tread carefully

You bring me coffee sometimes. You set it down between me and the computer screen, and tell me that you added enough sugar to make it taste good. You usually haven’t added enough, but I don’t particularly mind.

What you haven’t realized is that I have no difficulty staying awake when I’m working on a case that interests me. I actually only ever have difficulty with falling asleep. It would be more efficient for both of us if you stopped bringing me coffee. But you keep doing it, and I don’t tell you to stop. I should tell you to stop, but I don’t, and I tell myself that surely you wouldn’t keep fetching drinks for me if it was a serious hindrance to your work. You only come visit me, and my dark room, and my glowing computer monitor, for the good of the case. It’s completely rational.

I have to be rational - I know that no distraction is more important than this puzzle, this chase, the net I’m weaving from this room, and so I don’t talk to you for long when you visit. You ask me how things are going - you always ask such vague questions - and I tell you that I’m making progress. I feel tempted to tell you this even when it isn’t true. This may be because I believe you’ll be more successful in your work if your morale is high. There are other possibilities, as well.

Not knowing is unfamiliar, and it bothers me. I don’t know why I want to stop you from worrying, or why I drink your coffee every night even when you’ve gotten the sugar ratio all wrong. And I don’t know why you take the time to bring me coffee at all, because I don’t really believe that your motivations are rational. I do believe that you would sit down next to me, if I had a second chair. But I’m still not quite sure why, and I’d like to know with 100% accuracy before I make any decisions.

Of course, the probability goes down to 0% if no one decides anything...

You bring sugar packets with the coffee tonight. You smile and say, “I thought that you might want to do it yourself. I can tell when you don’t like it, you know.”

I didn’t know, but I make note of it. “Thank you,” I say. “I find coffee disgusting by itself. I prefer hot chocolate, actually.”

Your face turns a bit pink, and you say, “I’m sorry. I could bring you that tomorrow.” I want to invite you to sit down, but there is still only one chair in the room. I should have planned for this. There’s a reason I didn’t. I’m productive alone. I’m a genius, alone. Still...

“Coffee’s fine,” I say. “The sugar makes it much better.” My yawn afterwards is performative, but the exhaustion it belies is certainly real.

“You’ve got bags under your eyes,” you say. Then you flush, again. You color the most at the high points of your cheeks. “They don’t look bad or anything. I just - you seem really tired.”

“I am,” I say. “I’ve had approximately six hours of sleep in the last two nights, and I need at least five per night to function at full capacity. It’s not ideal.”

“Definitely not.” You don’t look tired, although you’ve been awake late, as well. You have bright eyes, and they’re still bright now. Long eyelashes, too. And I like the pink in your cheeks. I’d like it to stay there.

“Why do they send you every night?” I ask.

“They don’t send me,” you say.

I smile, lean back on my heels, and tear open a sugar packet.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask. “Other than sleep.”

I empty a second packet, then a third. “Nothing, besides a breakthrough.”

“Or maybe just a break.” Your tone has changed, now, although I don’t quite know how, or what it’s meant to reflect. I find it relaxing, though, enough that I let myself slide from crouching to sitting in my chair.

“Perhaps. A short break could actually improve my efficiency tonight.” I pause, here. My mind really is slower when I’m sitting down.

“Do you want company?” You lean over the desk, and your hand lands close to mine. You smile white and you blush pink, and a lock of hair falls over your eye.

There is no chair. I could say yes, if there was one. But there is no chair, because I planned to make myself work alone, even if you came, when you came -

“I’ll sit on the floor,” you say. “Don’t worry.”

I nod my assent, and you take your seat, leaning back on your hands. When I talk to you, I lean over the arm of my chair. “I’ve calculated some probabilities you might be interested in,” I say.

“With all due respect to your brilliance, I don’t think I need you to tell me.” You look up at me from the floor and take hold of the seat of my chair. It turns on its base if you move it, and you pull it until I’ve turned 90 degrees to face you. “They really don’t send me to visit you. I come all by myself.”

I like the sight of you underneath me, so much that I feel compelled to turn my gaze away. It lands on the coffee cup, open, full nearly to the brim. “You don’t have to bring anything,” I say. “Next time. You can just come up. Talk to me.”

From the corner of my eye, I see you tilt your head, and your hair fall away from your face. “Won’t that be a distraction?”

“Yes.” I turn away from the coffee cup and look at you, sitting at my feet as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m not used to feeling this chair at my back. I’m not used to feeling this - this.

You giggle - it’s unnatural, hearing such a light sound in this place - and pull yourself closer. “Well, then. What should we talk about?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not very good at... that.” There’s a decent chance that you want to come even closer, but my legs are in the way. And it would be vulgar to part them. Presumptuous. Especially considering what you’ve surely already noticed -

“We’ll be quiet, then.” You rise to your knees and push the offending limbs to either side. “There are other things worth doing.”

You deserve a better light than the harsh glow of a computer. You deserve a better place, and a better reason than - what? An attraction to intelligence, maybe, or pity -

I don’t let myself go down that train of thought. For once - just this once - I can leave something unconsidered.

You’ve tied back some of your hair. I can see your face, and watch your tongue, softer than any hand, brush over me for the first time. I don’t wonder how I taste, or how I compare - these are thoughts for later. You’re slow, at first, and warm. Some of your hair falls out of its tie and laps at my skin, but you pay it no mind. You tease me, you coax me, you cover me, and I shudder when you pull away.

There’s saliva hanging from your lips, and I feel the urge to reach down and spread it across your face. “If you want to,” you say, “push my head down at the end. I’ll like it.”

I lean back in my chair - now, it feels like my throne - and grip the armrests. There’s not an inch you haven’t touched, but I still want you to take more. I could make you take it, I realize, shove down and shove up and fuck your throat until you’re tugging back against my hand. But I wait. You’re better than I ever could have imagined, and you only said at the end...

I want you like this every night. I can take the time. I can earn it. In front of my eyes flashes a picture of how you might look with your shirt unbuttoned, or on your knees with nothing at all. Every night, every night, every single night - I take the back of your head and pull you tight between my hips, driving everything I have into you.

You take it easily and smile and sit back on your heels. “We don’t have to talk,” you say. “I’ll bring you another coffee tomorrow night.” Your hair comes down, and I push mine back from my face.

“Tomorrow,” I repeat. Tomorrow, and the night after, and the next...

GETO

Geto slinks out from behind a bookshelf, catching your attention by grabbing your wrist. “Finally,” he sighs, smiling down at you past the bags under his eyes.

“Finally what?”

“Two things.” He holds up his index finger. “First, I’m finally done studying. For today, anyways.” Another finger pops up. “And the second… well, sweetheart, the second is that you’re here, and you don’t seem to be particularly busy.” He grins. “The library isn’t all that busy, either. Especially up here. Just stacks and stacks of books, and not a single person to see anything.” He tugs gently on your arm, directing you towards a particularly desolate corner. “Let me… demonstrate.”

You hesitate before following.

“I’ve been here all day,” he reminds you. “I’ll be here again tomorrow, too. And the next day. It’s so stressful. I could really use an outlet.” He runs his other hand through your hair, and you can’t help but relax at his gentle touch. “You’ve been working so hard, too. I think you deserve a break as well.”

Deep in the stacks, there is an empty row on a shelf, just the right height for you to brace your arms when he folds you over. You squirm, trying to find a comfortable position as he pushes just enough clothing out of the way. “Good girl,” he says, giving your hand an approving squeeze as he eases into you from behind. “You’re exactly what I needed. Stay just like this, alright?” He lets go of your hand to grab your hips, sighing deeply as they collide with his. “You’re perfect.”

His movements are faster, now, losing their precision as he fucks roughly into your waiting cunt. “I’ll use you up,” he whispers, his silver tongue suddenly coarse and harsh. “Every night, until I’ve fucked out all the pressure and tension of the day, until you’re dumb and useless and I’m completely satisfied.” He holds you tight, nails digging into your hips, face nestled by your ear. “Alright, sweetheart?”

Your own nails dig into the skin of your wrists as you struggle to stay upright. You hear yourself agree, even so. As his cock pounds unyieldingly into you, you find even your will to stay quiet slowly slip away, replaced by irrepressible moans and gasps of please don’t stop.

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re half-whispering that it’s too much, not until the greed that blazes across his face behind your back fades to a pleasant, hazy smile.

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NAOYA

“Sit.” Naoya points to the desk you’ve just risen from, smirking as you struggle to ease yourself back into the cramped seat. You stay there as he closes the classroom door, trepidation swelling in your stomach as he locks it. It has a small window, but you can’t see it from the corner where you’re sitting. The room will look empty to anyone passing by.

He returns to his desk, stopping at it long enough to close the presentation on his computer. “You haven’t said anything since I asked you to stay back. That’s unusual. You’re usually so eager to share your opinions.” The room isn’t large. It only takes him a few strides before he’s standing over you, his hands falling harshly on your desk. “I’d go so far as to say you relish it. Especially when it gives you a chance to argue with me.” His long, smooth nails tap slowly as he waits for your response. “I know you want to speak. Look at you. I can see the words frothing behind your lips.”

“I have another class…” you murmur. “I need to go soon…”

You hand strays too close to his, and he grabs your wrist, yanking you up from your seat. “You’ll stay here for as long as you need to. There’s no point in sending you off to other classes right now. I’m sure you’d be just as - as mouthy in those.”

You protest. “I’m not -“

“Just here, then,” he fumes, willfully misunderstanding your words. “You’re so intent on garnering my attention, aren’t you? There are better ways to do that, you know.” You try yanking your wrist away, but his grasp is vice-tight. “I’d have had a much better impression of you if you’d just sat there and never raised your hand. Leaning forward at your desk to take notes was more than enough to catch my attention. I’m sure that was intentional, wasn’t it?” You shake your head. “It was. And every time you open your mouth, you know what you’re doing. No one is as insufferable as you without a reason.”

As soon as your eyes dart towards the door, his palm slaps against your cheek. “Don’t even try to leave. I’m sure you’ve noticed my family name on the buildings here. I could get you thrown out of this school if I wanted. I could end your fucking career before it even started. Understand?”

You hang your head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” A firm hand weaves through your hair, yanking you against his body before pushing you to the floor. “Mouth open.”

You flatten your expression and do what he says, suppressing your fear and disgust and hatred when he shoves his cock past your tongue. The only thing you can’t keep down is the gag that bursts from your throat, forcing you back.

He doesn’t give you any respite. Only a slap!and a sharp pull forward. “You’ll be staying after class every day from now on,” he decides, indifferent to the choking sounds again echoing through his classroom. “You clearly have a lot to learn.”

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SUKUNA

His fingers tighten around your throat, pressing the back of your head hard against the mirror on the door. “I told you to wait for me.”

“I did…”

“Wait patiently.” His nails dig into the naked softness of your thighs. “That’s exactly what I said. I remember it very clearly. Did you forget?”

You would shake your head if he let you move. But he’s forcing you to stay still. “I just really liked being in your room all alone,” you whisper. “And it was taking you a second to get here… so I started thinking about what you’d do.”

“You didn’t even lock the door.” He loosens his grip on your neck just enough to shift his hand and sink his teeth into your skin. “You were touching yourself on my bed, naked, with the door unlocked.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” His voice is low, practically growling into your ear. “I was… disappointed in you at first. But now I’m just excited. Do you want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“Because now that you’ve done something wrong, I get to try out all my ideas.” When he pulls back from your bite-mottled neck, he’s grinning, sharp teeth gleaming even from the dim lamp light of the room.

You shudder, unsure of whether to be eager or terrified. “What ideas?”

“Let’s see…” His eyes widen, and he laughs to himself, giving you a moment to steep in its sinister effect before going on. “Since you don’t seem to care all that much about your own privacy, I think I should just cast you out into the hall. Dressed exactly how you are now.”

“I’m not dressed at all,” you protest, attempting to shield your exposed body from his gaze with a quickly-halted turn.

“That’s the point.” He laughs again, and tugs you, by your neck, away from the door as he cracks it open. “The bathroom isn’t that far away. Maybe you’ll be able to make it without anyone seeing you.”

“But…” You whine helplessly, not even bothering to struggle against his grip. “Please don’t do that. I’ll do anything else you want.”

“Hmm.” He releases your neck, slamming the door shut again before roughly shoving your face into his mattress. “Let me tell you about my other ideas, first. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you choose a favorite.

“mmph”

“I could open the blinds and fuck you against the window until you attract an audience.” A sharp slap to your thighs punctuates the end of the sentence. “Or we could use one of those toys I bought for you. With the windows open, so everyone can hear the pathetic way you cry when I edge you.” Another strike nearly makes you cry out. “Or I could wait. Let you off for tonight and punish you when you least expect it. I might enjoy that option the most.” He nods to himself. “I want you looking over your shoulder all week. Squeezing your legs together, wondering when I’ll be between them again.”

You squeal as his heavy palm lands with another heavy smack on your red skin.

“Until then, I want nothing to do with you.”

“But -”

“Maybe if you beg me, I won’t draw things out for too long. But that’s a question to consider tomorrow. For now-” he yanks you up from your position on his bed, casting you onto the floor where your clothes lie in a crumpled pile. “You have twenty seconds before I kick you into the hallway. Regardless of your state of dress.”

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

MAHITO

You cross one leg over the other, struggling to carry out the maneuver in the narrow space between lecture desks. Changing your position doesn’t give you any relief - in fact, squeezing your thighs together makes things worse. Thankful for your spot in the second-to-last row, you ease your phone from your backpack’s smallest pocket, praying that your closest neighbors can’t see the way you’re shaking.

too much, you say. Can i have a break? There’s no response. Please? Please. Pleaseee

Still nothing. Your clench your empty fist against your armrest, forcing yourself to breath slowly instead of panting and writhing like you’d do in private.

I’m gonna go to the bathroom right now and take it out.

This time, you get a response instantly.

Do that and I’ll kill you :)

You turn your head. Mahito is staring at you from the corner of the back row, eyes wide and innocent, his right hand still holding his phone as his left hand toys with a small rectangle under the table. He smirks at you before pressing on the remote, turning the vibrator up so much that it takes everything not to jolt out of your seat. As you turn back around, sweat beading on your temple, another message lights up your phone.

You’re sitting in the front row next time, it says. And I’ll make sure you cum <3

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

GOJO

Let me innn, says the newest message on your phone.

It’s 1am. You crack the door open anyways.

“She’s sleeping,” you whisper, casting a nervous glance at your roommate. “I don’t wanna wake her up…”

“Be quiet, then.” Gojo’s index finger traces up your jawline, and his palm wraps over your mouth. “Very, very quiet.”

You exhale sharply as his second hand slides gently up your thigh, working its way underneath the soft, loose shorts you wore to bed.

He shakes his head. “You’re being noisy already,” he sighs. “Poor baby. And your poor roommate. You’re gonna have to move in with me if she finds out.”

You step out into the hallway, pressing the full length of your body against his. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you could be as loud as you wanted.” With a dramatic sigh, you pull away. “It’s really too bad. A couple hours ago, I had the room all to myself. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about it.” Grinning devilishly, you slide back behind your door and lock it, resisting the urge to laugh aloud when you hear him groan from the other side.

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