fish will never not be funny.

ALSO his design has changed a lot, but sometimes change is good,

Not for me tho lol, I like this old design more than the new one💃

Omg old huskerdust??😍😍 Idk actually, the caption for this was “bros will be bros” 😭

Anyways huskerdust till I die🗣️🗣️

What I find funny about this is how complex Angel dusts design is, and how plain Husk is,

Now in the show it’s the other way around.

Angel dust is drinking orphan tears😞😞

This was the farthest/oldest piece of angel dust art I could find.

Some details: skull on chest, both black eyes, no gold tooth, the amount of eyes, and the colours(duh)

This one haunts me ⚡️⚡️

Back from when Alastor and Mimzy used to be a thing,

Like, hands off my bitch Alastor

Okay this isn’t hazbin or anything,

But honestly as problematic as Vivzie pop is, I really fuck with this ke$ha sketch.

Because as much as I dislike Vivzie, I still love Ke$ha with my whole heart.

So this is angel dust fucking with Mimzy(he’s got her caught up in his webs), there’s also Alastor, husk and some other chick I don’t know.

UGGGHH Mimzys eyes used to be so cute istg

(She’s also matching eyes with Alastor)

On the topic of eyes, Husk is a free soul in this drawing😋😋

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annymation · 5 months

Text

Reimagining the characters in Wish

(Part 1- Asha)

Hey guys! I don’t really know how to start this, but let’s just say that I… Didn’t like how Disney’s 100th anniversary movie turned out, like at all.

But I can tell there was a lot of unexplored potential beneath this story, that in my opinion felt overly simple and bare bones.

But if you love it, that’s awesome, more power to you, I wish I could’ve loved it too. And I don’t want to rewrite it to show I’m “better than the writers at Disney” because I’m definitely not lol, I have no experience in writing, and I’m sure they put a lot of passion into the project and I respect them for that. But this movie inspired me with ideas for a different story that I think is worth telling.

But I won’t start telling it today, instead, I'll start a series of blogs sharing my ideas for changes in the characters and their stories, after I get some feedback I will start posting more of the story itself.

If you’re interested, then come along!

Asha✨

Personality

- Asha is a 18 year old girl, with a passion for drawing and helping those around her, sometimes even worrying more about helping others than helping herself

- She’s like a big sister to her 7 friends, always being the voice of reason and acting responsible, but not in a bossy way, she’s actually very playful with them

- To the people of Rosas tho, she's seen as kind of a weirdo, for you see, she spends almost every time of the day drawing in her sketchbook

- She practices everyday to become a better artist, and the people of Rosas find this to be very peculiar, after all, why would you take so much effort to perfect a talent when you can simply wait to turn 18 and wish for the king to make you an amazing artist?

- Asha doesn’t mind these comments, although they have made her less willing to share her drawings with others that aren’t her 7 friends

- As the story progresses we see Asha flourish from a shy and introverted girl to a brave woman who after discovering a terrifying secret about the kingdom’s rulers, steps in and inspires others to join her and fight an evil sorcerer king and his alchemist wife (yes, I made Amaya an alchemist, more on that on part 2 when I talk about how I’d change Magnifico and Amaya)

- Some Disney characters that share similarities with her personality wise are: Belle, Tiana, Pocahontas and Esmeralda

Main Traits:

Calm and mature

Determined

Passionate about her interests (drawing, dancing, philosophy and stars)

Helpful and generous

Perceptive and always questioning things around her that no one pays attention to (like why do all the artists only paint the King and Queen?)

Playful

Compassionate

Backstory

Oooh boy I gave this poor girl so much angst, okay let’s go

Asha grew up with her grandfather, her parents both died in a fire when she was just a baby

(this isn’t just to fit the “haha Disney princess has no parents” cliche, there’s plot relevance in this “mysterious fire” that I’ll talk about later)

Growing up with her grandpa, he’d always support her dream to be an artist, like her mother, who was an art teacher

Her mother not only drew really well, but she also was able to create the illusion that her drawings could move, by flipping through the pages of her sketch books

In other words, her mom was an animator

Asha saw this technic her mom used as a form of magic, so she would often tell her grandpa she wanted to “Do magic just like my mom”

Her father was a philosopher (this was established in the actual movie but never explored haha whyyyy), who taught people that working hard to achieve your dreams is not only rewarding, but also essential, because it’s part of the human nature to persevere and fight for what we believe, even if we fail, even if it’s hard, just keep moving forward.

This philosophy may sound very “umm duh” for me and you since we all know and hear everywhere nothing in life comes for free… But that’s not the case in Rosas

In this rewrite the kingdom wasn’t created by Magnifico, but rather the kingdom has existed for many generations, being ruled by different kings before Magnifico who also granted wishes… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

The point is that the culture of just asking the king to give you or make you whatever you want to be has been in this kingdom’s culture since forever, so when Asha’s dad comes out saying “hey! Maybe we should stop just relying on the king to make our dreams come true, right?” He’s actually being quite a revolutionary… and sharing a very dangerous belief to other people…

At this point you might suspect what caused that “mysterious fire”

So, back to Asha, growing up with her grandpa, they shared a lot of happy memories together. Reading her father's books and her mother's art books helped Asha connect with them even tho she never had them in her life.

But as her grandfather grew older, he became senile.

Asha went from being taken care of by her grandpa to being the one who took care of him when she was still around 13 years old, and when she turned 15 her grandfather passed away of old age

Asha went on to live with her best friend Dahlia, the two became like sisters.

Though she managed to move on from the loss of her grandfather, she could never shake the feeling that he died without getting his wish granted... But she had no way to prove that, it was just a feeling

The wish granting system works different in my rewrite, instead of there being a public wish granting ceremony once a month, there would only be a public wish TAKING ceremony, that would work just like in the movie, you turn 18, you go give your wish to the king yada yada yada.

But the wish granting part would work like this: Almost every night the king would release the wishes up in the sky, they would float down like balloons to their respective owners while they sleep, and once they woke up in the morning they'd feel that their wishes were granted, for they would wake up changed.

With this method, there's no way of confirming if someone really got their wish granted or not, unless you went to ask the king.

Asha never did ask the king if he granted her grandfather's wish, but her grandfather would sometimes express how he wasn't feeling completely fulfilled in his life, he felt like there was something... missing.

This feeling of hollowness persisted in him until the very end, no matter how hard Asha tried to help her grandfather, she never knew him as his real self, because he gave part of his soul to the king, the most beautiful part of his soul, his wish.

Asha had no proof that her grandfather didn't get his wish granted, only a gut feeling.

But because of this, Asha wasn't that thrilled to give her own wish to king magnifico, knowing there was the possibility of it never being granted.

Not to mention she didn’t even know what to wish for, “I’m just 18 and you guys expect me to already know what’s my heart’s deepest desire? I’m still figuring that out, all I know is that I wanna draw”

Plus she wanted to follow her father's philosophy and achieve her wish on her own, eventually, when she figured out what her wish even was.

Asha never rebelled against the system tho, she wasn't a confrontational person. She just accepted the people of Rosas preferred to rely on the king's magic, but that just wasn't for her.

However, on her 18 birthday, when it was expected of her to give her wish to the king, she simply said she didn't have a wish, and even if she did she wouldn’t want to hand it over, she wanted to make it come true on her own. This lead to an argument with the king, and after a series of events (that I don't have time to summarize here, but you can find out about it on my rewrite) leads to her finding out a terrible truth about her kingdom. And that's how her story begins.

Design

- I’d keep these braid ornaments that Asha had in the concept art

- Since in my rewrite she’s not that invested in the kingdom of Rosas, I’d remove all the Kingdom of Rosas symbols that are present in her design (there are a LOT of them)

- I’d replace these Rosas insignia with more star and constellations themed symbols, to reflect how Asha believes that the stars are connected to people and they can guide us, just like how her father believed.

Final Thoughts

My intentions with these changes were to give Asha a strong emotional hook, and something that makes her feel relatable.

The emotional hook here is how she spent so much of her life taking care of her grandfather that she kinda never had time to worry about her own desires, that alone can be relatable to caregivers of elderly people that watch their grandparents or even their own parents lose themselves as time passes, and end up worrying more about the person they’re taking care of than themselves.

Asha has this internal emotional conflict where she feels she needs to constantly help others the same way she helped her grandfather, and one of the things she’ll learn as the story progresses is that it’s not selfish of her to want more for HERSELF.

Another thing that would be relatable about Asha is her passion for drawing, and how most people in Rosas would say she’s wasting her time practicing so much when she can just wait until she turns 18 and wish to be amazing at drawing.

She’d never stop believing that taking her time to improve on her talent and trying again and again was worth every second of her time, because let me tell ya folks, drawing is HARD, and animating like Asha’s mom did is even HARDER, it takes a whole lot of practice, and Asha was determined to keep trying.

She’d be much like Belle, remaining true to herself even tho those around her considered her odd, and very passionate about drawing just as much Belle was passionate about reading.

I also find it funny how Asha’s motivations are fairly down to earth, like in Disney movies you usually have:

I want to be free from these palace walls!

I want to explore the ocean!

I want to open a restaurant!

I want to find true love!

And then there’s Asha here like

“My life is fine, I just wanna chill and draw stuff”

And that’s it, but, in her environment where everyone is expected to have this great wish that they have to give to the king so he’ll make it a reality, she’s kinda the odd one out, and I love that. Would be a great subversion of the Disney formula.

Of course after she learns Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions she gets a lot more agency and the desire to save her people, her “call for adventure” if you will.

But what are Magnifico and Amaya’s true intentions? Click here for part 2 and find out!

Thank You For Reading!

#disney wish #wish #reimagined #rewrite #disney #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish star #king magnifico #wish movie #wish disney #wish rambles #wish rewrite #Asha #long post #wishrewrite

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neymiiie · 3 months

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Eyes of the SEES members ~

I’ve always admired artstyles where every character has super unique and recognizable vibes, so decided to try it with the gang. Super fun, highly recommend!

In the process of designing these I developed headcanons for each of their eyes, kind weird but if you want to read me ranting about why I drew Yukaris pupils a certain way or whatever, feel free to click read more lol.

Makoto: I wanted him to look tired, so a lot of his eyelashes go downward instead of upwards, also eye bags because he has insomnia and you can’t convince me otherwise. I didn’t want his eyes to look hollow/empty, but I didn’t want to put super obvious highlights and I think it works? Idk. Also drew his eyes in a way that reminds me of the ocean at night (Atlus gave me a ocean/water motif and I run with it ok?). His eyebrows are kinda “messy” in comparison to the others but I think it makes his eyes prettier so it is in character to me.

Yukari: I wanted her eyes to look a little more intense and turned them a little to give them a slightly “angry look”. Yukari should have a light case of rbf imo. I feel like Yukari puts a lot of effort into her appearance, and she probably wears more makeup but I cannot draw that to save my life lmao. Her eyebrows are probably the least messy other than Mitsurus, for the same reason as the previous one. Also hard to tell, but I put hearts in her pupils because it’s cute. Really proud of these ones, they read like hers so well to me.

Junpei: Junpeis eyes were so fun to draw! I feel like he’d have pretty short lashes and slightly smaller eyes, but still very vibrant! I really wanted his eyes to look full of life but still pretty simple, and I think I did pretty well! They feel very expressive to me. Also I feel like he’d have naturally very thin eyebrows, so gave him that lol.

Akihiko: idk how I feel about these, but I guess they’re alright? Gave him a kinda intense stare ig. I gave him really long natural eyelashes because I feel like he’d have them (canonical pretty boy that he is) and I’m somewhat proud of them because I stuggle with making longer eyelashes look masculine so guess this is a win. Gave him an eyebrow slit because I was so sure he had one in p4arena only to find out he didn’t even have eyebrows in it. What.

Fuuka: I feel like Fuukas neutral expression would still look slightly confused/concerns so her eyes are a little droopy. Gave her short but thick eyebrows because I thought it would be cute. Her eyes kinda remind me of rain and I like that! Also sidenote love the fact that official art draws fuuka with teal eyebrows. The implication that she was either born with teal hair or is so dedicated to the dye job she even dyed her eyebrows is hilarious to me. I know blue is treated as a normal hair color in persona-universe but Fuuka is literally the only one with teal hair how is it not dyed but yosuke and chies is??

Mitsuru: I wanted Mitsuru to be pretty. I gave her thinner but crisp eyebrows and eyeliner. I was a little worried because before I started shading her eyes looked kinda evil?? Lol but they turned out better in the end. Didn’t do a lot of details in her eyes because it felt like it worked better that way, but gave her bright highlights in her eyes to make up for it.

Aigis: These are my least favorite, and the first ones I did. Not sure if thats awful, because I wanted them to be very different from the rest. I feel like Aigis doesn’t actually have this wide eyes but willingly widens them so you can see the whole iris. I feel like her eyes would look more normal at a distance, and most of her classmates just assume she’s got weird eyes because they’re an uncommon eye color (major “give her brown contacts please” energy). Made her eyes look like does target-thingys and slightly plastic-y.

Ken: I didn’t want his eyes to be to bright, but still lively and childish. I gave him round wide eyes + smaller and thicker eyebrows to give a more childish feel. His eyelashes are pretty short but made them point more downwards since they looked too cheerful when turned upwards.

Shinjiro: dunno how readable these are as shinji, but theyre fine. Made his eyes very dark and put bright highlights cause I thought it looked better than the grey he actually has. Also gave him major eyebags because man has not had a good nights rest since like. Last October (sorry)

#persona #persona 3 #p3 #aigis #makoto yuki #yukari takeba #junpei iori #akihiko sanada #fuuka yamagishi #mitsuru kirijo #ken amada #shinjiro aragaki #minato arisato #fanart #artists on tumblr #beating same face syndrome one body part at a time:#hopefully these are actually readable as the characters they are supposed to be to other people than me lmao

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honeypawsart · 5 months

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"BUTTERFINGERS" AU, EARTH-0164

"Hi, my name is Dr. Johnny B. Ohnn. No, not the Ohnn you're thinking of. I'm from an alternate dimension (EARTH-0164). If Johnathon Ohnn didn’t become The Spot because of the supercollider explosion, but rather just accidentally dropped the dark matter capsule. Causing a slow spread of dark matter to corrupt his body over time. That's me."

Dr. Johnny B. Ohnn is an ex-Alchemax lead scientist who designed and began the creation of the Supercollider. On the day of the funding ceremony for his project, he accidentally dropped a canister of dark matter he extracted from a mini-collider test model, which he was to use as a demonstration for the presentation. The dark matter painfully spread to several portions of his body. However, instead of support after his accident, he was ridiculed by his respected friends and coworkers for being so clumsy and unprofessional. "Butterfingers" was a common yet silly thrown at him afterward. Johnny quit his job out of frustration, turning on the Alchemax company to make them pay for his deformities... using them to his advantage.

Johnny is generally very grumpy. This is due to his dark matter deformities being very uncomfortable. It feels like burning, itching, and chronically painful to deal with daily. The black spots feel void of sensation however, it's the white areas that hurt him the most. He uses cold water showers and drinks to help soothe the pain. The dark matter corruption on his body feels like jello, memory foam, or oobleck to the touch; it's solid at first but things can sink into the nothingness void.

The corruption is relatively slow, and by the time he's 41 years old, he's 80% corrupted. At this point in time, although he's still clumsy as ever, he's more confident in his ability to use his powers to his advantage. He adopts the nickname "Milky Way" then (based on another popular chocolate bar candy).

Johnny also has a pet shrimp named Shrimptin Beck. Later on in his isolation, he builds a functional Mysterio robot suit for Shrimptin to move around and help with his crimes. They sort of have a "Megamind & Minion" relationship haha

Johnny B. Ohnn is not a huge fan of his dimension's rendition of Spiderman. Her name is Lucky Charm, and is the exact polar opposite of Butterfingers. But you know what they say about "opposites attract" ;)

Earth-0164 Spider-Man, aka Lucky Charm! Works at the Trophy Bugle casino part-time! The rest of her time is spent saving their city using their very luck-driven superpowers! On their off days, Gwen Amber (lol yes that is my actual first and middle name, cringe is free) works as a regular employee at the Trophy Bugle Casino, owned and run by J. Jameson who HATES Lucky Charm for potentially ruining his business. Butterfingers ended up hitting up a casino after his accident- he always loses and gets frustrated with the hosts and that’s how he and Lucky Charm meet the first time, but she INSISTS on trying to make him better outside of work so they sort of get close as they teach him ya know?? Meanwhile, he doesn’t even realize that out of all the hosts at the casino, the one he happens to bump into is the hero he should hate for being against his motivations.

✮ ✮ ✮ That's all I have for now in the Earth-0164 canon!! I hope you guys enjoy this sort of long, info-dumpy post! He also has an official Spotify Playlist! Fan art is 100% welcome of Butterfingers. I also don't mind if you draw yourself/oc with him. Just please realize some boundaries with him. I will not tolerate any sort of "proship" art of him with any underage characters, since he is an old man (36-41 years old). He's very special to me, so please be respectful about that!

He's also my OC, so please tag me in any posts of him as well! He has a tag on all socials as #butterfingersohnn as well! All fan art is uploaded to his toyhou.se page.

That's the end!! Thanks for reading :D

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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AFS: Deleted Scene

a/n: I'm testing a new thing here. There are a few scenes that I wanted to include in the story but there wasn't a good spot to fit it in and keep my plotlines at a good pace. SO, I will be posting the occasional deleted scene! They'll typically be short little drabbles that I post sporadically and I'll always list a number to kind of tell you where it sits in the 'AFS' timeline lol

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: none, just pure fluffy fluff

Word Count: 1,101

Summary: Grogu is an artist and he does not restrict himself to a single medium. Inspired by this post/art.

#4.5: HE IS A QUICK ONE

You hummed a song under your breath while cleaning the kitchen. Mando had told you time and time again that house work wasn’t necessarily part of your job description. Though you didn’t think was accurate. You didn’t know a lot about the responsibilities of a nanny, but if you were a betting woman you’d put credits on housework falling under the umbrella. So, despite him telling you to leave it be, you didn’t. Even if it wasn’t the job of the nanny to clean the house, you lived here as well which meant it was in part your responsibility as a roommate, at the very least. Mando could argue otherwise all he wanted. It’s not like he could stop you while he worked.

While Grogu napped, you took the opportunity to clean what you could.

The sound of a quiet giggle made you pause. You rinsed the soap off your hands, leaving the few dishes you had left to clean in the sink, and used the kitchen towel you rested on your shoulder to dry your hands. Another giggle drifted from the hall. Grogu must have woken up from his nap. You chuckled to yourself and tossed the towel aside to go find him. Usually the boy called out for you when he woke up.

Down the hall, you spotted Grogu and it took you a second to recognize what the boy was keeping himself busy with. He stood crayon in hand as he worked on his masterpiece⏤ the masterpiece he was drawing on the wall.

“Grogu!” You cried, startled.

Grogu simply turned to look at you with his little toothy grin. “See!”

He must have woken from his nap a good while ago because the kid had made quite the progress. The entire wall was decorated in his scribbled drawings in various colors. You spotted multiple pictures of his father and him. You recognized the other colored Mandalorian that filled many of his pictures, with the dark haired person beside him, and a few other familiar faces. Peli. Cara. Karga. Your eyes landed on a scribbled drawing of what looked like you with Grogu in your arms. It was honestly the cutest most precious thing in the world and your heart would be overflowing with love if it wasn’t for the location of the art.

“Oh, Grogu, why?” You breathed.

“Good?” He asked.

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, you drew it all so good, buddy, but…the wall…”

Grogu’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Ih.” He motioned for you to follow him with one hand and you trailed after him into Mando’s bedroom. Grogu pointed to the wall where you had taped a few of his art pieces. “See!”

“Right. But that’s paper that I…” You winced. You held your arms out to scoop the little artist up. He looked immensely proud of himself and you hated the idea of scolding him. “We can’t draw on the walls anymore though, alright?” If Grogu understood or agreed he made no motion to show it. You sighed and tickled the boy’s belly, mumbling under your breath. “I wonder how attached your dad is to his walls.”

Mando’s voice called out from the foyer and you grimaced. The hallway was still decorated in crayon. You had tried to wipe some of it away, but the moment you got near it Grogu whined at you to stop. Apparently he wanted his father to admire the work. You hurried to meet Mando in the foyer before he could get any further.

“Hi there.” You held your hands out to stop him.

“Hey.” He greeted curiously.

You forced a grin that you prayed didn’t look sheepish. “So, how was work?”

“Good…” Mando paused. “How was your day?”

“Uh, interesting.” You scrunched your nose. “We may have had a little…incident.” Mando stiffened and you quickly shook your head and hands at him. “No, no. Grogu is fine. He’s more than fine. Grogu is very proud of himself.”

“Oh.” Mando replied.

“Buir, k’olar! K’olar!” Grogu bounced behind you and waved for him to follow. You motioned to the child with your arms and Mando gave you one last confused tilt of his head before listening to Grogu’s pleads. You walked behind him nervously. When the three of you entered the hall, the mischievous artist pointed to the wall covered in crayon. “See!”

Mando stayed stock still for a second and you blurted a panicked apology, “I am so sorry, Mando. I thought he was napping and I was washing dishes and I heard his little, evil giggle and when I found him he was drawing on the wall⏤ I tried to clean it up but he wouldn't let me⏤”

Your words were interrupted with the sound of a full bellied laugh. Mando was laughing loudly and freely. There had been moments of chuckles and breathy laughs, but this was the first time you had seen him so carefree in front of you. A small smile curled onto your features in admiration. Mando knelt down to hold out his arms so Grogu could jump into them.

“Good?” Grogu asked.

“Very nice, ad’ika.” Mando praised him. “I’ll send a picture to Boba and Fennec. I think they’d really love to see it.” You crossed your arms and watched in amusement as the boy pointed at each piece of the picture to babble to him an explanation. Mando nodded and hummed along⏤ paying full attention. When Grogu had reached the end, Mando ruffled the top of his head. “Alright, womp rat, I saw your toys in the living room still. Why don’t you go clean up?”

Grogu chirped an acknowledgement and waddled away. Mando turned to face you and you shook your head. “I hung some of his pictures up on your bedroom wall and I guess he decided to cut out the middleman and get right to it.”

Mando chuckled. “It’s alright. Of all the messes I expect him to get into this is fairly mild.”

“I am sorry about your wall though. I should’ve been paying closer attention.”

“It’s just a wall.” Mando shrugged. “A boring one too. At least now I don’t have to bother with decorations. Cara always complained my house was too plain.” You laughed lightly. “Besides, you should see some of the things he’s gotten away with while I was actively watching him.”

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “He is a quick one.”

“You have no idea.” Mando sighed. “Over dinner, remind me to tell you about the Frog Lady’s eggs.”

“The what lady’s what?”

mando'a translations

Buir: Parent (father) /// Ad'ika: little one /// K'olar: Come here

tag list:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @harriedandharassed @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #a fresh start #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #fluff #fluffy fluff #grogu is a little adorable shit #precious child #must be protected #domestic bliss!din djarin

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viccharine · 9 months

Text

do you guys ever listen to a band so much that you end up making fake merch for it?

(reblogs greatly appreciated!!!!)

close ups and commentary under the cut!

about the poster itself: do you guys know how hard it is to make art for a band that hasn’t been active in 13 years? the answer is HARD (yes, i probably could done research and looked for old interviews for inspiration but who has time for that)

—> the icons related to “take a vacation!” are inspired by lyrics from the song “take a vacation!” (haha, did you see what I did there?) specifically, the lines “we’ll leave the waves at the ocean” and “we’ll leave the sand in a suitcase”

—> the Jon Walker and Ryan Ross icons are taken directly from the album cover (it took ten years off my life trying to figure out how to get them on here w/ the color palette—graphic design may be my passion but I never said i was GOOD at it)

—> the heart imagery comes from the fact that the band’s called “the young VEINS”—although it annoys me IMMENSELY that i technically drew more arteries than veins in the icons (my anatomy teacher would be so disappointed, but alas, anatomical accuracy had to be sacrificed to make it. yknow. look nice)

—> i did hand-lettering for all the text except for everything that’s in Helvetica (i did THAT in canva). the art program i use has a basically unusable text tool so I was forced to draw all of it, so I choose to believe that the reason why it doesn’t look. the best. is because of the caffeine shakes

some extra commentary: am I the only one who’s genuinely REALLY bad at listening to music? i don’t really get into bands as much as i just find songs that sound nice—to illustrate the extent of this issue: i did NOT know that Brendon Urie was a part of Panic! At the Disco. I’m not even kidding, I thought the artist who made Death of a Bachelor and the artist who made A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out were completely different and just. didn’t bother to check if I was right.

also, I’m not the type of person to be interested in band lore???? I rarely know the names of band members if even I’ve listened to the band for years (I really couldn’t care less in most situations)

case in point, i did not know who the FUCK Ryan Ross was!!! i knew he was in p!atd but that’s literally about it—before a couple of days ago if you asked to me pick out either Ryan Ross or Jon Walker from a line up I would not be able to get even CLOSE

anyway, my friend/manager is really into band lore, so I basically got a crash-course in all things “early to late 2000s emo band” and subsequently found out about the Young Veins (i was also extremely disappointed when I found out they only had one album and hadn’t been active in over a decade) THEN I realized that decade old, inactive bands don’t usually have merch, so I made my own! “merch” used lightly—i don’t think this is actually fit to sell lol

anyway that’s all k thanks byeee :D!! (and go stream the young veins!!)

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eveledoze · 23 days

Note

What are your thoughts on envy & thuzi?

i started liking Thad/Uzi from the pilot, Thad seemed like a pretty good choice for her. but then i somehow came up with Thad/Doll and forgot about the first one (+Nuzi showed up)

(old sketch- unfortunately i didn't draw Uzi and Thad together, so have this)

i don't pay much attention to Thad/Uzi rn, but i still think they're really cute! :з i've read a couple of fanfictions and seen a couple of arts with them (and i think a lot of them were prom themed lol) and all of them were superior

i'm not against N/V, but it's really hard for me to feel it, i just don't feel well that it could work (not considering the time when they were worker-drones and the Elliot's house, where they had a nice relationship) because of how V treats to N (and probably also because i didn’t like V at first). i'd like to see V act more trusting and open up to others so i can see for sure that her intentions are good (as i already feel that way, but i want to see it). at this point i feel more like V cares for him in a platonic way, she wants to protect him from bad things but her ways aren't really the best. instead of “figure out things together” and trusting him, she is closed and does not tell him what she knows. her ways are not the best, but i understand that she was trying to protect N from Uzi, since she saw that Uzi was possessed by Cyn and could harm N.

V, I still believe in you.

(demons possessed me to do this)

#evele stuff #ask #ship ask #murder drones #murder drones ships

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bsxcrxts · 2 years

Text

out of the woods yet // Steve Harrington x librarian!reader

chapter five

Summary: Steve and reader fool around in the library after he catches reader with a trashy romance novel.

Content Warning: this is explicit!!! DNI if you are not 18+! more specifically this fic contains: thigh-riding, groping, teasing, fingering, a hand job, dirty talk, etc. no spoilers for s4! it takes place between s3 and s4.

Word Count: 3.2k !!!!

A/N: Well shit y’all I didn’t finish it before the premiere, but I’m only three hours late! The romance novel in question that Steve reads passages from is inspired by a real book, though technically that irl novel was written after this fic takes place lol. Also, I have changed the quotes to be cringier but the inspiration is there, so credit where credit is due. *cites smut in MLA format*

BTW: you don’t have to read the other parts first to understand this, but it’d be cool if you did! Here they are:

Series Masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve asks, mischievously grabbing the book that you’d just thrust quickly onto the book cart sitting by the front desk. Something about the way you practically threw the book out of your hands when you caught a glance of him approaching has his interest piqued. Steve knows he’s accidentally startled you a few times since he started coming into Hawkins Public Library after his morning shifts end at Family Video, where he had semi-successfully secured a job working with Robin after some clever conniving on her part, but he’s never seen you react like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar before.

Accidentally interrupting you with his presence while you’re off in your own world is nothing new for Steve. Before the two of you started hanging out regularly, and then dating, he’d see you close your sketchbook, journal, magazines and various novels once you spotted him entering the library, often with a bit of absent-minded urgency, as if you’re nervous that if you don’t stop and pay attention to Steve, he’ll disappear. After the two of you got closer, you’d sometimes show Steve what you were reading, writing, or drawing, and he’d sit and listen to your impassioned rambles about whatever was important to you the most at the moment, even when he didn’t quite get it, which was around half the time.

In fact, Steve has learned a lot about you. He’s learned your family moved to Hawkins at the end of May because of your parent’s jobs, one year before your brother was set to graduate from high school, and that you actually went to a university halfway across the country for two semesters before dropping out (you haven’t told him why yet; he doesn’t know if you ever will, and seeing as how college is a sore spot for both of you, he doesn’t press the issue). You played volleyball in middle school, you hate licorice candy, and you prefer The Beach Boys to The Beatles. Your family only has one car and you really hate driving it. In contrast, you seem to really love making out with him in his car when he takes you on dates after your shift. You got the job at the library because you prefer how quiet the environment is, and it’s Steve’s belief that you also were hired because you read faster than should be humanly possible, but he’s not sure if that’s just his opinion because he’s never been a quick study at school work. You’ve been attempting to convince him that reading can just be for fun, but Steve’s not so sure yet.

Or at least, he wasn’t sure before.

When he looks at the novel you’d scrambled to place on the book cart and he looks at the cover, Steve has to resist the urge to laugh. Not because he wants to make fun of you, but because the art on this book has got to be one of the cheesiest things he’s ever seen. There’s no way this thing has any academic merit. A scantily clad, muscular man with long, flowing locks clings onto the legs of a woman who is perched on a bed, her head thrown back in pleasure, her dress slipping off her shoulders, her breasts almost spilling out of her corset. The title is scrawled out in loopy, mock-elegant typeface in a bright, gaudy pink, and the tagline proclaims something about conquest and surrendering to love. He’d recognize one of these anywhere; a trashy romance novel, something grandmothers and aunts everywhere yank away from prying eyes and hide in their bedroom dressers.

Steve looks up, raises his eyebrows and smirks at you. “Scandalous,” he starts, unable to even get another word out before you start fumbling for an excuse.

“Someone just returned it,” you offer, folding your arms in front of you.

“Really?” Steve laughs.

“Mhm,” you affirm.

“Because I’m pretty sure I just saw you reading this.”

“I was not,” you say, mock offended.

“Then you won’t mind if I read some of it,” Steve taunts, “and see what all the fuss is about?” He starts to walk backwards, putting distance between himself and the front desk where you sat. He begins flipping through the novel, looking for any specific passages that might be more likely to make you blush.

You brace yourself and lean forward on the desk, obviously watching his every move. Good, Steve thinks, exactly how he likes it.

“Come back here with that,” you instruct, “I have to catalog it.”

“Is that what they call it these days?” Steve jokes.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Come get it then,” Steve calls, already halfway across the room, “if you want it so bad.” He’s not sure he’s still talking about the book as he runs off deeper into the library. He’s fairly certain there’s no one else in the library anyway, because it’s near minutes to closing time, and the only sounds he’s heard are the banter between you and him; still he chooses to duck into one of the more secluded aisles. Steve waits a beat or two before he starts scanning the book more seriously, not ready to give up the game yet, identifying and turning to a dog-eared page that he hoped wouldn’t lead him astray just as you rounded the corner.

“What took you so long?” he asks playfully.

“I locked the door,” you answer matter-of-factly. Steve’s heartbeat kicks up, knowing that’s as good as your unofficial blessing to continue his shenanigans. “Are you gonna give it back now?” you ask.

“Nope. Good that you locked the door though,” Steve continues. “Wouldn’t want anyone else hearing what you were reading in this naughty little book, I guess.”

“Steve–”

“Let’s see, here’s a good part. ‘He tore off the rest of his clothing, his gaze on his wife all the while–’” Steve starts. You lunge at him and swipe at the book, but Steve dodges and turns his body away, too fast for you. He watches the flush on your face grow even when you laugh as you miss your chance to snatch the book from his hands.

“Or how about this paragraph?” Steve teases, turning the page. “‘He thrust into her over and over, mindless now to everything but finding his peak. The bed rocked with his powerful thrusts.’”

You practically pin Steve to the shelf behind him with your body, pressing against him and grabbing at the wrist of his hand that held the book, though he easily breaks free. Steve’s already worked up at the idea of his girlfriend reading explicit romance novels, but with your body is firmly up against his own, and the way you’ve almost turned the tables on him, he’s halfway to hard as he wonders who’s actually in charge of the situation at hand. You’re still reaching for the romance novel that he’s now holding above his head to avoid letting you grab it. He glances up at the pages and keeps reading.

‘She knew she was falling apart in his embrace. She didn’t care. She called his name as ache after ache of pleasure washed over h–’ ohh” Steve cuts himself off with a moan. You’ve unexpectedly started kissing him, sucking a hickey into the junction of his jawline and neck, gently biting at the skin there. Between the friction of your body against his, and the feeling of your mouth on him, Steve’s brain short circuits, and he practically forgets instantly he’s trying to keep anything away from you at all. You stop kissing him when Steve relaxes, bringing his hands down to run along your arms. Steve is blindsided when you gently grab the book from him and stop your motions.

“There’s more than one way to get what you want,” you smugly murmur against his ear, tapping him on the chest with your newly-won prize.

“That’s not fair,” Steve insists.

“Oh? You want me to stop?” you ask.

“Absolutely not,” Steve mutters against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss, hands grasping at your ass as you press even further into him, rolling your hips against his hardness, before you begin sliding a hand in between your two bodies, surprising him as you lightly squeeze the hard outline of his cock through his jeans.

“You’re fucking filthy, you know that?” Steve says to mask a whine, doubling down on tormenting you. “Reading a book so dirty at your job.” His jeans are so tight that he’s actually uncomfortably trapped in them, and he feels his cock twitch against your hand.

“I’m filthy?” you laugh, “You’re the one getting off on the thought of me reading those novels. That’s so perverted, baby.”

“Yeah, well, you’re getting off to the thought of me, getting off on you,” Steve says, even though it hardly makes sense, even to him. He’s struggling to maintain conversation with you, and he quickly maneuvers the two of you to sit down at one of the tables next to the shelf so that he can get a second to breathe. You straddle his lap, perched on one of his legs. Once you’re settled, you kiss him passionately and rock on his thigh a little bit. Steve groans, feeling your warmth and wetness even through your clothing and his jeans.

“Condom?” you ask as Steve divulges you of your sweater, running his hands up your shirt and under your bra. He’s so distracted with touching your tits that he barely registers the question. When he does, he kicks himself for not thinking of bringing something like that with him at all times anymore. He blames his stupid dry spell internally, then shakes his head.

“Oh well,” you say, running a hand along his still-clothed erection, “you’re so big, anyways. Don’t know if I could even take it all unless you played with me first.”

It goes straight to his cock. You’re serious even though your tone has a teasing lilt, and Steve moans, partly out of surprise, but also because you’re really, really turning him on. His cock twitches embarrassingly violent in your cupped hand, and you unzip his jeans, rubbing him over his boxers as you grind your pussy into this thigh.

“You liked that, didn’t you? Wanna hear about how I daydream about your cock? So big, Stevie. I can tell.”

Steve’s had enough. He has to take charge of this situation before he creams his pants, and he’s rapidly approaching the reality of that being a possibility.

“You daydream about a lot, apparently,” Steve snarks, batting your hand away from his dick. “I can feel how wet you are, did the book get you like this, princess?” He’s fishing for compliments now and he knows it, a tiny seed of doubt in his mind that maybe you’re not as into him as he thinks if you’re wasting your time on horny novels.

You shake your head. It’s not enough. He wants to hear it.

“Who makes you this wet?” he pushes you to answer as he grabs a hold of your hips and roughly guides you, forcing your clit to rub hard against his thigh.

“You do,” you gasp. The admission makes Steve go crazy. He needs more, more, more, wants to hear every little dirty secret you have and then some. He never thought about the possibility you read cheesy, trashy romance novels, and now he wonders what else he’s never thought of that you’re into.

“So why don’t you sit there and grind on my thigh and prove it?” he smirks, leaning back into the chair and taking you with him. He pushes his boxers down, pulling out his cock with one hand and stroking it slowly, making a show of touching himself in front of you. His other hand wanders back and forth between touching your tits and guiding your hips. You lean forward to touch him, looking positively feral, your eyes blown and mouth open, but as tempting as you are, Steve doesn’t want you to touch him yet. He thinks he’ll spill in seconds if you do.

Your body moves in sinuous rolls as you drag yourself along Steve’s thigh. He can’t see it, but he can feel that his jeans are ruined, you’ve soaked through your panties and are basically dripping on his thigh. He has no clue how he’s going to leave the building like this, but he isn’t thinking about that now.

“Better than your book?”

“Yes, fuck,” you swear. “Steve, please. I-I can’t– ”

Steve takes a moment to tease you. “What’s wrong? Can’t come like this? You need me, princess?”

“Fuck!” you cry out, grinding your cunt against him especially hard. Steve is playing with you, but you’re rapidly approaching the point of no return. “More, please, I need you.”

Steve finds that’s exactly what he needed to hear. He abandons his throbbing cock and uses both of his hands to assist your grinding motions, moaning as he watches your face screw up with pleasure.

Steve’s own heart is pounding in his ears, but he knows you have to be closer than him. Just to see what would happen, he bounces his thigh a little bit, leaning into you and sucking kisses into your skin.

“Jesus,” you choke out.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Steve echoes your words from earlier.

You’re too far gone to quip back. Instead, you delve into more whimpers and moans as Steve speeds up, bouncing his leg at rate that’s almost causing vibrations through your body. Steve watches as you get increasingly more desperate.

“Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop, oh, oh, oh!” you almost shout, and Steve can feel you clench around nothing as your climax hits you and you finish all over his thigh. It makes his cock leak, and he bites his lip to keep from coming himself. He lets you ride your orgasm out, falling forward into his arms, but then he can’t stop himself before he’s picking you up and laying you down on the tabletop.

Steve leans over, kissing down your neck, before he strips your skirt and panties off completely. You’re still blissed out, clinging to him and sighing at every bit of stimulation he gives you. Steve can’t help but admire you, pushing your shirt and bra up as he runs his hands down your body and gropes at you. He thinks you’re maybe the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen like this, relaxed, but still needy, as you grab at him to pull him in for a kiss.

The way you lick into his mouth has him groaning.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve says against your mouth when he takes a moment to breathe. He has to tell you. It’s a matter of the utmost urgency. You pull him in for another kiss, this time much sweeter than the last, and Steve knows you’re thanking him for his words.

“Think you can give me one more?” he asks when you pull away, already running a finger through your sopping folds.

“Mph! Yes!” you gasp, the stimulation sending shocks throughout your body.

“God,” Steve almost whimpers, “you’re being so loud. Can you imagine what would happen if someone walked in right now?”

He knows, logically, that can’t happen, since you locked the door. But the idea thrills him, and his cock is throbbing where it rests against your stomach, leaking pre and he’s maybe the hardest he’s ever been. The eroticism of the fact that the two of you have basically made it to third base at your workplace does not escape him as he pushes a finger inside of you and begins slowly thrusting. Your previous orgasm has you open and dripping on his hand, and he adds another finger almost right away.

“You wanna share me?” you ask, tentatively.

No, no Steve does not. He wants you all to himself, but he doesn’t think the idea of others catching a glimpse of you strung out on his fingers is too bad, especially if the point is to prove to everyone how much you’re into him. He shakes his head.

"Just want everyone to know you’re mine,” he growls.

“That’s hot,” you whine.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

He speeds up his thrusts. The sound of your pussy around his fingers is pure debauchery, and you clench around him as his mouth comes down to kiss and suckle at your breasts. Steve is lost to giving you pleasure; he doesn’t know how he’s managed to ignore how painful his dick is becoming as he’s denied himself in favor of chasing your orgasm, but the only thing on his mind is the urge to see you coming around his fingers.

He re-positions his hand to allow himself to rub at your clit and you tense up and bear down on his hand, grinding on him as he gives one, two, three swipes across your sensitive spot. This time he feels you fluttering around his fingers, imagining how you’d feel around his cock. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you finish, and the slight, stinging pain and marks he knows you’ll leave behind push him impossibly closer to the edge.

The moment you recover, he can’t help but begin to beg.

“Touch me, please,” Steve vocalizes his need, “I’m so, I-I need you to touch me.”

Steve nearly goes cross-eyed watching as you spit in your hand (he can hardly imagine you need to, he’s been practically dripping for a half hour, but it’s really fucking hot) and reach down to touch him. He’s leaning over you now as you lay on the table, stroking his hard cock above you and looking up at him adoringly.

“Been so good to me,” you coo, “I really wanna see you come on me, baby.”

That’s all it takes. Steve gasps and lets his eyes roll back, his cock twitching in your hand as he finishes across your stomach and chest, narrowly missing your blouse and bra. He’s not sure he’s ever come this hard as he practically sees stars; you keep touching him until he taps your hand away, signalling he’s had enough. He lets the aftershocks take over his body, almost collapsing on top of you before realizing he should let himself down beside you to avoid getting his own spend all over his shirt. A few moments later he notices you slowly sit up and cast your gaze towards him.

When the two of you make eye contact, he notices you stifling a giggle.

“What’s funny?” he asks, smiling gently.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you laugh.

“Hey, you’re the one who started it by reading the dirty novel,” Steve winks at you.

“Mmm no,” you say playfully as Steve positions himself next to you, “I hadn’t even gotten to the explicit part yet. That is all you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course it is,” you say, leaning in and kissing him softly. Steve throws an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

“Speaking of,” Steve mutters. “Where did the book even go?”

The two of you glance back at the romance novel, lying not even a foot away on the table, its cover torn, and a suspicious wet spot painting half the pages.

“Shit,” Steve says.

You both burst into laughter.

#Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington x reader #out of the woods yet #becca's bs

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glo0b · 3 months

Text

So this is love?

I do not own the characters or art

Content: Yandere!Knight!Sebek Zigvolt x Princess!Yuu/F!Reader, mentions of Prince!Silver x Princess!Yuu/F!Reader

TW: Yandere themes of course and slight mentions of death

note: I wrote this for a class project so I was limited lol. I wish I had more time and could have put more gore in it, sad day. BTW it's in Sebek's POV

word count: 1429

Here I am, Sebek Zigvolt, a knight of the Bair Valley kingdom and lover to Princess Yuu, walking to her sleeping quarters. Oh, I just can’t wait to see her beautiful face! I clutch the flowers in my hand and smooth my green hair back before opening her door. “Yuu!~ I brought you a surprise!~” I pause as I look upon the empty room. I step inside inspecting the room, it seems like someone left in a hurry or was taken in a hurry with objects out of place and thrown on the ground. “No, no, no, no, she can’t be gone! Where is Yuu!?” My booming voice bounces off the walk as I rush through all the places she could be. I search the halls of the palace in a panic. My heart beats against my ribcage rapidly as I am unable to find my beloved Yuu.

I stop in my tracks when I overhear other knights talking of how Prince Silver of the Moonlight Kingdom had taken the princess on a trip. “Prince Silver sure is handsome, I bet the princess will pick him as her husband.” The knight speaks in such a casual tone, of course he doesn’t know how horrible Prince Silver is! He would never be a fit man to marry Princess Yuu! “I heard the reason the prince is named that is because of his silver hair-” I drown out the conversation as their talk continues of that horrible Prince Silver. It seems like I’ll have to take a trip to Moonlight kingdom myself.

At night I planned to sneak out and take my horse out of town. I saddle up Romeo and get on. I named my horse Romeo since Yuu’s personal horse was named Juliet, silly to name the horses after characters in a love story I know. I didn’t pack much since the Moonlight kingdom is only in a day of travel. I tug the reins and Romeo begins to move. “Don’t worry love, I'll be there soon.” I whisper to myself so the other knights wouldn’t hear me leaving.

It takes time but I finally arrive at one of the towns in Moonlight Kingdom. I pay for a room at an inn and put Romeo in the stables. This town didn’t seem that bad at night, of course there were those few drunken fools running around like any town would have at the dead of night. Though I didn’t see any shady folk I kept my hand on my sword just in case. For now I’ll rest in my bed and wait till morning to investigate where Yuu could be. “She can’t be far, she just left today….” I think out loud as I slowly drift into a slumber.

I wake up to birds singing at my window, groaning as I get up. “I hate those annoying chirps!” I grab my small dagger from my bag and slam the window open in an attempt to rid the small bird from the area. The small green feathers of the bird are stained with its red blood, the small screeches fill my ears. I flick the bird off my blade, the bird falling to the ground twitching. I wipe my dagger with my handkerchief. “What a shame, such a pretty green. Yuu would have loved it.” I throw on my tunic. I wouldn’t want to draw attention to myself with my armor, it clearly had the symbol of the Bair Valley kingdom.

Walking outside I look around at the people walking around. They all seemed quite cheery and excited. The streets were decorated and filled with singing and dancing people. Carts filled with food and crafted goods. I grab a man’s arm to stop him and ask him what’s going on. “You sir! What’s this festival for?” The man looks at me confused. “Don’t you know? It’s a festival for the prince and his soon to be wife!” I release the man’s arm in shock. The prince was forcing Yuu to marry him already! I have to move quickly! Before the man could say anything else I dash away.

I make my way to the grand castle, many guards roaming the area. I examine the tall wall blocking entry. The bricks didn’t seem too difficult to climb. Putting my foot in one of the cracks I begin to climb the stone wall. Putting my hand on the top of the wall I hoist myself up over the wall. I look into the small garden beyond the wall. My feet hit the soft grass with a thump. Perhaps I should pick some flowers for my darling? I lean down and pluck a few lilies. “These will be a perfect surprise for Yuu” I mumble to myself as I sneak towards one of the windows to the castle. Peering into the window I don’t spot any servants or guards walking the halls. I push the window up and carefully climb inside.

I creep up stairs and through hallways until I hear a familiar voice singing a small tune. “I’m coming, my love!” I whisper out to myself. I push the wooden door open silently so as not to be detected. There I finally see my Darling Yuu! I watch as she brushes her soft, long, black hair, gods I bet it smells delicious. I step forward. “Dear, is that you?” I hug her waist from behind. “Oh yes it is!” I squeak out happily, I’ve waited so long to hold her in my arms. I feel her freeze in my arms and I drop the lilies in concern. “Is everything okay, Darling?” I feel her push me away and my heart sinks.

“GET AWAY FROM ME YOU CREEP!” She looks so angry but scared, what happened to make her feel this way? “What do you mean darling? I came to save you!” I step forward but stop when I feel a stinging sensation on my cheek. I reach up and cradle the cheek. She had slapped me! Why would she slap me, her knight in shining armor! “Silver! Guards! Help! He followed us her-” Before she could continue screaming her head off I cover her mouth. “Stop yelling! They’re not here to save you, I am! Why can’t you understand I came here for you! I love you!” I tried but couldn’t hold back the tears from falling from my green eyes. Yuu started to fight against my grip. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go! I was meant to save you and you were meant to fall for me! Why can’t you get that! Just love me!” I feel my heart sink even more when Yuu’s bedroom door swings open revealing the man I despised.

I let go of Yuu and push her on the bed so she wouldn’t get hurt. “Get away from her, she obviously doesn't want you here.” Silver glares at me. “No! She loves me and I love her!” I draw my dagger from my pocket. “I do not want to fight you, old friend. We can still get you the help you need…just further away.” I clench my fist at the idea Silver proposes. “I can’t leave her! I won’t go anywhere!” I swing my dagger at Silver but he dodges. He grabs my hand trying to disarm me but I use the opportunity to knock him into the floor.

Though the dagger is knocked out of my hands I use them to choke him. “I can’t let you have her! I can’t, I can't, I can't!” My eyes widen as I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I look down to see blood dripping down my tunic, I look behind me to see Yuu holding my newly bloodied dagger. “D-darling, why?” My lips quiver as I let go of Silver and fall to the ground. “You were hurting him! I just-” My body starts to feel cold, everything seems to quiet now. I grab out to Yuu and smear my blood on her white dress as she falls to her knees. This isn’t such a bad ending for me, is it? I have my darling by my side as my life leaves my body. This is all I could have asked for when it came to my death. My vision starts to fade out. This is it for me, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you Darling. “Goodbye, Darling….” My body goes limp as my vision goes black. I can’t hear anything anymore, my body no longer has warmth. So is this love?

================================================

Goodbye~! Drink lots of water and get lots of rest dear readers!

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek #i live laugh love sebek #yandere sebek zigvolt #yandere sebek x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #twst silver x reader #silver x reader

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heliads · 9 days

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Aaaaah so glad I made it in time x3 your writing is godsent and being able to request something fills my cold heart with joy!

Okay so I rewachted Descendants and just... imagine if Carlos has to live together/spend time with a villain kid that got adopted and raised by the big bad wolf (I checked and yes that is a Disney villain!).

For some plot... (my mind comes up with something funny so do not expect too much lol) maybe taking place during Descendants 2 (with Uma) and somehow the crew has taken Carlos and Little Bad Wolf has to keep an eye on him? Except that little bad wolf gets seasick "Dude this ship isnt even on open sea, how are you feeling sick?" "shut up!"

'get him back' - carlos de vil

masterlist

The pirates never should have taken Carlos.

It was a stupid move, really. Stupid to get Mal on their bad side, but even worse to kidnap Carlos. As if Mal wouldn’t do anything in this world or the next to get her friend back. As if anyone who dared to stand in her way would not find themselves lost to the salt of the sea if they didn’t immediately back down.

Uma didn’t learn that lesson soon enough, but she will. It doesn’t matter that she was a formidable foe, the moment she made the fight personal by kidnapping Carlos, it was all over. Mal’s got an unsettling edge to her voice, the sort of dark and twisted tone that makes you follow her orders without question. Villain kids don’t like doing what they’re told, but in this case, you’re all of the same mind. What matters the most is getting Carlos back. Your egos can wait until after your friend is back by your side.

Uma’s ship came by in the dead of night and took Carlos when he was walking around unawares. They must have all attacked at once, half a dozen pirates against one boy, because there’s no way Carlos would go down without a fight. There are clear signs of a scuffle on the roads where they took him away, obviously not the clean abduction Uma was hoping for, but the facts remain. Carlos is gone, and you need to get him back as soon as possible.

Mal has already drawn up a rescue plan. She’s enchanted a small boat to be silent and almost invisible in the dark waters; once night falls, you’ll sneak up to Uma’s ship and get your boy back. One of you will sneak on board and find Carlos, then dodge the pirates meant to be guarding him and bring him back to your ship. You’ll have to wait until the right time to make your escape, though, so you can immediately land at a local deck and make your getaway. Uma can beat you in water, but you’re faster on land, so everything has to be timed perfectly.

You’re the one who’s been assigned to the difficult task of slipping onto Uma’s ship. As the adoptive child of the Big Bad Wolf, you’re well trained in the art of sneaking around and blending in. You’re the perfect spy, so to speak, so you’re the best bet the VKs have at going unnoticed by the pirates on that ship.

Even though you know the official reason for your selection is simply that you’re the best among Mal’s VKs at staying under the radar, you can’t help a rush of pride at being the one selected for the task. When Carlos looks up to see his savior, you’re glad it’s going to be you. You want to be the one on his mind when he thinks of safety. You, not Evie or someone else. Just you.

The credit for this rescue, though, should rightly be shared among all members of your friend group. Right now, Mal, Ben, Jay, and Evie are on Mal’s cloaked boat, drawing close to Uma’s ship. It slides by before you, cresting the indigo waves, so close you could reach out and touch it with one hand. Right under it, you’re struck by the size of the ship. Carlos could be anywhere. This might take longer than you thought.

Mal nods at you. “It’s time.”

You nod back, standing up carefully and reaching for the rope ladder one of the pirates forgot to pull up on the side of the ship. Tugging it quietly to test its strength, you pull yourself up slowly hand over hand, pausing just before you reach the top so you can survey the deck and see how many pirates are there.

Not expecting an attack this late at night, Uma’s crew has left the deck mostly unmanned. Two pirates are idly chatting near the helm, keeping the ship on its course, and there’s a guy up in the crow’s nest, although he’s nodded off instead of keeping a good watch on any possible intruders. You crawl over the railing as quietly as you dare, sticking to the shadows to avoid notice. Oil lamps cast pools of sticky yellow light on the ground, and you skirt them as best you can, all the while making for the stairs leading to the lower parts of the ship. Your steps are silent, each taken with the fear of causing a loose board to creak and alert the crew to your presence.

Once belowdecks, you can breathe a little easier. Most of the sounds you hear are of snoring and sleeping pirates, although a few still remain awake even despite the late hour. Without the stars and moon bleeding white light overhead, the halls are darker, giving you more room to bleed into the shadows and avoid detection. A few times, someone pokes their head out of their door or shifts around a little, causing you to freeze in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest, but you still manage to come out of each close shave without getting caught.

The further you go into the ship, though, the worse you feel. Despite living on an island for most of your life, you never really had a chance to get on a boat before, and you can say decisively that you don’t enjoy the feeling. You like solid ground, a floor that doesn’t rock, and the stability of knowing there isn’t empty water under your feet at any moment. Uma’s ship lilts and turns every few seconds as it crosses the waves, and it leaves you feeling drained of all strength before you’ve even spent ten minutes inside.

You’re not here to complain, though, you’re here to rescue Carlos. You push past your growing nausea and keep peering in doors, searching for the room holding your friend. Before long, you spot it– a locked door at the end of the hall, a flash of white hair inside. It’s meant to be guarded by two pirates, but they’ve obviously grown bored of their post and settled in for a game of cards a few paces away. Perfect. You cause a small distraction by knocking a can to the ground down the hall, and hurriedly pick the lock while they go rushing off in the opposite direction.

You swing yourself inside the cell and shut the door again just before they look back. Grinning, you allow yourself one moment of quiet victory before you’re engulfed in a rush of red and black and white.

Instantly, your body is on high alert, but you manage to calm down when you realize you’re not being attacked by a pirate but one of Carlos’ fierce hugs. He pulls back a second later, beaming ear to ear. “Y/N! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You laugh quietly. “You can thank Mal for that, she dropped everything to come rescue you once we found out you’d been kidnapped.”

Carlos punches the air triumphantly. “Perfect! Let’s get out of here. Pirates stink.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. We have to wait an hour or so for Uma’s ship to pass by land. That way, we can escape onto the peninsula without trying to sail back or she’d catch us.”

Carlos’ face falls. “You’re telling me I have to stay in this rat’s nest even longer?”

You frown sympathetically. “I know, trust me, but we have no choice. She’d catch us if we tried to just sail away. And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of here. I hate this ship.”

As if proving your point, the ship hits a sudden burst of waves and you nearly lose your balance and your dinner along with it. Carlos catches you before you fall, hurriedly bringing you over to a small, hard looking couch along the side of the cell.

“Hey, easy there. Don’t go getting sick on my watch. You can lie down and try to regain your spirits while we wait for Mal, alright?” He says.

You close your eyes gratefully. “Thanks, Carlos.”

He giggles. “No problem. Although I can’t believe you feel this bad already, we’re not even out of the bay. This ship isn’t in the open ocean, how are you seasick? The water is practically dead still.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, fighting another bout of nausea.

Carlos laughs again, but thankfully remains silent. You have no doubt that he’ll be bringing it up again soon, though, probably to win an argument about which VK is the toughest.

You’d like to clear your good name, of course, but the rocking of the ship silences you again, keeping you absolutely still and silent on the tough couch. Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, tries to distract you by talking. He keeps his voice quiet so he doesn’t attract the attention of the guards outside, and the soft lull of his words spilling out into the darkness of your lidded eyes makes you wish for sleep.

Carlos talks about how surprised he was when he was kidnapped, how glad he was to see you, what he plans on doing after you break him out of here, what he was supposed to be doing when Uma and her pirates took him in the first place. Carlos has always been a good talker, but you’re extra glad for it now.

When he pauses for breath, you laugh quietly and say, “I thought I was supposed to be the one saving you, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

Eyes still closed, you can tell Carlos is smiling by the soft exhale he lets out. “I’d say freeing me from a pirate ship is a bigger deal than distracting you from seasickness. I’ll still give you this win.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” you hum.

“Yeah, well, I’m a generous guy,” Carlos tells you. “It’s no problem when it’s you, though. I’d do anything for you.”

When you dare to crack open your eyelids, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him. All of a sudden, the breath is low and careful in your lungs not because of the churning waters beneath you, but because of him. Always because of him.

“Carlos,” you begin quietly.

“No,” he says, more determinedly, “I’m serious. I like you, Y/N. I really do. Seasick or not. I’ve liked you for a while, and if I was going to be stuck in a cell in a pirate ship with anyone, I’d want it to be you. You were the best part about the Isle of the Lost and the best part of Auradon. I can go anywhere if you’re with me. You don’t have to feel the same, I just– I thought you should know.”

You sit up carefully. “I do feel the same way.”

Carlos’ mouth drops. “Really?”

“Is that so much of a surprise?” You ask, laughing slightly. “I’ve followed you everywhere since we first met. We’re practically inseparable. The only reason I wasn’t kidnapped along with you is because I got distracted by Evie needing help finding a pair of matching shoes. You’re my home too, Carlos. You always have been.”

His smile is brilliant in the darkness. “I couldn’t be happier to hear it. Except maybe when we get off this ship.” He extends a hand to you. “How about we make our escape?”

You take it, letting Carlos pull you up. “I’d like nothing more.”

It feels like your entire life has opened up before you. If it takes a kidnapping, a pirate ship, and terrible storms for the two of you to finally confess your feelings, it might just be worth it after all. You’ve got Carlos, and that’s worth more than all the treasure in the world.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#carlos de vil #carlos de vil imagines #carlos de vil x reader #carlos de vil oneshot #descendants #descendants imagines #descendants x reader #descendants oneshot #descendants carlos #descendants carlos imagines #descendants carlos x reader #descendants carlos oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot

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ryuichirou · 2 months

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can you pretty pretty please with extra sprinkles on top drop the speedpaint for your most recent rookvil art? i wanna see how you did vils pretty dress and everything else cause its all so beautiful

I am so happy you like how it looks!! I would love to make a speedpaint, but unfortunately, I didn’t record it + the base for the drawing was actually done traditionally with a pencil. A lot of my drawings are done this way, actually…

Even though I can’t drop the speedpaint, I’ll do the next best thing and explain my process for this specific drawing step-by-step. It’s actually not that complicated!

Here is how the sketch looked initially. As you can see, I shaded the dress very crudely; in fact I was kind of upset with how the dress looked at this stage. Ironically, I ended up not doing much to the pencil shading, and it still turned out okay somehow?? Anyways, the first thing I did was to prep the sketch for the colouring stage: I adjusted the contrast, fixed Vil’s face, and erased some dirt and imperfections.

Then I create a new layer, set it to Multiply (this way I can colour the sketch without disturbing it, as if I was just colouring a digitally done lineart) and do a base colour layer. There is a gradient in Vil’s hair and Rook’s belt buckle, but other than that, all the colours are flat at this stage.

Before doing all the shading needed for this sketch, I add details such as makeup and tights. If you want to know how I did these, let me know, but I basically looked at a tutorial once and then simplified it lol

Now, the dress.

To be completely honest, there isn’t any proper technique to what I did, everything is always just trial and error and an hour of me going “does that look good? NO IT DOESN’T >:(“ until both Katsu and I are satisfied. This time I was lucky, because it didn’t take very long, and the “solution” was pretty simple.

Starting with the base colour. I turned off the sketch layer to show that it is indeed completely purple. And it looks kind of bright at this point, almost too bright even, especially considering that the dress is supposed to be mostly black, or at least dark purple. But bear with me.

Next I added some highlights (new layer, set on Overlay or Screen, depending on what looks best). Usually I would add the shades first, but I wanted to make the fabric look more “shiny”, you know, the type of fabric that would reflect the floor and make this highlight under the boob lol.

And after that I just went ahead and added black gradient (on a new Layer) from the bottom of the dress to make it look darker, silkier and a little bit more interesting for the eye. I erased some parts of the gradients as you can see, because it looked too dark on the highlighted parts… could’ve just placed the black gradient layer under the highlights layer and saved myself a headache, but hey, where is the adventure in that.

Finally, it turned out looking like this. It looks better than it used to look like initially, but there is one more thing to do. We don’t get to do this one too often, so it always excited both Katsu and me: THE SPARKLES!! Somehow, making the dress sparkly makes everything much better.

How do I do the sparkles: I use the star brush… or was it a snow brush? I use this brush when I draw both of these things lol + when I draw anything sparkly. I would’ve given you this specific one, but I don’t really remember where I got it from, and I honestly think that any starry or snowy brush would work wonderfully as long as the specs are small enough.

After that is done, I just shade the rest of the drawing. Nnew layer set on Multiply, the shading is done with darker purple/red + darker blue, whatever looks better on any particular material: the skin really likes warmer colours, but Rook’s suit looked bad with red shades, so I adjusted it to blue.

And here is the post where I talk about how I colour hair! Good thing I already wrote that one, this post is getting long lol

And the last step is to add details. The original sketch was done in a rather small (smaller than A6) sketchbook, so I couldn’t draw all the details like Vil’s earrings and stuff properly. Basically I just paint on a separate layer on top of everything.