maeve

Sitting at the dining room table with pancakes, eggs, and bacon piled on your plates for a 4pm breakfast, both of you still cozy in your pajamas, you’re starting to think it might have all been in your head. 

Your husband of 4 fucking years had no idea that you’d been scheming all this time, trying to surprise him.

Tickets to the AC/DC reunion tour 2 years ago? Nope, he’d seen the confirmation email pop up on your phone, not that you’d known that at the time, when you’d let him borrow it to call his own (he tended to lose his pretty often). He’d then casually remarked a few days later he couldn’t wait to go, leaving you sputtering over a chart, wondering how in the world he knew as he walked away.

Then there’d been the bronco. The old, broken down, sage green bronco, parked a few streets over that he kept casting longing glances at, followed by ‘what I wouldn’t give to fix that up.’

 Jack had never been one to splurge on himself, but you had been itching to find him a hobby that didn’t include being shot at, so you’d bought it, hurrying home to make sure there was space to park it in the driveway. The former owner would be dropping it off in an hour. 

But then, 30 minutes later, Jack walked through the door, dropping a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for the car. You’d wanted to scream. 

What you didn’t know was that Jack had finally given in, dropping by the neighbor’s to see how much he wanted for it, only to find out his darling wife had already gotten it for him.

But the absolute worst, by far, had been right before your wedding. Jack was sweet and rather sentimental, preferring memories and photos to material objects. So, you’d decided to start a scrap book. It was a little girly, and you’d worried he wouldn’t love it as much as you did, but you still went ahead with it. You’d filled it with all the pictures the two of you had taken over the first 3 years of your relationship, with the last decorated page dedicated to your engagement party. The book was barely a quarter full and you’d practiced a sappy speech in the mirror about filling the rest of the pages over the rest of your lives.

And everything had gone according to plan. You worked on it in secret for weeks, and as far as you knew, he was none the wiser. 

But then, as the two of you sat in bed the night before your wedding, just before you were going to show him the damn book, Jack had simply looked up from whatever western novel he was reading and very nonchalantly asked if you were ever going to let him see your scrapbook. When asked how he knew about that, he simply shrugged and said, “I pay attention.”

You still gave your sappy speech, watched his eyes shine with unshed tears, and let him lay you down and fuck you one last time as your fiance.

And as you laid out these examples, explaining the steps you’d gone to to keep the secrets, Jack simply sat there, slowly chewing his bacon while his eyes screamed ‘this woman needs help.’

“-but I finally did it,” you were smug, alternating between cutting your pancakes into smaller bits and gesturing wildly with your cutlery. “I finally managed to actually surprise you!”

Your eyes strayed to the box, still open on the table, your IUD shining in the late afternoon sunlight. You’d done it. He had been totally, 100% caught off guard. It was straight out of left field, he’d never seen it coming.

“I was suspicious.”

That was all he said, eyes still focused on you, lips quirking up as he took a bite of his eggs.  

All you could do was sit in wide eyed silence for a moment.

“Bullshit you knew,” you were starting to spiral, wondering where you’d slipped up. Maybe someone had snitched? But no, only Joan knew about your plan and she’d never have given you up.

The bastard shrugged. “You said you were cramping-”

“That is a totally reasonable comment from a woman in her 30s with a uterus.”

“Yeah,” he laughed under his breath, pointing at you with a strip of bacon. “But you brought up your IUD. You should have just said your stomach hurt, ‘cause then I asked Robby if you were doing ok.”

You hadn’t even told Robby about your plan and he still fucked it up.

You groaned, head dropping into your hands.

“And he said you disappeared for an hour to get a ‘pap smear’,” the grin on his face as he made the air quotes had you wanting to throttle him. “So I asked Tina from Obstetrics if you were ok. She said she had no idea. Apparently, you spent an hour in an exam room with Joan.”

“You called my fucking gynecologist to confirm my alibi?”

“I didn’t know it was an alibi,” Jack’s shoulders were shaking with the laughter he was holding in. It was starting to become infectious. You couldn’t stop the smile slowly creeping onto your face, despite the niggling irritation. “At the time, I was just checking on my wife, being the wonderful husband that I am. So imagine my surprise when there is not a single record of your little visit anywhere.”

“Oh, so you got Tina to break HIPAA for you?”

“Sweetheart,” his eyes rolled ever so slightly. “I am your emergency contact, your boss, your husband, and the only person you put down on your HIPAA release form.”

“Robby’s actually my boss,” was your only counterpoint, and even as you grumbled it out, you knew it was weak.

“Yeah, when he’s not having a nervous breakdown,” Jack snorted, picking up his coffee to take a sip. 

“But that doesn’t mean you knew,” you redirected. Robby’s mental state was the absolute last thing you wanted to discuss during your 4 day long  husband’s birthday/attempted conception weekend.

“Mmm no, I never said I knew,” Jack leaned back, legs spread and posture relaxed as he looked across the table at you.

“Ok, fine you didn’t explicitly say you knew what I was planning. You just heavily implied you did.”

“I did not imply anything. I said I knew you spent an hour alone in an exam room with your best friend who is a gynecologist and that you were keeping something from me,” his eyes darted down to the box, tracing over its contents. “I had some suspicions, some good, some bad, but I didn’t know. Not then.”

“What do you mean ‘not then’?” You sat up straighter in your chair. The oversized, decades old West Point t-shirt that had once been his slipped off your shoulder. You tugged it back into place, choosing to ignore how his eyes immediately snapped to the tiny bit of skin that had been exposed in favor of your interrogation.

Jack shrugged, his eyes avoiding yours. “I didn’t know then.”

Your brow furrowed into a glare. You very rarely had any success trying to intimidate your husband, but now it seemed like he was trying to hide something.

“Jack Abbot tell me what you knew and when you knew it. Now.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head as he grabbed his coffee mug again. You watched him drain the rest of the lukewarm liquid, eyes tracing the movement of his throat as he swallowed. He set the mug down gently, eyeing you like you might start swinging the butter knife still in your hand.

“Alright,” his arms folded over his chest, those obnoxious biceps of his straining against the plain black t-shirt he wore. “I knew you had some sort of-” He paused for a moment, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “Gynecological… something going on.”

You snorted, shaking your head and gesturing for him to go on.

“I knew you were planning something last night because you insisted on making dinner, and we usually go out for birthdays.”

“Ok, but that’s not-” He leveled you with the look that made residents want to wet themselves in fear. After years of living with him, though, all it made you do was sigh in resignation and sit back in your seat, allowing him to continue.

“And then you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you had to agree, that was a little suspicious. The two of you weren’t exactly known for being able to keep your hands off each other for very long. “So I knew something was up.”

“I never would have guessed you were going to quite literally give me your IUD,” once again, his eyes found the box. “You got me there, but I figured whatever you were planning probably had something to do with that.”

“So I did surprise you,” you were immensely satisfied with yourself. After all these years. After all these attempts, both big and small, you'd finally succeeded with probably the biggest surprise.

“You surprised me, yes,” Jack’s smile was twisting into something wicked. “I definitely was not expecting you to hand me your contraception and beg me to knock you.”

Your cheeks flushed at the reminder of exactly how last night had gone. “I did not beg.”

“Oh you most certainly did,” his forearms rested on the table, body shifting forward as he pinned you beneath his hungry gaze. “It was only a matter of time. I’ve known you wanted a kid for a while. You haven’t been exactly subtle, sweetheart.”

“I haven't been subtle?” Your eyes were wide as you looked at him in disbelief. “You haven’t been subtle, Jack.”

“Yes I have,” he was frowning now, that smug smirk melting off his face. “I kept that shit to myself.”

“Ok, yes, you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to,” you placed the cutlery down on your forgotten plate, too engrossed in arguing to focus on your pancakes. “It was painfully obvious!”

He was shaking his head, mouth opening to counter, but you pressed on.

“You were practically salivating when we babysat my nephew! You literally have to be dragged away every time we get a peds case at work and you damn near get hearts in your eyes whenever I hold a baby,” there was no way he could deny any of this, and the look on his face was telling you he knew it, too. “When I told you my IUD was starting to act up, you were practically begging me with your eyes to get rid of it!”

“Begging you,” he was shaking his head. “With my eyes?”

“Yes, with your eyes.”

“Ok and what about you?” He was going on the offensive now, gaze sharpening.

“What about me?” You were leaning forward now, too. The both of you face to face across the table, meals completely forgotten.

“What about that one time we had the 6 month old with pertussis and the antivaxxer mom?” 

You vividly remembered that incident from about a year ago. You’d went off on the mom, yelling about how, if this beautiful child was yours, you’d have never put her in danger over something so selfish. Jack had to drag you away, locking you in the on-call room to cool down while Ellis talked the mom down from leaving AMA. 

You’d avoided any more punishment than a stern talking to from Gloria, but you’d been taken off the little girl’s care team. It had been an embarrassing outburst, but you didn’t regret it. Maybe you hadn’t gone about it in the right way, but everything you’d said had been correct and you still stood by that. Hopefully, your very loud attempt at shaming the woman had done the trick.

“I just wanted what was best for my patient,” you looked away. That wasn’t the sole reason for the incident, and you both knew it. The way your voice had broken as you’d yelled, ‘if she was mine’ was telling. And so were the tears in your eyes that night as you’d cried to Jack about the poor little girl, sobbing about how you could never put your own child in danger like that.

“Yeah, ok,” Jack didn’t push anymore, but his smirk was back, albeit softer at the edges. “And what about that time you got down on your knees for me in the on-call room after we had that kid with the broken leg?”

 That you did not have a good excuse for. In your defense, your birth control just meant you couldn’t get pregnant. It did not stop you from ovulating, or suffering through the related side effects, including the irresistible urge to climb your husband like a tree any time he did something remotely attractive.

And in this case, you were in the middle of that particular part of your cycle. Watching him put the cast on the 8 year old girl who’d fallen off her bike hadn’t been what got you going. No, instead, it was the way he talked to her, calming her down and getting her to chatter about her favorite things. He gave her his undivided attention, wholeheartedly and enthusiastically talking about ponies and unicorns and fairies.

All of that had your mind drifting, imagine that it was your little girl he was talking to. In your mind, you were home, watching your husband talking to a little girl with your eyes and his (formerly) ginger curls.

Imagining him, just how incredible of a father he would be, had that fire that had been simmering just beneath your skin all day exploding into an inferno. So, the first chance the two of you had, you’d yanked him away, pulling him into a private room and dropping to your knees.

“Yeah, I remember that,” your blush was back, gaze dropping to the plate still sitting in front of you.

“Do you remember what you said before you sucked the soul out of my body, 15 feet away from our coworkers?”

Your whole body was on fire, embarrassment and desire warring just beneath the surface. Maybe you could tempt him back into your bedroom, distracting him from whatever this conversation and degraded into.

“C’mon, baby,” there it was, that insufferable, cocky tone of voice that told you Jack knew exactly how you were feeling. You refused to look up. “Tell me. What did you say to me right before you begged me to cum down your throat?”

“I said-”

“Look at me.”

You swallowed hard, peaking up through the curtain of your hair to face your husband. He was relaxed, sitting back in his seat, legs spread wide beneath the table. He was smirking, looking every bit the flirtatious bastard you knew him to be.

But his eyes were dark and hungry, chest rising and falling suspiciously faster than simply sitting down to eat breakfast warranted.

“I said,” your eyes were locked on his, entranced by the way his pupils slowly expanded. “‘You’re so good with kids.’”

“What else did you say?” He cocked his head slightly.

“‘It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.’”

His smile grew even more salacious. “That’s how I knew you wanted me to knock you up.”

You shifted in your seat, your sleep shorts feeling much too damp for comfort. Jack knew, his eyes tracking the movement hungrily.

You stood, stepping away from the table and starting down the hallway towards your bedroom as you called over your shoulder, “Yeah, well, you haven’t gotten me pregnant yet.”

Jack was hot on your heels in an instant.

The next 7 months of your life were spent in a seemingly never ending cycle of frustration, pleasure, irritation, and competition.

You hadn’t gotten pregnant after Jack’s birthday weekend which, while expected, had still been a little disappointing. The two of you were doctors, you knew that your body needed time to reset after removing your contraception. 

For 7 months, you’d taken a test every Monday morning when the two of you arrived home, and every Monday morning that test was negative.

Jack, once again living up to his title as World’s Best Husband, gave you the control. When you’d broken down 4 months in without any sign of a baby any time soon, he’d held you close and told you he’d do whatever you wanted. He said it was your choice, if you wanted to go through testing, to give IVF a try, if you wanted to stop trying for a while.

You’d said no to all of them, apologizing for the tears. So many other couples tried for so much longer. It had only been 4 months. It was too early for the interventions or to give up. You were being dramatic.

“We’re not other couples,” Jack had said. “Don’t compare our journey with this to theirs. It’s not one size fits all, and there’s no time limit on this.”

He’d calmed you down and you’d resolved to not let it get to you. You’d agreed to stop taking a test once a week, too. You had time. If things were still stagnant around the 9 month mark, the two of you would do fertility testing and then, if necessary, try IVF. You’d agreed to stop taking a test once a week, too.

Jack had agreed, kissing your head and telling you that now that you had a gameplan, things would go smoothly. He also reminded you just how enjoyable the trying process could be, even if you hadn’t gotten the results you wanted yet.

During the time since his birthday, you’d been busy with more than just work and baby making. You’d made it your mission to try and surprise him again. He’d caught on quickly, and the two of you had entered a little war of sorts. 

There’d been no official rules of engagement established, no conversation about exactly what was going on, but there seemed to be a mutual agreement on what did and didn’t count. The diet coke you were craving that appeared on your station was too small and didn’t count. Neither did the sandwich you’d made in secret before work and left on the break room table with his name on it.

But the new set of woodworking tools you’d left on his workbench in the garage did. Except, he’d shown you the screenshot of the order confirmation email he’d taken days before when you’d gloated that he hadn’t expected that. 

“Shouldn’t have left your email logged in on my laptop, sweetheart.”

The dress you’d been eying last week when the two of you went out definitely counted, given the price tag in the hundreds. You were happy when it appeared in your closet, and even happier when you got to tell him you’d known since he’d bought it 3 days ago.

“Not really a surprise when you buy it from a boutique my friend owns, handsome.”

And so, here you were, 3 months post break down, 7 months post birthday, plotting the biggest surprise of them all.

You hadn’t taken a pregnancy test since, hoping that by ignoring it, you could subconsciously encourage it to happen. Maybe if you stopped putting the pressure of weekly tests on yourself, it’d be a little easier.

And by god, you were a genius.

You’d waited until you were at work, not trusting yourself to keep the fact that you’d taken a test a secret if you had to sit through your ride to work with Jack. No matter the result, you knew he’d be able to tell. And you had a pretty good feeling about this, given the fact that your period was just under 6 weeks late

But Jack still tracked your cycle. When your period hadn’t come, not long after you’d cried in his arms, you decided not to say anything. You felt a little shitty when you had to fake a period, but you had seen how the constant negatives were weighing on him. You wanted to be absolutely sure when you told him. And you’d truly planned to tell him earlier.

And then time had gotten away from you. And your desire to win whatever competition you had with him was too strong to ignore.

So, when you finally found a free minute, you retrieved the small plastic package from your locker, tucking it into your scrub pocket with a lie about it being that time of the month on the tip of your tongue. But no one stopped you or even batted an eye as you scurried from the lockers to the private restroom.

You did your business as fast as humanly possible, praying you’d be able to have the 5 minutes you needed for it to process before the usual ED chaos pulled you back in.

The two pink lines on the test were so dark they were almost black. You could barely contain yourself, fighting to keep the happy tears at bay as you pocketed the evidence.

When you slipped out of the restroom, you made a beeline for Lena.

“Hey, what’s open?”

She looked up at the board. “Uhh, South 7 should be empty by now.”

“Great,” the smile on your face was much too wide for 2am, even among your nocturnal coworkers. “Meet me there in 5 with a phlebotomy kit.”

Before Lena could ask questions, you were off. You’d been gone for a bit, so you needed to pop your head in on your patients before you could disappear again. 

As you made your rounds, quickly checking in on your (thankfully) light caseload, you could see Jack on the other end of the ED. He was surrounded by residents and med students, all of them listening intently. You couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying over the ever present din of beeping and coughing, but it seemed to be some kind of lesson instead of idle chitchat. Robby had been getting on him lately about actually teaching the students at the teaching hospital. 

You wanted to stop and stare, but you had an urgent appointment to attend to.

Lena was already in South 7 when you ducked in, shutting the door and sliding the curtain closed behind you.

“I thought you were putting a patient in here,” Lena’s arms were crossed. She looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“I am,” you stripped off your jacket, hiking up your long sleeved undershirt as you moved around her to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Me.”

“You?”

“Yes, me,” she was still standing there, staring as you got yourself situated. “I need my blood drawn.”

“Oooookay,” slowly, she started setting up. “And why exactly is that?”

Your smile was still much too wide, perhaps a little manic. “I’m pregnant.”

Lena’s irritation morphed to shock and joy. Her smile matched yours as she picked up the pace, rapidly moving through the motions. 

“Am I correct in assuming we’re keeping this from Dr. Dad?” 

You laughed, nodding as the happy tears you’d held back in the bathroom started to make themselves known. Lena attached the tourniquet, quickly and masterfully finding a vein and beginning the draw. “I want to be absolutely sure before I tell him.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetie,” she detached the vial, scribbling ‘Jane Doe’ along with the date and time on it. “I know this is about the surprises.”

So maybe the rest of the department had started to catch onto the war waging between you and Jack. In your defense, when you decided to vent to Ellis about your latest surprise attempts, how were you supposed to know she would immediately tell Shen, who would then tell everyone who’d give him the time of day?

“Ok yes, fine,” you pressed the bit of cotton she handed you onto the lightly bleeded puncture. “Maybe that’s a very small part of it.”

“Uh-huh,” Lena didn’t believe you, but that wasn’t important. “I’ll let you know when the results come back. I’ll even fast track it since I’m feeling generous.”

“Love you!” You called as she left the room.

Despite the rush, the results still didn’t come back until almost 5 am. Very positive. You were pregnant, about 9 weeks along.

But you were torn. How exactly were you going to tell Jack?

The longer you knew, the more likely he was to find out, either from you slipping up or from one of his many sources, and you couldn’t have that. You needed to do this fast. There was no time to plan out some grand reveal, so you settled on something simple.

After handoff, you pulled him away from the mingling shifts.

“Hey, before we go, can you come look at something with me?”

“Yeah,” Jack looked a little confused, but he followed you. “What’s up?”

“I just want you to take a look at these labs I got for a patient real quick,” you led him back into South 7, the room still open. Quickly, you flicked through tabs on your ipad to your results. “Here.”

Jack looked even more confused as his eyes tracked over the tablet. “Elevated hCG, probably 9-10 weeks.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your face painfully neutral as you waited, even though you were practically vibrating on the inside. He was smart, you were sure you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him. Any second now he’d realize.

He looked between you and the tablet for a moment, before his lips parted in an ‘O.’

“I see,” you really didn’t think he did, given the lack of emotional response. “Have you told her yet?”

“I think she knows, Jack.”

“Ok…” He still looked perplexed, glancing around the empty room. “Then where is your patient?” 

“Jack…” you buried your face in your hands. This was not how you pictured this going.

“What am I missing, sweetheart?” He set the tablet down, closing the distance between you. “Pregnant patient, 9-10 weeks along, probably t-”

“They're my labs, Jack,” you dropped your hands, looking up to watch as his face froze. Tears started welling in your eyes. “I’m pregnant and I’m trying to surprise you.”

He stayed frozen for a moment, eyes scanning your face, before he was dragging you into a bone crushing hug. His hand slid into your hair as your arms wrapped around his waist and your face was buried in his shoulder.

“Holy fuck, baby.” 

Your laugh was wet. It didn’t go exactly how you imagined, but Jack’s shaky exhales told you he was just as affected as you.

“I can’t believe it,” his face was buried in your hair.

“We’re having a baby,” you couldn’t stop your voice from breaking, emotion too thick to keep it together. “We’re gonna have a kid.”

“Sweetheart, a ba-” Jack pulled back, something you didn’t catch washing over his face. His hands cupped your cheeks as he looked down at you. “Lie down.”

“What? Why?” You were confused about why he was so rudely interrupting your moment.

“I wanna see them.”

You don’t spend almost a decade with Jack Abbot without being able to tell when he’s up to something, and you can clearly tell he’s thinking something he’s not saying out loud. But both of you are emotional, evident by the shimmering of his eyes, so maybe he just really wanted to see the new life you were carrying.

“Ok,” you moved back, settling on your back on the gurney. As you pulled up your top, untying and lowering your pants ever so slightly, Jack pulled a stool and the ultrasound over. He waited until you were comfortable before he squirted a generous helping of the gel over your lower stomach.

“I know you looked at your results,” both of your eyes were glued to the screen as he used the wand to spread the gel around, moving too quickly for you to see anything yet. “But I don’t think you really looked.”

Your attention shifted, focusing on him. “Jack, what-”

“There,” he pointed at the screen.

You looked back, freezing for a moment as you took in the sight before you. 

There, blatantly displayed on the screen was a small shape that could only be described as a white bean, surrounded by black space. You could see what looked like tiny little limbs, branching out from the bean, alongside a clearly defined head.

Being a doctor had prepared you for this sight. You had seen many ultrasounds during your years through school and residency and now your tenure as an attending. You’d even seen this exact situation before, many times, in fact. But seeing it in your own womb was wiping every coherent thought from your mind.

Beside the first bean, tucked in its own protective black space, was a second bean.

“Surprsie, baby,” Jack’s smile was smug, but his eyes were still wet.

“What- how did you-” Your words failed, mind scrambling as you tried to process the reality of your situation.

“Your hCG was too high,” Jack pressed the capture button, moving the wand around to get multiple angles. “Before I realised you were showing me your labs, I thought you were trying to tell me your patient was having twins.”

Reluctantly, he removed the wand, wiping down your stomach as you blinked at him. Jack guided you to sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You felt like you were in shock, the whole world moving around you in slow motion as your mind struggled to process everything that had happened in the last few hours.

And then Jack popped the bubble, snapping you out of the fog that had come over your brain. 

“So, I guess I won your little surprise competition.”

“You absolutely did not,” you slapped weakly at his chest as he stepped between your spread legs to place his palm over your stomach.

“No?” The corners of his mouth were twitching up. “What’s more surprising than being pregnant? Being pregnant with twins.”

“I grew them,” your hand covered his, lacing your fingers together.

“Yeah, you did,” he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. His hips were perfectly placed to brush your core over the slight bulge hidden by his scrubs. It wasn’t fully hard yet, but you could feel the heat of it leaking through the thin material keeping you apart. 

“So I won,” your breathing picked up as he gently ground against you.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the winner here,” his hand not on your stomach tangled in your hair, tilting your face up until your noses brushed. “I fucked you so good, I put two in there.”

“That’s the real surprise here,” Jack’s grip on your hair tightened causing a gasp to slip from your lips

“You saying I don’t usually fuck you good enough?” 

His voice was low and dangerous, almost a growl. His hips pushed forwards, pressing his length against the seat of your pants.

“Woah!”

The two of you jerked apart when the curtain rings and a shout shattered the tense atmosphere. Robby was standing there, half turned away with a hand over his eyes.

“Not in my hospital, please!”

“Robby, I-” You struggled to come up with a good excuse. Jack didn’t share your concern.

“Cockblock.”

You slapped his arm. Thankfully, he had muttered it under his breath and Robby had either not heard him or had chosen not to comment.

“I know you two live in a very nice house,” Robby peaked through his fingers, deeming it safe to remove his hands now that the two of you were a few feet apart. “Please, keep your marital activities there.”

“We were kind of having a moment, here,” Jack was turned away from him, likely hiding his rapidly shrinking hardon. While he was looking away, he printed the photos from the ultrasound machine.

“Have your moment at home, ok?”

“Sorry, Robby,” you stood, trying to fight the blush tinting your cheeks.

“At least your wife has a sense of decorum.”

“Truly my better half,” Jack laid a kiss on your temple after he collected the pictures, turning his attention solely to you. He handed you four strips of photos. “Here, I made one for you, one for me, one for the fridge, and one for the book.”

“Thank you, Jack,” you pulled him down into a kiss that was work safe, the barest brush of yours against his.

“Holy shit,” both of you remembered Robby was in the room when he noticed the photos. “Is that-”

“Yes,” Jack’s hand on your back pushed you forward, moving you around Robby. “Now, excuse us. I’m going to go have a few moments with my wife.”

“Jack!”

“Jesus Christ. Too much information, brother."

The car ride home had been silent. Jack was staring at the road, jaw tense and knuckles white, all while you couldn’t look away from the strip of photos in your hands. You’d probably committed all the details to memory by now, but your eyes were glued to the glossy black and white images.

You were mesmerized, transfixed. All you could do was look at your two little beans.

Aside from the lack of a period, you hadn’t had any of the stereotypical first trimester symptoms. It felt unreal, like there was some sort of disconnect. Logically, you knew that those two beans from the pictures were inside you, growing and developing. But physically, you didn’t feel it. There was no bump yet, no morning sickness, nothing visible or tangible besides these photos in your hands to mark you as pregnant.

So you clung to them, never once looking up at your surroundings until Jack was opening the passenger side door, helping you down and out of the cab of his truck.

“I’m really pregnant.”

You were the first to break the silence that had settled over the both of you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Jack set both of your bags down on the kitchen counter while you stood, eyes flicking between the photos and him. “You really are.”

“We’re fucking having fucking twins.”

“You’ve got to work on that potty mouth before they get here,” he walked towards you, his hands settling on your hips as his chest pressed to your back. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he looked down to gaze at the print outs once again.

“Jack,” your hands fell to your sides as you spun in his grip. “What the fuck are we going to do with twins? I was already nervous about having one kid at a time, but 2? How the hell are we-”

“Hey,” calloused hands found your cheeks, stopping your panicking and squishing your lips shut. “I’ll tell you how we’re gonna do this.”

He was walking you backwards, into the hallway and across the threshold of your bedroom. 

“We’re gonna take it day by day. We’re gonna listen to our guts, follow our instincts,” he guided you to sit on the end of the bed before he was kneeling between your legs. Those big hands of his reached up, peeling your scrub top and undershirt over your head. “We’ll take some time off work, probably 6 months once they’re here, and then we can go part time.”

“But what about money-”

“You know as well as I do that we do not need to worry about money,” his fingers deftly unhooked your bra, sliding it from your shoulders. Those same fingers found the drawstring of your pants, undoing it and slipping them down along with your underwear. You lifted your hips to help him. “Between what we’ve saved so far and my pension and disability, we don’t ever have to go back if we don’t want to, sweetheart.”

“I’m not ready to quit yet,” your fingers ran through his hair as he spread your legs a little wider. Soft kisses were pressed to the skin of your inner thighs. 

“Then you won’t. Like I said, day by day,” he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. “Now, can I eat you out or do you want to keep talking about our finances?”

“Eat me out, please Jack.”

You hadn’t noticed the growing heat between your legs, too focused on your nerves and anxiety. But when his tongue swept through your folds, a jolt of fire shot up your spine, quickly drawing your attention solely to your husband and his mouth.

“Fuck,” his arms wrapped around your thighs, yanking you even closer to him. You fell flat against the mattress. “You taste even better than usual, baby.”

Jack ate you out like a man starved. He was everywhere, dipping his tongue inside your entrance, closing his lips around your clit, his teeth dragging over your outer folds. There was little finesse. He knew the exact right buttons to push to get you right over the finish line. He’d timed it once or twice. The record was 5 minutes and 37 seconds.

But at this moment, it wasn’t about getting you there. He was savoring you, exploring every nook and cranny he could in a desperate attempt to get even more of the sweetness between your thighs on his tongue.

“Gonna have to keep you pregnant 24/7 if you taste this good when you’ve got my kids in there,” one of his hands came up to spread over your abdomen, right above your navel. He pressed down at the same time he slid two of his fingers inside of you, all the way down to the knuckle.

Your back arched, a pathetic whine of his name leaking into the air. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” Jack’s voice was low and rough, the vibrations traveling through your body as he refused to lift his head. “I’ll give you what you need.”

The shift from him simply exploring and savoring your taste to a concentrated effort to make you cum is jarring. One moment he was languidly licking over you with the flat of his tongue and the next his lips were sealed over your clit, sucking while his fingers curled upwards to slide back and forwards against your g-spot.

“Jack! Fuck!” 

He didn’t respond, his focus solely on giving you the most pleasure he could, as fast as he could.

It was intense. Like he had poured gasoline onto the heat growing between your legs, turning that fuzzy, warm flame into an inferno. His movements threatened to drag you over into oblivion much faster than you had anticipated.

“Oh fuck, Jack,” your voice was high pitched and breathy while your body writhed, just barely held in place by his hand still flat over your stomach. “Fuck, I’m close!”

And then, right as you were about to tumble over the edge, he stopped. Jack pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“What the fuck?” You were panting, trying to school your desperate and flushed features into a glare.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Jack looked dangerous in the low light of the bedroom. He stood, towering over your almost limp body, the limited light seeping in from the blackout curtains and shining from the dim lamp on the bedside table outlined the sharp edges of him. His jaw dusted with slight silver stubble, the muscles in his chest and arms that tensed and shifted as he crawled over you.

His hand tapped at the outside of your thigh, urging you silently to scoot up until your head lay among the pillows and his body and settled between your legs. You realized he was still fully clothed while you lay beneath him, completely naked.

 “That was looking suspiciously like I was making you feel good.”

Your head dropped back with a groan. “You’re still on that? It was a dumb comment. You know you make me feel better than anyone I’ve ever been with, Jack.”

“I certainly know that,” his fingers spread wide over your breast, squeezing the flesh before shifting and rolling your nipple between two rough fingertips. You let out a high pitched sigh as your back arched, practically presenting your breasts to him. “I just think you might need a reminder.”

“Then take off your clothes and remind me,” your hands tangled in his curls, dragging his face to yours. When your lips met, it was desperate, both of you falling into a fast and needy rhythm. His tongue darted out, tangling with yours while his hands continued to squeeze at and caress your breasts. You could feel the hard length of him grinding against your inner thigh.

And then Jack was pulling back, pushing up to rest on his knees between your spread thighs. You couldn’t help but admire him as he stripped his shirt off, eyes glued to the freckles dusting his shoulders and pecs.

“Enjoying the view?” He cocked one eyebrow at you, throwing the shirt off the edge of the bed as he unfastened his watch. 

“Oh I most definitely am,” something fluttered in your stomach as he leant over you, reaching to place the watch on the nightstand. You knew he was doing it on purpose, but you couldn’t find it in you to complain as you watched his muscles stretch and flex.

“Mmm, me too.”

Jack settled back on his knees, those big hands sliding over your thighs. He looked ravenous, his eyes tracing over every inch of your bare skin, especially lingering on your chest as it rose and fell in time with your heavy breathing.

“I think you should sit on my face.”

Your breath hitched, core clenching at his words. As tempting as it was, you were aching for him. You needed to feel him deep inside of you.

“I think you should fuck me,” you countered. It was playing dirty, but you couldn’t help yourself as you stretched your arms above your head, arching your back and hooking your legs around his hips. “C’mon Jackie.”

As he dropped down over you, one of his hands caught your still outstretched wrists, pinning them to the blankets. With the other hand he dug his fingers into your hair, not pulling, just holding tight to the strands.

“I want,” his lips kissed the corner of your mouth before he was moving down to mouth at where your carotid hammered away. “You to sit on my face. Think of it as my reward for winning the surprise-off.”

“You didn’t win-” your protest ended in a bitten off moan when his hips ground against yours, your clit pressing right against his head through the thin fabric he still wore.

“Yes I did.”

Your world blurred and tilted as Jack flipped the two of you. He landed on his back, leaving you scrambling to catch your balance as he pulled you up his chest. His hands were insistent from where they held your ass, yanking you up and over his face before you could stop him.

And then he was pulling you down. The hands on your ass encouraged you to rock and grind against him while his tongue plunged inside of you.

You cried out his name, hands shooting out to grab the headboard as the heat from before returned full force. Jack didn’t let up, using every dirty little trick he’d learned over the years to get you close. He didn’t delay or try to keep you on edge, his sole focus was on making you cum.

His tongue shifted and he tilted your hips, drawing circles around the bud with his tongue while his fingers slipped back inside you.

“Holy shit!” You were rocking against him, panting with the force of the orgasm rising deep in your pelvis. “Fuck, please. Just like that!”

He groaned into you, and that pushed you over the edge.

Your legs shook and your head dropped back. You didn’t try to hide the moans and whimpers you released as you pulsed around his fingers. The sensation washed over you, sending sparks flashing behind your closed eyelids while you rode it out.

When he finally let you go, it was a miracle you didn’t kick him in the face. You collapsed into the sheets beside him, panting and twitching with aftershocks.

“Does that qualify as ‘good enough?’”

“Fuck you, Abbot.”

Your eyes were still closed but you heard him getting up. There was the rustling of his pants, followed by the telltale snapping of the fastenings on his leg. You listened to his sigh and the thunk as it was leant against the nightstand.

And then he was sliding over you again and your eyes opened.

He was smiling down at you, eyes full of so much love it floored you. To see his devotion to you sparkling in his blown pupils in the comfort of the home you shared was overwhelming.

“I love you,” your fingers carded through his messy curls before your palm settled over his cheekbone.

“I love you, too.”

He kissed you then, slowly and softly, simply letting the two of you get lost in it. As you did, your legs came up to wrap around him and his forearms settled on either side of your head.

It was only when the bare length of him was brushing through your folds that you broke the kiss.

“Wait,” your breathing was labored. “Flip me over.”

“No, I want to see you,” Jack was trying to pull you back into a kiss as his length continued to rut against you, but you dodged it.

“And I want to get fucked laying on my stomach before your kids make it so I can’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he sat back up again to give you room to twist around. When you got comfortable he grabbed a pillow.

“Up,” his hand pulled at your hip and you lifted, giving him room to slide the pillow underneath, just enough to prop you up slightly. Your hands folded underneath your chin, waiting for him to get himself situated.

“Your ass looks fucking incredible like this.” Jack straddled your thighs, pinning them together. His hands came up to grab and squeeze at your ass, pulling the cheeks apart to glide his length in between.

The first press of him against your dripping entrance had you biting your lip. He always felt so big in this position, like he was actually rearranging your guts when he bottomed out.

“Ah fuck,” he sounded breathless when he pushed the head in. “You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.”

“Jack please,” you tried to push back against him but his hand landed on your upper back, keeping you pinned.

“Gotta give me a minute,” he was breathing hard, biting back a groan when you squeezed around him. “Gonna cum too fast if you do that.”

You gave him a minute. Well, you tried to. You just needed him, desperately.

“Jack Abbot if you don’t fuck me, I swear to god I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He was finally - finally - sliding the rest of the way inside, pushing until his hips met your ass. “You’ll find someone else to fuck you? You won’t let me touch you for a week?”

You were too distracted by the full length of him sliding home to answer. Your hips were grinding back, as much as you could while he still held you still. The shifting movement had your clit grinding against the pillow as well.

“C’mon, don’t make empty threats.” Jack’s body lowered over yours. His chest pressed into your back, pinning you even more firmly into the mattress and stopping your movements. “Tell me what you’ll do if I don’t fuck you how you need.”

“I-” 

You were interrupted by his first thrust, a deep grinding motion that had his tip pressing against that space just below your cervix. One of his hands was slipping between you and the pillow, palming your mound. His fingers parted around where his length was beginning to slide in and out, never pulling more than halfway out before thrusting back in.

“F-fuck…”

“S’that what you needed, babygirl?”

He pulled back slightly until the pads of his fingers were brushing against your clit, rolling and stroking over the bud with every shift of his cock deep inside you.

“Yes, Jack, yes!”

Jack buried as deep into you as he could with every thrust. Your mind was going fuzzy with pleasure. Fully surrounded by him like you were, it was impossible to focus on anything except how he made you feel. His chest was pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, and his free arm was curled over your other shoulder, holding your breast.

“Shit, please tell me you’re close, baby,” his fingers sped up against your clit and his hips were losing their rhythm.

“Yeah, Jack, please!”

All you could do from where he held you was grind back and forth, alternating between chasing the pleasure from his hand and his cock. Both sensations were yanking you closer to your orgasm. You could feel it welling in your bones and pooling in your stomach.

“Fuck I want you to cum with me,” Jack was grunting as humped into you. “Please sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”

Who were you to deny your husband what he wanted?

The noise Jack made when your walls started to squeeze and pulse around him was obscene. It was long and drawn out, rough around the edges and broken as he thrust in and stayed. You could feel his length twitching, the wet hot heat of him unloading deep inside you.

All the while, your own hips were twitching and jerking, pinned in place by his body as your eyes rolled back. The orgasm ran you over, leaving you gasping and whimpering into the sheets as you fought to catch your breath. It felt electric, zapping up and down your spine in increasingly weaker pulses until you collapsed into the bed.

“Jesus,” Jack pushed himself off you, pulling out slowly. Both of you winced at the separation. 

You let yourself lay there, blissed out and half aware as Jack moved about around you. His crutches squeaked against the floor as he went into the bathroom, but he was back before you knew it with a wet wash cloth. His movements were gentle as he cleaned between your legs.

“That’s good enough. C’mere,” you pushed his hand away, scooting back to make room for him underneath the covers.

“Alright,” he chuckled. There was a rather gross sounding wet splat, presumably the wash cloth landing on the tile of the bathroom floor and then Jack was pulling your back against his chest, spooning you.

You made a mental note to pick that up tomorrow.

Rounding the corner, his long legs making no accommodations for your shorter ones, he says, “No. If you wanted better results, you should have put in a better performance. Surely you’re smart enough to work out that that’s how life works.”

Hands grab his arm, yanking back with all your strength only to be dragged along with him and his burly body. Your heels scrape along the floor. People stare. You don’t care. “Don’t be an asshole. You know my essay was good. It was really good. Just give it a read. A proper one, and not the rushed job you do because you’re overworked and underpaid.”

He stops.

Your face bumps into this back, forehead nearly bruised by the hardness. 

His brows rise above his glasses as he fixes you a look. “Kid, your essay was good — decent introduction, clear structure, sufficient evidence — but it’s not good enough for the extra marks to push you into the top band. Your closing argument fell flat ‘cause of your wishy-washy writing style, you didn’t adequately humour the counter arguments and undermine them to strengthen your thesis, and, worst of all, you misspelt ‘complement.’”

A frown graces your features. 

“No, I didn’t. C. O. M. P. L. I. M—”

“No. With an I, it’s to flatter someone. With an E, it’s to enhance, pair well, or complete another thing.” Toji explains rather robotically, eyes still dead and voice monotone. “For example, if I said you’re a pretty girl, that’s a compliment. And if I said, your essay goes well with the trashcan over there, that’s a statement that suggests the two complement each other. See the difference?”

He’s already stalking off again, hands in his pockets, huge stature unwilling to accommodate the people walking down the hallway. 

You break into a jog, panting embarrassingly by the time you reach him. “Dude, we’ve known each other for three years. We’ve gone through a lot together. We’re basically friends. Can’t you do your best pal a solid?”

Toji glances down at you. He pushes a door open, holding it a second longer than he needed to. You follow behind him. Somewhat amused, he replies, “We know each other because we’re on the same course, not by choice. And I don’t know what you mean by the whole ‘we’ve gone through a lot together’ thing — the most dramatic thing we’ve faced is when the projector didn’t work and we had to go into a different hall. And we’re definitely not friends.”

Well, fuck, you’re running out of rope. 

“Then, let’s officially be friends,” you offer, elbowing him gently. “If you ever need help, buddy, I’ll always have your back.” Then, in an act of complete desperation, you begin shakily singing, “You’ve got a friend in me. You’ve got a friend in me. When the road looks tough ahead—”

A heavy hand shoves you away by your head. You stumble into a bulletin board.

“Enough,” he gruffs. “My day’s already fucked because the prof lost his papers and wants to blame me. I don’t need to lose my hearing on top of that.”

Your head flits around. “Did you guys see that?” People give you weird looks. “He just shoved me. The TA just shoved me. We need to protest his violent behaviour by demanding he remarks our papers. Who’s with me?”

Everyone walks past without another look at you.

Toji, on the other hand, lifts his glasses and runs a hand down his face. Muttering something under his breath, he pushes a door open and holds out a hand before you can mindlessly follow. “It’s the men’s bathroom. Tell me you’re not shameless and stupid enough to come in here.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

His eye twitches. 

As though an idea comes to him, he straightens ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take a dump; you’ll be waiting a while.”

“That’s okay — I have no more classes so take your time but make sure you don’t stay sitting down longer than you need to,” you tell him, smiling innocently and standing aside to let a guy walk out, ignoring the freaked out face he makes at you. “You can get hemorrhoids."

He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, woman.” 

That seems to be as much of you he can tolerate because he walks in without another word to you. Opposite the door, you lean against the wall, whistling and coming up with alternative lines you can pull on him. 

God, he’s so stubborn. 

It’s not like giving you the marks docks his pay or lowers the professor’s opinion of him. He’s clearly just being an ass. 

If he wasn’t such a good TA, a genuinely intelligent man, you would have gone above his head and asked for the prof’s personal assessment. But no, he has to be knowledgeable, a helpful source of information when you’re lost, someone who seems to know everything about any topic, who knows the exact pages of a textbook you should read to further your understanding, and who’s never declined a meeting for clarification on something you wrote. 

For years now, you two have had a friendship-like relationship, often sharing snacks and exchanging brief words before or after lectures and classes, despite what he says.

Everyone gets along with him, though you’ve never actually seen him hang out with friends or go to parties. Maybe he doesn’t have any. Word on the street is he works part time in a couple different places. Some say so he can afford drugs, some for tuition. 

The rumours never interested you, apart from any that mused about his love life, which seems to be nonexistent except for the many girls who hit on him. Not that you’re especially interested.

It’s just fun to be in the know.

Who knows how long has passed since he went in there. Your phone says fifteen minutes. Is that a normal amount of time for someone to be taking a dump?

Hesitantly, you push the door open and yell out, “Fushiguro? You doing okay? Is it stuck? For a couple extra marks, I’ll give you a hand.”

No one replies. 

Brows furrowing, you bend down, looking through the stalls. No feet. What the hell?

Ahead, a window is ajar. Big enough for a man to squeeze through. Well isn’t that convenient? The kind of convenient that exists only in fiction.

Aggrieved and feeling bamboozled, you stomp back to your dorm room, slamming the door, jumping face down on the bed and screaming into the pillows. You’d feel better if you knew he had a grudge on you, if you bumped into him the first day and spilled his coffee all over himself and he’d never forgotten it. Instead, he’s just like that: does things by the book, does his job well, and achieves the best grades with ease. 

Naturally, he’d become the professor’s assistant, a coveted position that seemed like it was made for him from the very beginning, and made your life a living hell because he won’t ever make concessions for you.

Sure, you shouldn’t ask him to, but it’s not like you’re asking for much. You’re generally a high performing student — punctual, hard working, ambitious — but you had one bad day which resulted in one bad essay and it lowered your average and now the internship you’d been eyeing could be snatched from your hands in a blink of an eye. 

“It’s just not fair,” you cry out to your teddy bear. “It’s three marks. Three! Would it kill him to reread my essay and find those three marks?”

Mr. Teddy stares back at you and says, “He’s a grumpy man. Don’t take it personally.”

You sit up, blinking and processing his reply.

“Teddy…you’re right. He is a grumpy man, a TA with broad shoulders, yummy arms, and thick thighs with a bubble butt, but a man nonetheless. If he won’t pull favours for me, student to student, maybe he’ll pull favours for me man to woman.”

The plushie falls to the bed as you stand, staring at yourself in the mirror and formulating a plan. 

With that you decide to seek him out the next day, sporting a new outfit and a different attitude.

.

.

.

“Hi.”

“Fuck off.”

The cafeteria’s busy. It always is. It’s loud enough that most people wouldn’t even hear the exchange — chairs banging on tile, trays clattering, someone laughing too loudly at a table nearby. 

Toji’s hunched slightly over a bowl of udon noodles, chopsticks moving lazily as he slurps them down. Some sports clip plays on his phone, propped against his dented metal water bottle. Commentators yell about something you don’t understand. His sleeves are pushed up over his forearms, revealing ropey muscle and the faint silvery line of an old scar running across his wrist.

An old hoodie hangs off his shoulders over a plain white T-shirt. Distressed jeans, worn sneakers. He’s too big for the plastic chair, long legs spread under the table. When he saw you approach, his feet had hooked onto the chair legs, forcing you to fight to remove it from his clutches so you could take a seat.

So damn rude.

His glasses have fogged slightly from the steam of the noodles.

He doesn’t look up. But he knows it’s you. You can tell by the way his mouth tightens for half a second before he goes back to eating.

You snatch his phone away. His green eyes flick up, annoyed. You smile, arms pushing your breasts together so they spill over your tight top. Toji’s gaze doesn’t waver. He continues to stare at you like you’re a pest. 

“You can’t take no for an answer?” he asks though it’s not a question at all. “Might want to retake the consent course.”

Manicured fingers walk up his bare forearm before scratching down from his elbow. His skin is warm. Light dusting of hair tickling your fingertips. “Oh, Toj, have I ever told you how handsome you are? Because you really are. You’re so damn hot I can hardly focus on the lectures.”

He snorts, still eating his noodles and still refusing to look at your cleavage. “That’ll explain why you’re missing marks.”

Jaw dropping, you force yourself to recover quickly. A heeled foot brushes against his calf, sliding his jeans up. You bat your lashes, sultrily saying, “The only thing I’m missing is your cock in me, big boy.”

Toji meets your eyes again. His scarred lips twitch. “I don’t need to tell you that was bad, do I?”

You cringe, foot dropping and whole body slumping back into the chair. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as I said it.” Then you sit up, handing him his phone, and asks, “Are the noodles good? I’ve never had them.”

Phone pocketed, he shrugs. “They’re just the cheapest deal on the menu. Growing girl like you should get something more filling.”

The menu’s extensive, and the only thing sticking out to you is the chicken burger and chicken tenders meal deal. It seems to be especially popular today but you’re not sure you can finish the whole thing. 

“Hey, if I get the Meal Super Cluck Blaster, will you share it with me? I’ve got dinner plans later so I don’t want to fill up.”

That finally gets a reaction. Toji leans back a little and gives you a slow once-over. Tight top. Lacy bra peeking up. Glossy lips. More jewellery than usual. His eyebrow lifts. “That why you’re dressed like a hooker?” he asks lazily. “Hot date?”

“Nah,” you reply, waving him off. “Wore this for yo— Wait.” You lean forward, staring at him wide eyed. “Are you jealous? Are you in love with me already? Because for extra marks, I’ll cancel my dinner plans and promise myself to you for all eternity.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “Go get something to eat; you sound insane.”

You hop up. “Okay, but stay there, alright? Take my burger because I only want the tenders. Oh, and will you share a pot of cheesecake with me? I’m lactose-intolerant but I really want cheesecake right now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He’s still here when you come back. 

As soon as you hand him the wrapped up burger, he scarfs it down the way big men do, like they haven’t eaten in days. You push him the tenders too. You’d actually gotten a double serving of everything so you have your own portion of tenders and he gets to eat another burger. There’s no way a man his size could survive on udon noodles.

“Also, let’s not act like you didn’t leave me hanging outside the men’s bathroom yesterday,” you bring up after sipping your juice. “Can’t believe you left through the bathroom window just so you could get away from me.”

“I didn’t,” he says, mouth full and adjusting his glasses. 

You frown, dipping a piece of chicken in hot honey. “No, you definitely did. I peeked and there were no feet in any of the stalls. Unless you’re telling me you can grow invisible.”

“Just lifted my legs when I heard you come in, which I knew your crazy ass would do, so I could finally leave in peace. Didn’t think it’d take you fifteen minutes though.”

A laugh escapes you. “You were waiting me out? Does that sound like the mature thing to do? Jeez, you need to act your age.”

Toji’s eyes meet yours. Your smile falters for the briefest second. “I’m not that much older than you,” he reminds you. “Only by two years.”

“And yet you call me kid or kiddo,” you retort, clearing your throat. Have his eyes always been that green and deep? And is his voice usually that husky and masculine? Because you could have sworn guys your age don’t sound like that.

He shrugs again, second burger finished in a blink of an eye. “Never hurts to remind yourself.”

“Remind yourself what?”

The legs of his chair screech as he pushes it back. He stands, picking up his tray, and answers, “Forget about it. Enjoy your dinner plans. And I’m taking the cheesecake — no one wants a gassy date.”

“Wait,” you call out before he can turn away. “My marks?”

A pat on the head ruffles your hair. 

“Still a no, kid.”

.

.

.

“What if I suck your dick?”

Toji lifts his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’ve got a ton of papers to grade for another class; I don’t have time for you.”

The door shuts behind you. His office is bare, not a single decoration littering the place, not a plant nor a picture. 

His office is exactly how you remember it — disappointingly, aggressively empty. The walls are a dull institutional beige that makes the overhead fluorescent light feel even harsher. No posters. No photos. Not even a sad little plant struggling for life in the corner.

Just a desk. A filing cabinet. Two chairs that look like they were stolen from a waiting room. It’s the kind of office someone occupies temporarily, like he expects to leave at any moment and doesn’t see the point in settling in.

Leaning against the desk anyway, your fingers drum lazily along the edge.

You’ve been here before: once to argue about a paper he’d shredded with red ink, once because you’d missed an exam and needed him to sign a form, and once because you’d sworn you heard him swearing loud enough to be heard halfway down the hallway.

You grip his shoulder, squeezing as you scan the fat stack of papers on his desk — the prof’s particular about handwritten essays. There’s so much to read through; you do not want to be him. 

“God,” you mutter, flipping through a few pages of the stack. “There’s like fifty here.”

“Seventy-two,” Toji corrects without looking up. His handwriting is sharp and aggressive, red ink slashing through entire paragraphs like he’s committing academic murder. You wince in sympathy for whoever wrote the paper currently being dismantled.

“Good thing you can multitask, can’t you? I’ll suck your dick under the desk, you grade papers, and you bump me up a grade. Easy.”

He shrugs you off, hulking body hunched over and pen scratching on the papers, leaving harsh circles and comments like, ‘what the hell does this mean?’ and ‘you can’t just say perchance.’ 

Toji gruffs, “I’m serious. Take your jokes elsewhere.”

Nah, you think to yourself. 

With a massive struggle against his weight, you yank his chair back, wheeling him a distance from the desk and clambering under before he can fill the space again. He makes some noise above you but you pay him no mind. Your hands rest on his meaty thighs through his sweatpants, marvelling at the density, at the strength you find in them. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous.” His foot nudges your knee. “Get the fuck out. I’ll cropdust you if I have to.”

You call his bluff by clutching his clothed cock. He jolts, grunting. Laughing softly, you muse, “You say all that but you have a semi already — did my proposition get you hard, Toji?”

You’re rubbing his hard on, trying not to get flustered by how big he feels, and how fat the girth is. Of course he’s big. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been so surprised; he’s a big man so naturally the proportions will match up. 

“Suck my dick, don’t suck my dick, it doesn’t matter,” he says, sighing and probably pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not getting those marks.”

He thinks that’ll stave you off because he knows you’re whoring yourself out for a grade. What he doesn’t know is that your stupid little brain’s already forgotten about all of that the moment you felt his cock. Now all you can think about is how you’ll have to stretch your lips nice and wide to take him in, and even then, even when your throat is lax and loose, you won’t be able to take him to the base. 

Toji grunts again, peering down at you. “You mouthing at my dick? Did’ya not hear what I said?”

Like you’ve been possessed, you press kisses to where his tip is, humming around it. “I heard, but your dick’s saying other things to me, and I know which I prefer to listen to.”

“My dick’s not marking your paper, so get the fuck up,” he growls.

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’re fucking killing me here.”

A heavy hand bundles your hair up, pulling but you fight against it, hooking your fingers under the waistband and releasing him from the constraints. His boxers have a hole, and yet you only find it endearing. Freeing his cock so it bounces up and smacks your cheek, it leaves a wet mark on your skin. 

Tutting, he wipes away the wetness from your skin. 

Oh fuck, he really is big. 

With nothing between you and his dick, you can see him in all his glory in the partial shadow of under his desk — long, thick, flushed red, already shiny at the slit, veiny as hell, hairs at the base wild and unruly, with weighty balls to match. You’ve never seen anything better. 

Tongue out, you lick him from base to tip, prodding at his frenulum.

“Quit it,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

You moan wantonly, already addicted to the salt on his kin, to the texture of his veins, to the softness of his cockhead. “Toji, you’re so big. I don’t think this’ll fit inside me.”

The thing throbs, bobbing. A droplet oozes out and you quickly lick it up. The hand that was pulling your hair has grown slack, simply resting on the back of your head, keeping you from bumping the wood. 

Voice hoarse, he mutters, “If anyone can make it fit, it’ll be your stubborn ass.”

Your eyes meet his from under the desk, mischief sparkling in them you’re sure. His cock throbs again. “I thought you had papers to mark, Fushiguro. Maybe you should get on that, no?”

A calloused thumb presses down on your lips, shushing you. It slides down, bringing your bottom lip down with it, before releasing it so it’ll bounce back in place. That same thumb holds your jaw open, hand guiding your mouth to his tip. You know what he wants. You also know that he knows that you both know that you won this time. 

Wide as you can, you take as much of his length as possible. You don’t get much further than a third of the way, full beyond belief and overwhelmed by just how much of him there still is. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“If this is supposed to convince me to give you extra marks, then you’re failing real hard, doll,” he notes, gripping the base. “Can barely fit the head, can you?”

He’s acting like it’s your fault he’s so big. 

Challenged, you loosen your throat to take him an inch deeper. You gag around the length. Toji curses under his breath. “Careful,” he mutters. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

You ignore him in favour of shallowly bobbing, sucking and licking what you can, as though he’s a lollipop. It’s actually kinda fun.

The familiar sound of pen scratching on paper and paper rubbing on paper echoes in the relatively quiet office. Only the wet sounds of your mouth sucking his cockhead pierces the silence. 

Growing more and more used to his size, you flick your tongue around the head, letting your hands wrap around the rest of him, squeezing and tugging in time with your mouth. Occasionally, he makes a couple breathy noises — low grunts when your tongue laps up his tip, gravelly groans when you hollow your cheek to suck, and rough exhales through his nose when you grip his balls, massaging them, thumb rubbing the seam. 

It becomes easier to forget why you were here in the first place; you’re just blowing him for your own entertainment now, wanting something to occupy your throat. 

Then, he asks, as though he’s making casual conversation, “How was the date?”

“Hmm?”

Toji rolls his eyes. “The date,” he repeats. “How was it? He pay for the meal? Open doors, see you to your door, kiss you goodnight and shit?”

Your lips stretch into a smile. You release him with a pop! “I didn’t go on a date,” you tell him. “My friends hosted a housewarming party because they moved in together. I had a great time, thanks for asking.”

Is he pleased? Unaffected? Genuinely just making conversation? Hard to tell, except for the pushing of his hand, urging you back to his dick, and taking him further inside your throat, till his tip bumps the back of the gummy walls. 

“Good,” he exhales out, thighs flexing around your body. “That’s real good.”

“My blowjob skills or that I had a great time?” you ask, words muffled and barely understandable.

“Both,” he answers. “Both, doll.”

A knock on the door has you both stiffening. Toji glares down at you and whispers, “It’s the prof. Do not make a sound.”

He didn’t need to tell you that — you’re well aware that if you get caught, you’ll both face disciplinary action, and will likely be kicked out of the university. That’s worse than not getting the internship. 

The office falls quiet so suddenly you can hear the ticking of the wall clock. Toji’s hand tightens briefly against the desk as the knock comes again. “Come in,” he calls, voice steady.

The door opens before he even finishes the word.

“Ah, Fushiguro, there you are,” the professor says, stepping inside with a stack of papers tucked under one arm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d left already.”

From your position under the desk, you can only see shoes. Polished leather. Slow steps across the floor. You don’t slide his cock out of your throat, lest it makes a sloppy noise that’ll give you both away. So you breathe through your nose, being very, very quiet.

“No, I was just finishing up some grading,” Toji replies, cool as a cucumber.

His tone is annoyingly normal. Completely unbothered. He’s really convincing. Has he done this before? Is this a normal occurrence? Do a lot of girls offer to blow him for better marks, and does he take them up on it? Are you the one exception to his generosity? 

“Good, good.” Papers shuffle. A chair creaks as the professor sits across from the desk. “I actually wanted to ask about the research methods essays.”

Of course he did.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Toji shifts slightly above you — just enough that the movement brushes your shoulder — and then he leans back in his chair. “Yeah?” he says.

“I noticed something odd in the submissions this year,” the professor continues. “Half the class seems to misunderstand the section on sampling bias.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You mean where they’re supposed to explain the limitations of convenience sampling?”

“Exactly.”

A sheet of paper slides across the desk.

“You see this one here—”

From below, you hear Toji pick it up.

“—they describe the method correctly, but their conclusion contradicts their own analysis.”

There’s a pause whilst the TA reads. You stare at the underside of the desk and try not to shift your knees. God, this is like torture. Having a cock lodged in your throat and not being able to do anything with it is hell. Above the desk, they’re chatting away, talking about your fellow students, with the professor none the wiser that one such student’s under the desk. 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “They’re treating correlation like it proves causation.”

“Precisely!” the professor says, sounding delighted. “It’s surprisingly common.” Another pause. You hear a pen tap the desk twice. “I was thinking next year we might restructure the lecture slightly,” the professor continues. “Maybe introduce a short case study before the assignment.”

“Could work,” Toji replies. “Give them something concrete, tangible, to analyse.”

Your legs are starting to cramp. Your lips tighten around his hot cock. Toji brushes your hair back from your face, a quiet act to show he hasn’t forgotten about you. The professor keeps talking, completely unaware.

“Also,” he says, shuffling more papers, “the literature review sections were stronger this year.”

“Mm.”

“I suspect the workshop helped.”

Toji lets out a quiet huff that might be agreement.

“You handled that well, by the way,” the professor adds. “The students seem to respond to your feedback.”

This is way too boring, you decide. In an act you might end up regretting for the rest of your life, your offended tongue prods his tip where he’s still leaking salty precum. 

He grunts, knee crashing up on the wood. 

The professor asks him if he’s alright, and Toji replies, “Fine. Sorry. Just had a cramp.”

A triumphant smile pulls at your lips, which is quickly wiped away by the sudden pinch at your cheek. You wince, unable to smack him in retaliation. 

A sigh fills the room. “I fear you work too hard, Fushiguro. You ought to take a break here and there. Do something fun and wild, or whatever it is people your age do nowadays.”

“I am having fun,” Toji says, hand coming back to rest on your head, growing heavier and heavier until you’re forced to take him inside your mouth, deeper and deeper. “In my own way.”

He’s filling you up more than he was before, now more insistent, no longer so passive. You’re struggling to take him but he’s not letting up. Fuck, you’re soaked between the legs. Who knew you had an oral fixation?

“Well, good,” the professor says. He pushes his chair back. Your heart jumps in joy. “I won’t keep you any longer, I know those papers won’t mark themselves. Boy do I not envy you.” He laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“You too, Professor.”

Footsteps move toward the door. The handle turns. The door opens. Closes. Silence. Two seconds pass.

Then Toji peers down, licking his scarred lips, and mutters under his breath, “You needy fucking girl. Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t resist not being a pain my fucking ass. If you want cock so badly, then here you go.”

His hips thrust up, hand keeping you in place. Your eyes fly open, throat stretching to take all of him in. Oh, he was as pent up, as frustrated, as you were. The force in which he’s rutting inside your throat displays that nice and clear. 

“You’ll do anything for a good grade, won’t you? Even debase yourself like this. God, you drive me crazy.”

You gag around his cock but he doesn’t pay any mind to that. No, Toji’s just rutting inside your mouth over and over again, grunting louder and louder now. 

Meanwhile, your hand seeks out the heat between your legs. You grind against the heel of your palm, moaning around his length. The vibration has his balls tightening up.

“Fuck!”

Hot cum bursts inside, coating the walls of your throat and your tongue. 

Toji leans back in his chair, which creaks. You pull him out, coughing at the salty burn. Damn, even his loads are big. It’s like a cream puff exploded inside your mouth. 

Hands carry you up, sitting you on his thigh. One rubs your back in circles, the other wipes away the tears at your eyes, licking at the wetness he’s collected on his thumb. “You good, kid?” he asks, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah,” you respond, voice hoarse and not fooling anyone. “I’m good.”

You take a sip of his water from his water bottle, not caring about the fact that you’re drinking from where he had been, and if he cared that your mouth which had been sucking on his dick and cum is on his cup, he didn’t say.

He sighs, tucking himself back in and says, “Come by my place tonight. Hand me your essay again and I’ll reread it. But I’m not making any promises about finding extra marks, alright? It’s just a second chance, and the only one you’ll get.”

Dopily, you smile at him. “Throat game that good, huh?”

His lips twitch. He shoves you away, smacking your ass as you walk away.

“I’ll text you the time and place. Don’t be late.”

Nodding, you head for the door, not leaving however till you ask, “Should I wear matching underwear, or is this a strictly keep your clothes on meeting?”

“Fuck off before I regret it.”

“Lacy thong it is!”

.

.

.

“Should I spread my legs now or do you want me to fluff you first?”

Toji’s deadpan face meets you when he opens the door. He sighs as though he’s regretting this already. Regardless, he lets you in. 

You can tell he showered recently — there’s the scent of cheap soap lingering on his skin and his hair is still a little damp. 

His apartment is nice and clean, which surprises you somewhat. Most guys your age tend to be messy. But you should have known the TA would be neat and organised. 

“I’m serious,” you begin, snuggling up to his side and batting your lashes up at him, “what position do you want me? I’m not the most flexible but I’m not too bad.”

Shaking you off, he pushes you in the direction of the living room where the coffee table is covered with carefully laid out papers he no doubt carried from campus to continue working on. “Go sit down, you horny gremlin. Make some room for your essay and let’s get this over with.”

You do as he says, folding your legs so you can sit by the coffee table on the rug. You take the essay out of your bag, shoving all the others to the side. With a frown, you ask, “So we’re really not fucking?”

He folds himself down too, sitting beside you, knee brushing yours. “I don’t solicit sex in exchange for academic favours. Dunno why you’re so surprised by that — can’t recall having done anything to make you think otherwise.”

“Well, you did give in after I blew you, so…”

“I was gonna offer before you did all that,” he informs you, snorting. “Just never promised to give you the marks.”

Toji adjusts his glasses, taking your papers and starting his reassessment of it. His lips purses, brows furrows, and he stares at the thing like it could tell him the answers to the universe. That or it’s so bad he just can’t fathom what you were thinking. 

“Second paragraph, third line, why the hell is it so convoluted?” he asks, voice returning to that grumpy tone you’re more than familiar with now.

It’s the latter, it would seem. He really meant business. You shaved and everything for nothing. What a shame. 

Leaning over, you rest your head on his big bicep, and, with a pout, reply, “I thought it sounded smart; I was pretty proud of that line actually.”

“No, doll,” Toji says, sighing. “The simpler the better. Don’t purposefully complicate your syntax. Only do what’s necessary to get the point across. If I, an expert in this topic, can barely understand what you mean, how is the ordinary person supposed to?”

“Yeah, okay. Simple is better, I get it.”

He continues reading, red pen in hand and making annotations as he goes. Meanwhile, you’re worming your way into his lap: one hand resting on his thigh at first, then a leg thrown over his. He notices what you’re doing — there’s no way he doesn’t know — but he doesn’t put up a fight. Eventually, you’re sitting in his lap, his chin resting on your head, and his arms caging you in. 

Toji’s warm. He’s comfy to rest on despite all the muscles. Closer now, his soapy scent envelops you. It goes straight to your head. You find yourself squirming. 

“Keep still,” he reprimands, underlining a phrase twice for emphasis. “You can’t just use jargon if you’re not going to explain it. It’s bad practice.”

“Got it.” Fiddling with his spare hand, running your fingers down his and over his palm, you ask, “Are academics supposed to have calluses?”

“They bother you or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just curious.”

He hums. “I do odd jobs here and there, some more manual than others so yeah I built up some calluses.” Without missing a beat, he pivots the topic. “Tell me again what the difference is between compliment and complement.”

You bring that hand up to your breast, imploring him to grope your tits as you reply, “With an I is to praise someone or something, and with an e is to say something matches well with another.”

A moan escapes your lips when he squeezes in approval. Toji mutters, “Good girl. Guess you do listen to me.” Thumb brushing your hardened nipple through the thin material of your top, you squirm in his lap. His lips move against the top of your head. “No bra?”

“I figured you were going to take it off me anyway so I didn’t bother,” you say, still pressing his hand to your tit, riding the motions of every grope and flick of your nipple. 

Another hum. 

Slowly, you guide that hand down lower. He must know what you’re doing, where you want it to end up, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t reprimand or put up any resistance; he’s curious to see how far you’re willing to go. And you’re curious to see how much restraint he has, how long he can hold out before his façade of nonchalance breaks and he’s fucking up inside you.

You tease yourself, and him, first — his fingers, with your guidance, tease your bare thighs, following the hem of your tight skirt. Growing breathless, you ask, “What kind of odd jobs do you do?”

Toji’s calluses tickle the sensitive skin in your inner thighs just right. He’s still marking your paper, occasionally fact-checking your ideas and his theories in a textbook on the table. Amused, he retorts, “You curious about me, doll?”

“Hmm, I want to know exactly whose cock will be stretching me out in a minute.”

He snorts, patting your clothed pussy. You jolt with every impact. “I tutor on the side. Fix up some cars in the garage in town. I’m a physical trainer for three clients at the local gym too. And when I’m low on money, I sell risqué pictures of myself. That disgust you?”

All while he answers, Toji’s blunt nails scrape your slit through your panties. He’s not applying much pressure at all, if any, and yet every skim, every travel up and down has goosebumps rising on your skin.

“N-no,” you answer quickly. “I think that’s really cool. If I had a body like yours, I’d take pictures all the time too.”

His laughter rumbles in his chest. An odd sense of pride warms your own. He says, “Your body’s more than good enough to sell too, you know. Don’t act like you don’t know guys give you double takes all the time, or that your ass could stop traffic.”

Giggling, you lean back, gazing up at him with a smile. “Do you stare at my ass sometimes, Toji?”

God, you’re soaked. You can tell, though you’re not embarrassed whatsoever. If anything, you’re just itching for him to pull your panties to the side and touch you skin to skin, to plunge inside your pussy and make a mess out of you.

“Tell me where you can, and should, insert a semi-colon in paragraph six, and I’ll give you an honest answer.” 

He nudges you with his chin. “Go on. Quit thinking with your pussy and give me the right answer.” A little aggrieved, you sit up straight, holding his wrist to keep his hand between your legs. Your eyes scan the section. Tentatively, you point to a full stop on the second line. Toji shakes his head and smacks your clothed pussy again. “Try again, and don’t guess.”

“Here,” you snarl, feeling way past pent up. “Now give me my reward.”

Toji huffs. “Semi-colons help for varying sentence structures. It’s in the little ways you can convey your points compellingly. Don’t underutilise the right punctuations.”

“Yeah, yeah, smarty pants. Rub my clit and answer my question already.”

Cool air brushes against your swollen, glistening lips. You sigh when his warm hand covers the entire slit barely a second later. His middle fingers are instantly coated in your wetness. He groans. “Fuck, doll, you’re dripping.” Toji doesn’t give you a moment to respond to that; his fingers rub at your throbbing clit in tight circles, drawing it out of his hood. You moan, back arching. 

Finally, he answers, “I stare at your ass all the fucking time after I glare at the losers whose eyes wander from their laptop screens . I’m a big, fucking hypocrite — that what you wanna hear?”

“Fuck yes!”

Rustling of paper reaches your ears. Then two hands are on you: one furiously rubbing the bundle of nerves and the other gripping your throat. He squeezes threateningly. Your vision spots, jaw dropping. “Look at you, all desperate to have my cock inside you. And for what? For a couple marks? You’re not ashamed?”

Your ass is grinding back on his boner, sandwiching the hard thing between your cheeks as your own answer. How could you be ashamed when he wants you so bad too?

“I’m horny! Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

In a split second, you find your world spinning. Your back falls on something hard. You’re staring up at the ceiling, papers scattered beneath you. Rough hands tug you down by your thighs. When you peer down, Toji’s staring up at you from between your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fucking you. You already knew I was gonna. You gonna let me taste your pussy first?” A challenging brow quirks up, like he’s waiting for you to push him away. 

Instead, your legs hook over his shoulders, ankles crossed. You grin at him.

Panties pulled to the side, his fingers spread your pussy for him. Those eyes scan every inch. He releases a shaky breath, cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even your pussy’s pretty. Fucking gorgeous.” Running a hand through his hair, he says, “You’re always such a pain, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help that every part of me’s pretty,” you reply, twirling your hair.

“Shut up and play with your tits — I like a show with my dinner.” Toji spits a fat dollop right on your clit. It slides down your slit but before it can disappear in the crevice of your ass, his tongue is collecting it and shoving it inside your cunt. 

You gasp. “Fuck, Toji!”

In spite of his aggressive tone, you pull down your top, letting your tits bounce out. Those eyes follow every jiggle. “Good girl,” he rasps. “Squeeze them for me nice and hard. Good. Real fucking good.”

His glasses are foggy now with your own humidity, rattling with every movement. He’s eating your pussy out like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything better, like he’s going to make sure not a single trace of you can be found in his apartment after he’s done with you. 

Growling, he spread your thighs wider. “Course you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he says, brows furrowing in what appears to be anger. “Course it’s sweeter than that fucking cheesecake. Course I’ll be craving you till I die.”

Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging for purchase. “Ngh, Toji, my clit…suck my clit!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Those scarred lips, the very ones you’ve stared at more times than you can count, wrap around your clit, sucking hard the way you did when you were blowing him under the desk. Electricity sparks inside, sending tremors up from your lower belly to your tits to the very tips of your fingers. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.”

Filthy squelches are being wrung out of you, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, addicted to how responsive your body is to him.

Two fingers worm their way through your pulsing hole, basking in the rough textures of your entrance, stretching your gummy walls on their way to curling against that spot that has you oozing more cum out. 

“You’re fucking tight,” he hisses. “You’re gonna struggle taking all of me later.” Then he barks a laugh, spare hand pressing down on your belly where the pressure builds up. Your toes curl. “A better man would take pity on you, go slow or wait another day, but I’ve already had my tongue inside your cunt so I’ll spare you the gentleman act.”

More fingers shove in, ignoring the screech that you let out. You’ve never had more than two and yet all four of his thicker, longer fingers are inside pushing your walls to their very limits. 

Despite that, he remarks, entertained by the shock on your face which he studies through his glasses, “Suck it up, buttercup — my cock’s thicker than this, you know that.”

You do. 

It’s all you’ve been thinking about all day. Hours after, your jaw’s still stretched out, sore and creaking after the workout you put it through. The thought of having something even thicker, longer than his four fingers has you growing dizzy, head handing over the coffee table.

“Yeah, my cock can’t wait to feel you too,” Toji says, not to you but to your pussy which is squelching lewdly and loudly. “Had to resist jerking my dick raw all day so you better make it good for me.”

Is it seconds later, or minutes, maybe hours, when you cum?

How ever long it is no one can deny it’s the strongest orgasm of your life. 

Your entire body trembles, spasming beyond control. Are you screaming or silently moaning? Are your eyes shut or have you gone blind? And is he still pistoning his fingers inside you, damn near pushing all of his hand in? 

“Stop,” you cry out. “No more, please!”

Mercifully, he yanks his hand out. Unfortunately, it leaves you feeling so empty you immediately crave the feeling of his hand gripping you from inside. 

Lips and chin glistening, he kisses both inner thighs, which tremble. 

Toji gathers you with one arm, showing off his strength as he carries you off the table and to the glass door which leads out to the balcony. It’s dark out and all you can see are the lights of people’s rooms in the apartment across. There are families lounging, dogs sleeping, TV’s blaring. 

Behind you, you hear the rustling of his shirt as he throws it off carelessly. Bare skin grazes your own soon after his hands make quick work of the clothes you’re still wearing. In a flash, you’re naked. He bends down to pick up your fallen panties, inhaling the gusset deeply. Your legs cross tightly at the deeply satisfied groan he lets out. 

“Next office hour,” he starts, lazily spreading your pussy lips and smearing your juices around so he can listen to the squelches and keep your squirming, “you better leave your panties with me. Consider it payment.”

You laugh. “Sure.”

Groggily, you try to keep your head up, wondering what you’re doing by the window, still a little out of it. A hand clutches your jaw, aiding you. 

“I’m gonna fuck you against this window,” he announces, leaving no room for arguments. “You want those extra marks? Then you’re gonna be a good girl and take my cock like a champ.”

Ass gyrating back against the hot, heavy thing still confined in sweatpants, you wonder, “Do you have an exhibitionism kink?”

He lets go of you. You have to catch yourself by pressing your palms to the cold glass. Toji drags your hips back, foot kicking your legs apart. His cock plops onto your ass, scalding. “No, I have a ‘get my time’s worth from shameless women who waste my time with demands for better grades by humiliating them’ kink.”

“Sounds long. We should get that shortened,” you drawl.

His cockhead slides through your pussy, coating itself in your wetness. The fat thing bumps against your clit. You shudder. 

Satisfied with your natural lubrication, he prods your entrance. “Yeah, we should. Let’s call it, Shut The Fuck Up And Take It.”

Then he enters you in one go.

You scream.

The window fogs up with your breath. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re taking so much of his length so quickly that it should be painful. Despite that, there’s not an ounce of pain, not one you didn’t like at least — only the overwhelming pleasure of being filled up is resonating. 

Toji grunts. “Almost had to fist this cunt and you’re -hah fuck- still too tight.”

Pummelling his cock in, his hips don’t pause for a second. You gasp for breath, palms slipping and sliding on the condensation that’s built up on the glass. It’s like you can feel him in your lungs, so impossibly deep, so hot, so intimidating. 

“God, it should be a crime to have a body like this,” he says, hands groping every part of your flesh he can reach. He slaps your ass to watch it jiggle for him. He’s an ass man, that much is clear.

The force of his thrusting has you pushed closer to the glass, so close now that almost your entire front is flush with the surface. The coldness grazes your nipples. You moan. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He tugs you back to him, body sliding down the glass till your ass is jutted out. Toji carries your hips up so you can reach him, but it means your toes are only brushing the floor. You cling to the glass door as much as you can. Through the glossy haze, you see the marks you left on the glass, from the oils and sweat on your skin. You see the outline of your tits, all round and fat, the handprints you left and the smearing of them all over the place because you couldn’t grapple with one position to have them in. 

Are people watching? Are you flashing a poor old man, are you reigniting a sexual appetite in a pitiful divorcee, making a housewife jealous, creating fantasies for some guy your age? Are people rubbing one out to the flashes of ecstasy on your face, to the swaying of your tits, to the rippling of your ass?

Toji’s fingers creep under you, furiously teasing your clit. You whine. “I think I’m gonna cum again.”

“Go on, gorgeous,” he rasps. “Lemme feel you cum around my cock. Make my dreams come true.”

Two fingers gather the cream that’s formed a ring at his base. He draws three letters on the glass for you to stare at. It spells out c u m.

God, he’s dirty.

Another orgasm ripples through you. Your thighs shake. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Toji!”

He growls out, hands tightening their grip on your hips, threatening to bruise, “Shit, you’re gonna make me cum early.”

Without waiting for you to come down from your high, he flips you around. Your back thuds against the door. His cock reenters you in a clean, easy slide, cunt beyond soaked and stretched out. Your arms and legs wrap around him. 

Those glasses of him have fogged up so thickly now that they fail to serve their purpose. Toji takes it off with one hand, sliding it onto your head, like a headband keeping your face clear of your hair. “Don’t let them fall,” he orders. “They break and you won’t be getting that internship.”

And his lips?

They smack against yours.

He kisses you, all tongue and teeth and drool dripping down chins, like he’s been waiting weeks, months, perhaps years to do that. And you kiss him back just the same. 

Inside you, his cock throbs. Toji’s hips swing back and forth, pelvis grinding on yours, rubbing your clit and wringing our more obscene squeeeelches. 

“Oh god, I’m so full, Toji. You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re -hngh- t-taking me so well,” he praises, littering sloppy kisses all over your face and neck all while he pinches and rolls your nipples. “Moaning so adorably, all pretty and finally keeping this mouth quiet of smartass comments. You should be like this all the time.”

The rocking of his cock inside you is even better like this. The closeness, the warmth, the taste of him — you wonder why you waited so long to do this. 

Tits squashed to his chest, your nipples scrape his skin, slipping and sliding with the sweat beading down your bodies. The hard planes of his chest feel magnificent. Nothing about his muscles are for vanity only, and the knowledge of the strength he’s holding back has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“You’d miss my smartass comments,” you tell him, head thrown back and hips working their way down on his cock of their own volition.

Toji groans against your neck, licking droplets of sweat. “Yeah, maybe. I definitely wouldn’t miss your spelling errors though.”

Smiling, you tug his head up by his hair, and bite his bottom lip. You pull and let go so it’ll snap back into place like he’d done with your lip when you were under his desk. “Maybe if you taught me like this, I wouldn’t -hah- make so m-many mistakes— deeper, Toji! Fuck me deeper.”

His hips plough deeper inside, like you wanted, hitting that spot inside you till you’re sure it’ll be bruised in the morning. Moans after moans are fucked out of you; his neighbours will give him an earful tomorrow, you’re certain. 

“Book more office hours just to see me and not because you want something from me, then we can see if I can fuck your stupidity out of you,” he retorts. 

You peck his lips. “Aw, does poor, needy Toji want me to give him more attention? Does he miss me when I’m not there? What a cute little baby.”

“Yeah, he does, actually,” he says, smirking. “That a problem?”

“It will be if you don’t make me cum.”

Toji reminds you, “You’ve been cumming around my cock this entire time; you still want more? Greedy girl.”

He pulls away from the window, stalking over to the sofa instead. Each step burrows him deeper inside you, kissing your cervix and pushing out gasps from your lips, all of which he swallows. 

Carelessly, he throws you on the sofa. You bounce with an oomph!

Ankles held by one hand, he keeps your legs upright, hips lifted up to meet his. Toji presses a kiss to your ankle bone before he pushes his cock back inside. Your back arches with a mewl. Like this, his huge body becomes even more glaring — he’s casting a shadow over you, completely dwarfing you, reminding you how easily he could break you, how he could take whatever he wants from you. 

Every time he buries himself to the hilt, a bulge pops through your tummy, right under your belly button. 

“Look at that,” he mutters, brushing a thumb over it. You whine. “Feel me deep inside you? You’ll be feeling me inside for days, won’t you? Once it starts to fade, you can always come back for another fill, you know.”

“Promise?” you ask, grinning ear to ear. 

Toji pulls out, leaving just his tip before he slams back in, jostling you down on the sofa. His abs contract, cock throbbing at the sudden clenching of your walls around him. “Fuck, yes, doll. Promise. I fucking promise.”

His glasses have slid off, rattling somewhere on the sofa with the impact of every thrust. He doesn’t seem to care about them anymore. You’re nearing another orgasm, head whipping around at the intensity of the pressure building in your core. He’s bullying his cock relentlessly in your cunt, chasing after his own high and sending you to yours. 

When your eyes clash with his piercing, green ones, unobstructed by his glasses, you explode with a scream. 

“F-fuck,” he grunts, following soon after. 

Searing cum spurts inside you, cock pulsing, cum painting your walls. His thumb rubs your clit, aiding you through your orgasm. Your moans are vibrating against the walls, definitely disturbing his neighbours, but so are his groans. 

He slumps over, rolling the two of you on the sofa so you’re resting naked on his heated body, his heavy arm preventing you from falling off. Your pussy’s sore, a mix of your cum and his dribbling out and creating a sticky mess on your inner thighs. 

Absentmindedly, as you both catch your breath, he rubs your back. You draw shapes and letters on his chest. Toji combs his hair off of his forehead, chest rising up and down with his breathing. The dirty marks you two left are still on the glass, though it’s no longer foggy. 

Reaching up above him, he gracefully finds his glasses, sliding them on his face. You like him with and without them. 

“So,” you begin, “about those extra marks.”

Toji lifts his glasses up to rub a hand down his face. “Jesus, yes, you’ll get the marks.”

“Thanks!” you chirp. 

“God, you’re a pain in the ass.”

.

.

.

“Fuck, Toji,” you moan. “I already came three times. It’s too -hic- too much.”

Your TA ruts his cock inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck. His glasses are on your nose bridge, blurring your vision; he gets so frustrated when the thing gets in the way of kissing you or eating you out.

“Shut up,” he rasps, hand pressing down on your lower belly so you can feel him even more. “You’re the one who dragged me here. Take every orgasm I give you and be grateful.”

That’s true — you were supposed to have an office hour with him, which is really an excuse to see your boyfriend before you have to attend the internship induction session, but then you took one look at him and his amazing body and started soaking through your panties so here you two are.

Oh yes, you did say boyfriend.

After he blew your mind out, you’d been visiting his apartment after classes so often, you were practically living there, and he didn’t mind. It started out casual, but after realising you two would go grocery shopping, watch movies together, and text each other practically every day, you decided to just seal the deal and make it official. 

In short, he fucks good, and he can tolerate your personality, so you two stuck together. 

A month in, neither of you are really regretting it. At least, if his desperate thrusting and sloppy kisses to your neck’s anything to go by. 

“Missed you so much, Toji,” you whine, hips fucking back into him.

Toji groans, hand groping your tit from under your shit. “Yeah, baby?”

“Mmm.”

“Missed you too,” he confesses, licking a stripe up your neck and scraping his teeth down. Goosebumps rise on your arms. “Been wanting to see you all morning.”

You giggle, holding onto the stall for purchase and so his thrusting won’t make you smack face first onto the door. “You’re so cute w-when you’re needy.”

“Fuck off,” he says with no real heat to his words. 

In the near distance, the door to the men’s toilets opens with a dull metallic creak, the sound echoing faintly off the tiled walls. Feet pad in—slow, unhurried. The steady rhythm of someone who expects the place to be empty.

“Fushiguro?” a voice calls out. “You in here?”

The two of you go very, very still. Toji’s entire body stiffens behind you, muscles locking. His hand clamps firmly over your mouth for extra measure, warm palm pressing tight enough that you can feel the tension in his fingers.

Your heart slams against your ribs, loud enough that you’re half convinced it might echo under the stall. What the hell is the professor doing here?

“Susan told me she saw you walk in this direction. You got a minute?”

Toji releases a tense breath through his nose, annoyed at the interruption but left with no choice but to answer. He lifts you up so your feet hang over the floor and won’t be seen by the outsider. “Yeah, prof. But I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

The professor laughs. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. I do apologise for interrupting you. I was just locked out of my account and can’t send emails for the next hour. You know how terrible I am with technology.” He enters the stall next door. He unzips his pants. You cringe. “I only wanted to ask if you’re prepared to host the internship induction later.”

You go still, this time for a different reason. 

Your boyfriend releases your mouth. Fingers creep over to between your legs, where you’re still connected to him, where he’s still throbbing inside you. He slowly rubs your clit, keeping you from squirming in complaint with his strong arms. Toji responds, “Yeah, got all my notes ready.”

The bastard’s trying to distract you…

“Ah good, good,” the older man joyfully responds. His stream hits the water, and you fight the urge to face palm. “I had a look over the plans and the schedule. Very well organised, I must say. The competition was fierce, which is a testament to the success of the event, so props to you.”

Do men hold conversation so casually in the toilets?

Toji carefully begins moving in slow and shallow thrusts, prodding your g-spot over and over with his fat cockhead. You bite your lips to keep from moaning. Your nails dig into his thick arm. He ignores you. 

“Don’t mention it, Professor.”

The man zips himself back up and flushes, exiting the stall. Outside, the tap runs, and you’re both still as quiet as rocks, afraid that any sudden movement will out you both as sexual deviants. 

He adds, “Oh, and thank you for handling the applications for me; you know I hate all that paperwork nonsense.” 

Your jaw drops. 

Beyond tense, Toji replies like he’s aware of the weight every word exchange carries, “I do what I can do to help out.” 

“I couldn’t do what I do without you,” the professor continues, sincere and ignorant to the fact that you’re there. The rustling of paper towels echoes. “Well, I’ll see you later. Apologies again for interrupting.” 

The exit door swings open and you relax, but then his voice fills the space again. 

“Do say hello to your pretty, little girlfriend for me.” 

Your heart? 

Drops to the fucking floor.

Toji’s grip on you tightens just slightly, barely noticeable unless you’re pressed this close to him.

Your mind races. Did he see you come in? Did someone tell him? Did Susan, whoever the hell she is—

Toji speaks before you can spiral further, his tone sharper now, suspicion threading through it. “What do you mean, Professor?”

“Oh, you know, the girl you’ve been eyeing for a while now — she’s on the internship, yes?” Then he laughs the kind of laughter old men do, all paternal and wise. “Don’t worry, son, I’m not accusing you of pulling strings; I know she’s a very intelligent young woman. Ambitious too. Almost as ambitious as you. I hope you two work something out.”

Your heart slows its beating but you’re not any less tense. 

Sighing, Toji responds, “I’ll let you know if we do.”

“Yes, yes,” the professor says before he leaves for good. 

Finally, it’s just you two in the men’s toilets again. The silence and emptiness is maddeningly relieving. Although, you’re seething, practically vibrating with accusations and anger.  

Toji lets you down. Your feet touch the ground again. You pull him out, whirling on him with a disbelieving glare. You snatch his glasses off your face with one hand and smack his chest with the other. The man doesn’t budge.

“You sneaky piece of shit!”

He gathers both of your wrists with one hand, rolling his eyes. Toji takes his glasses from you and slides it on his face. Seeing you clearer now, he guides his cock back to your pussy, re-entering with ease. You moan, allowing him to hike your leg over his hip so he can press in deeper.

Kissing your lips, he mutters against your lips, “I did what I had to to get your attention. Sue me.”

“God, you’re the worst,” you breathe out, chest jutting out to his, nipples aching and clit throbbing. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m the big, bad wolf, and you’re creaming all over my dick right now. Let’s not act like you got the short end of the stick here.”

“Master manipulator,” you hiss, kissing him back, fingers tangling in his hair as soon he lets go of your wrists to grope your tit and ass.

“Whore,” he fires back.

Then the two of you smile, clutching each other tightly as you both rock into each other, nearing your mutual orgasm and riding the pleasure growing in your bodies. Fuck, he feels so good.

“We’re gonna be together forever and ever, aren’t we?” you ask.

Toji’s scar brushes your forehead with his kiss. 

“That’s the plan.”

he had you on all fours, eyes rolled back into your skull and he wanted you to shut up??

you whine, moving against him desperately. he always wanted to say something about your volume right before you finished. he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance, sliding a finger in your mouth for you to suck on, drooling against his hand. You try as hard as you can to shut up, hiding your face in your arms as you lean against the table. 

it was getting incredibly too stressful with exams coming up. the air was more chaotic and more negative, people grouped everywhere. Even the library was pretty packed.. except for the 7th floor. The elevator was much too slow for most students to wait past floor four. Finals week, of course, had to be an exception because the first few floors were packed. The 6th floor had a handful of people, the music rooms on the 7th floor is probably the best option for studying at this point. Especially when they have private music rooms to study in.

“We'll just have to work on it, yeah?” He asked, propping a leg up onto the chair next to him to hold the arch in your back with his arm. He rutted into you, grunting in your ear before slamming into you so hard the desk began to rattle. Talk about noise..

You can feel your eyes prick with tears of pleasure, biting onto your sleeve and trying to keep down like he asked. You whined and whimpered into your arms, gripping onto the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. It was genuinely getting to the point that your vision was getting blurry. You came against him with a shaking sigh, feeling him pull out slowly.

“Turn over, I wanna see that pretty face..” He helped you turn onto your back gently, laying against the cold table as he realigned himself with your desperate cunt. He lifted your legs up, pulling them to his chest and resting your ankles on his shoulders. You could feel your slick dripping onto the table, watching him kiss your calf gently before shoving into you once more.

Your hands fly to cover your mouth, feeling him hug your legs together around his head. You knew you were being bitchy earlier, but you didn’t think he was this mad. You whimper, legs beginning to shake as he leaned forward to shove you into a mating press. You really never knew when you pushed his buttons too far, but to keep riling him up all week without relief then moving when he wanted a kiss must have overloaded him.

“B-baaaabe!” you moan out, biting into his shoulder and shoving your hands under his shirt to tear his back apart. He grips the desk for support, laughing in your face about how quick he can make you a mess. He sucks a breath in, flinching at your nails and biting into your shoulder in return.

“Next time I’ll just stop wherever we are. Bend that ass over. And let everyone see you can’t go five seconds without. my. dick.” He slammed harder with each punctuation.

sitting behind you while you lay your back against his hard chest, his legs hooked over yours as he forces them to stay open while he pistons his thick fingers in and out of your pussy

loud squelches and drops of wetness spitting out from between you thighs as fat crocodile tears run down your cheeks. Nanami grips your throat harshly in his large hand, squeezing every so often to make you dizzy, your mouth falling open in a silent scream

“stop squirming, you can take it” Nanami whispers against your ear, followed by a harsh smack against your pussy after he abruptly yanks his fingers out before shoving them back in, continuing his brutal pace

“k-kento too- too much-“ you whine, your body shaking and jerking in his hold, trying to get him to ease up on you, but Nanami is having none of it

he removes his hand from your throat and presses it against your mouth shutting you up. he presses your head back against his shoulder roughly as your forced to look at the ceiling while his fingers abuse your g-spot rapidly, one merciless thrust after the other

“I said take it.” He groans, fed up with your complains. His cock is twitching so hard against the confines of his boxers as he feels finger fucks you, imagining how soft and warm you’re gonna feel around his cock when he’s done working you open

“cmon, squirt for me again and ill give you a break, my love” Nanami groans, pausing his thrusts to curl his counters rapidly against your gspot, making you cry out behind his hand, your whines muffled as you shake and shake and shake until-

a stream of clear liquid sprays out from your cunt, making Nanami groan in satisfaction as he begins pistoning his fingers in and out of you again, working you though your orgasm, getting your cum all over the bed sheets,

“good fucking girlll, good girl.” Nanami moans, his jaw slack as he watches you squirt for the second time all over him, his cock leaking pre-cum in his boxers. “proud of you honey, so proud.” he coos, pulling his fingers out of you as he wraps both arms around your torso, allowing you to breathe and whine freely now that your mouth is unobstructed again

then came the night satoru passed out drunk on the living room floor after a college party, snoring loud enough to drown out the rain. you found suguru on the balcony, cigarette between his fingers even though he quit months ago.

you leaned beside him, shoulder brushing his, stealing the smoke without asking. exhaled slow, eyes on the wet city. voice barely above the rain.

“tired of pretending yet, suguru?”

he took a drag, let the silence stretch, played dumb.

“pretending what?”

you smiled, stepped closer until the balcony light caught the lace edge of your bra through the open neck of his borrowed shirt. leaned in just enough that he could see straight down if he let his eyes drop.

they dropped.

“that,” you whispered, breath warm against his jaw. “exactly that.”

he snapped. cigarette flicked into the dark, hand already fisting in your hair to drag you in, mouth crashing against yours like the rule had never existed.

slow at first, lips barely parted. then deeper, mouth opening on yours with a low sound that rumbled in his chest, tongue sliding against yours. his other hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just right so he could lick into you slow and deliberate, swallowing the small noise you made when he sucked on your bottom lip.

you felt it everywhere (his teeth grazing, the faint sting when he bit down soft, the way he breathed your name against your mouth like it hurt to say it out loud). the rain kept falling, cold on your skin where the shirt slipped off one shoulder, but his palm was burning, dragging down your throat, thumb brushing the frantic pulse he put there.

seconds later, he has you pressed to the mattress in the guest room your parents never use, your thighs over his forearms, folded so deep your breath shakes.

he’s thick, impossibly so, and he knows it. takes his time pressing in, just the blunt head at first, slow nudge that has you gasping into the pillow. he watches your face, eyes black with want, jaw locked tight while he feeds you inch by inch, letting you feel every drag, every pulse.

you’re so wet it’s unreal, but still tight enough that he has to stop halfway, breath shaking, forehead dropping to yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “feels so good.”

he bottoms out all at once, sudden and deep, hips flush to yours. you gasp loud, the sound echoing too far in the quiet house.

his hand clamps over your mouth fast, palm muffling the noise while his eyes lock on yours. “shh,” he breathes against your throat. “we’re still pretending he’s asleep down the hall.”

you whimper into his skin, body clenching hard around him, and he groans low, staying buried, letting you feel every twitch. he stays like that, hand over your mouth, hips perfectly still while you pulse around him, every clench pulling a ragged breath from his chest. his free hand slides down your side, thumb tracing the dip of your waist, fingers splaying wide.

slowly he eases back, just enough to feel the drag, then sinks in again—deep, deliberate, grinding at the end until stars burst behind your eyelids. you bite his palm to muffle the whine, tears slipping hot down your temples.

“good girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “be quiet for me, yeah?”

another withdraw, another thrust, building that maddening rhythm while the rain hammers the window, drowning out the slick sounds between you. his mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the pulse he races, sucking soft marks you'll hide tomorrow.

you arch into him, legs wrapping tighter, heels digging into his back as he hits that spot over and over. every slow drag back inside you rips another memory loose.

the couch where you fell asleep during movie nights, head on satoru’s shoulder while suguru stared at the inch of skin your shirt rode up to expose, hand clenched around a pillow so he wouldn’t reach. the kitchen counter you leaned against in tiny shorts, laughing at something stupid, and he pictured bending you over it until his teeth left marks on his own tongue. the hallway when you hugged him goodbye, tits pressed soft to his chest, and he had to count backwards from ten so he wouldn’t drag you into the bathroom and drop to his knees.

all those nights he came with your name on his tongue, pretending the fist around his cock was you instead.

now he’s buried in the real thing, tighter, wetter, better than any fantasy ever let him have. your body takes him like it was waiting, like it knew the whole time. every thrust proves the dream was a pale fucking shadow.

he bottoms out again, hips flush, grinding slow just to feel you flutter, and thinks: this is what i ruined myself for. this is why nothing else ever worked.

reality wins. every single time.

he pulls out slow, cock slick and heavy, and you’re still shaking when the first thick pulse of him spills across your folds. he watches, breath ragged, thumb spreading it lazy over your swollen clit, pushing a little back inside.

more leaks out, white against your skin, dripping down the curve of your ass onto the sheets. the sight punches the air from his lungs.

he thinks of satoru downstairs, snoring, trusting him with his life. thinks how his best friend would actually, finally kill him if he knew suguru just came inside his little sister raw, if he ever put a baby in you.

then he looks at you, thighs trembling, pussy painted with him, and the thought flips violent and possessive: satoru would absolutely hate it, but that's half the thrill.

he pushes more back in, finger curling just enough to make you gasp.

next time, he won't pull out.

you whimper—soft, barely audible over the crash of waves. and he presses one long finger inside you, easy, slow, letting you feel every ridge of his knuckle as he sinks in to the last. your hips twitch; he pins the small of your back down with his free hand, keeping you still.

“stay,” he orders quietly. “let me take care of you.”

a second finger joins the first. he curls them immediately, stroking over that spot that makes your toes curl into the towel. his thumb finds your clit at the same time—light, maddening circles—and suddenly the sun is too hot, the ocean too loud, your brother too close.

suguru’s mouth brushes the nape of your neck. “you clench so sweetly when you’re scared he’ll hear.”

he scissors his fingers, stretching you open, then fucks them back in with a wet sound that makes your face burn. you turn your head, muffling the next moan into your forearm.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t speed up. Just keeps that slow rhythm—curling, stroking, rubbing tight little circles over your clit until your thighs tremble and your breathing turns ragged.

“look at him,” suguru murmurs. “sleeping like he doesn’t have a care in the world while I'm fucking his baby sister.” you clench hard around his fingers at the words; he groans low in his throat.

“that’s it,” he praises. “come for me. come while he’s dreaming right there. soak my hand, i know you want it.”

he angles his wrist just right—presses hard against that spot—and you do. your whole body locks up, mouth open in a silent cry, walls clenching around his fingers as slick gushes over his knuckles. he works you through it with deep strokes, drawing it out until you’re shaking and gasping against the towel.

he leans down, kisses the space between your shoulder blades, then whispers so softly only you can hear: “good girl.”

you’re still catching your breath, face buried in your arms, when satoru suddenly snorts awake. he sits up, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he squints against the glare. “mhmm… what’d i miss?” he yawns, stretching his arms overhead.

suguru lifts his right hand—the one still glistening faintly with your release—and brings it to his mouth. slowly, he drags the flat of his tongue along the length of his middle and ring fingers. his eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, dark and amused.

“nah,” he says, voice perfectly casual as he licks a final stripe up his palm and sucks the tips clean with a soft, wet sound. “nothing at all. just making sure your sister doesn’t burn.”

part one ✧ part two

“Oh my—” Your eyes roll back in your head as your lips part to form an O. “Fuck!”

Zayne hums against your clit, sucking against the sensitive skin.

You hiss air in through your teeth and snap your head down to watch him. His gaze already awaited yours; the hazel-green of his iris is swallowed by his blown pupils. Your back arches involuntarily in response to the pleasure his tongue gives you. “That feels so good,” you moan, running your hands through his hair.

Zayne parts his lips and kisses your clit in an obscene, sloppy tongue-kiss, ending the motion by pouting his lips against your cunt and sucking your clit. The sight is debauched and indulgent, reminding you of the slow kisses he teases your other lips with while you sit on his lap and help him wind down after a long day.

He french-kisses your cunt again before pulling back and pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “You need to keep your voice down, sweetheart,” he gently chastises. “These walls are thick, but they aren’t impressive enough to conceal your volume.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately reply, needing to feel his lips back on you. “I’ll be quiet.” You deigned not to remind him that it had been HIM who asked you to say his name, leading you to lose control of your volume, but in the current atmosphere, you didn’t quite feel like bringing up semantics if it meant it would take longer for him to make you cum.

“Good.” He cracks a small, handsome smile, leaning into your touch while you run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to get interrupted and stop before I can finish here.” He leans back in between your thighs, and you have to clasp a hand over your mouth to stifile the moan that rose in your throat.

It was so sexy—how he spoke of making you cum as something for him. But Zayne always had been quite the giver.

His eyes flutter shut, and his brows crease as he traces tight, wet circles around your clit with his tongue. “Mmm!” Your pleased whine is muffled by your palm, but you cannot control your thighs that begin to tremble around his head. The hand in his hair tightens against his scalp, while the hand on his desk beside you crumples a paper you really hope can be reprinted.

Zayne’s arms are wrapped around your legs; his hands grip your thighs to hold you steady and keep your cunt pressed to his mouth while he eats you out. He shakes his head from side to side, dragging his soft tongue against you. 

It aches where he pleases you, never enough, and simultaneously too much. You want him inside you, above you, below you, around you—to be consumed by him and to be consuming him. Your hands can't run along enough skin on the nape of his neck, your nails can’t dig hard enough into the muscle planes of his back as your body jerks forward and you latch onto him for dear life.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip while Zayne grunts into your cunt, sending blissful vibrations down to your very core. He flattens his tongue and rubs your clit in circles expertly, as he has done a thousand times before.

And it’s too much.

“Z-zayne.” You manage to gasp out his name without crying it for the whole hospital night staff to hear.

He knows exactly what that sound means, so attuned with your body and how your clit twitches against his tongue and your needy entrance pulses around nothing. He wishes he could fill you, even with just his fingers, but he knew that kind of pleasure would be too much for now, so he settled for only using his tongue.

He nods, holding your eyes with his blissed out gaze. The tips of his ears and his cheeks are a handsome red, all flushed in his own arousal and pride at making his beautiful partner feel so good. He tells you to let go with his stare, to cum all over his tongue and make a mess of his mouth, to use him and ride it out until your body becomes boneless with satiation.

So that’s exactly what you do.

“Zayne, Zayne, Zayne—” You chant his name, your final cry strained as your lips fall open and your orgasm crashes into you. You gasp against the onslaught of pleasure while he continues to gently lick your cunt, careful not to add too much pressure to your clit directly lest he overstimulates you without meaning to.

The pleasure is so intense. Your abdomen jerks uncontrollably as you ride it out on his tongue. You feel entirely out of control of your body, your legs shaking and your arms taut as you hold his head against you, but your mind is calm and a sea of white, knowing that you are in the safest place in the world.

Zayne removes his mouth from between your legs and stands from the floor of his desk. He wipes the evidence of your pleasure from his mouth with his thumb and steps between your thighs. Using his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your boneless head up to face him, slightly smirking at the blissed-out expression on your face. “Are you satisfied?” he asks.

In response, you lean into his chest and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into his abdomen. 

Zayne grunts in surprise, pausing with his arms in the air before he chuckles and reciprocates your touch. He strokes your hair with a strong hand, drawing his fingers down to cradle the back of your head while he draws his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner. “I’ll set up the couch for you. I have a few post-op tasks to complete, and then we can go home, alright?” 

He leans back to see your face and bends down to press a kiss to your nose, making you blink one of your eyes shut at his closeness. “Are you tired?” he whispers.

You nod, feeling your eyelids be weighed down by boulders the longer your stay in his embrace.

You’re so exhausted, you hardly recognize you’re being lifted until he’s setting you down on the plush couch in his office. Your head sinks into the decorative pillow at the arm of the couch, before a weight is placed atop you.