#aib ryuji

With him, the aftermath has become your favorite part of secretly falling in love with sleeping with your college professor.

It’s absolutely nothing like the awkward post-sex tango with other partners – namely guys your age – that had unfortunately made up the entirety of your intimate experiences. Boys who grunt barbarically through their messy high, roll their clunky bodies off of you (if you were particularly lucky), and fall asleep without ceremony. In those days, bonus points were awarded to those who could actually remember your name without guessing or be bothered to stay awake long enough to give you a ride home afterwards.

But not with Professor Matsuyama Ryuji. Since the day you walked into his lecture hall, bright-eyed and ready to learn what would become so much more than just psychopathology from him, you’ve been reminded every single second why he is far better for you than any of those rejects from before.

It doesn't matter the location. Nor whether it had been a long, multi-orgasm experience, or a quickie in the supply closet next to the lecture hall. Ryuji insists every single time without fail, his deep voice honeyed but stern – “Let me take care of you.”

Sometimes that means he’s literally cleaning up the mess at the apex of your thighs with the silky tie you'd yanked off of his neck just twenty minutes earlier. Other times it means that he's holding you wrapped up in his arms in his office, using his university-issued desktop to show you funny cat videos that make you giggle adorably for him. On Tuesday nights, when you're leaving your final class of the evening and he’s still neck deep in grading assignments, he sneakily grabs your waist from behind to pull you into his office, insisting that you take an hour from your studying schedule to eat the bento box he'd prepared for you.

But tonight would certainly go down in both of your books as your favorite form of aftercare. You’re propped against a mountain of plush pillows, the lights of his bedroom dimmed romantically for your first encounter together in an actual bed, and honestly? You feel like royalty. You’d already orgasmed twice and him once, but here he is between your thighs anyway, bare, broad shoulders parting your shaking legs just for him.

“Aftercare,” he’d insisted as always, though you’re pretty sure that having him erotically suck and lick through your swollen folds is far beyond what should be considered aftercare. Even so, you can’t bring yourself to complain about the way his hot, wet tongue flattens to collect the evidence of your arousal, or how easily his ring and middle fingers slide into your fluttering hole.

You especially can’t complain when the pads of those two fingers curl deliciously against the special spot inside you, your entire sweat-glistening body arching in pleasure towards him, begging for more direct contact with him. And Ryuji? Well, the black abyss of his pupils have dilated so much that you’d hardly be able to guess he has gorgeous, chestnut-colored eyes. He blinks as little as possible, ensuring he can absorb every inch of your sweet curves writhing against his bedsheets.

I mean sure, in the back of his mind he probably comprehends that it might be considered inappropriate for a professor to be eating out his student - let alone falling deeply, madly, in love with her. But Ryuji Matsuyama can't bring himself to care for a second. Not when you look the way you do pressed into the mattress underneath him. Not when you sound the way you do when he touches you just right. Not when you taste the way you do on his tongue, after he's already made you cum against his bedsheets twice tonight.

Because after all, he is quite a young professor, right? And you're simply not that much younger than him. So it’s okay to drown himself in these feelings for you . . . right?

But when your beautiful, needy voice cries out for him, finally calling him by his given name and not just Professor Matsuyama as he’d been trying to coax you into for weeks and weeks, it’s all worth it. Worth whatever kind of guilt might secretly weigh on his conscience for fucking one of his students who should probably be sleeping with people her own age. Worth the possibility of losing his cushy job if it ever came to that. Even worth giving up any opportunity to uncover any information about the afterlife. Worth it. Worth it. Worth it.

“Ryuji!” you gasp when his teeth scrape lightly, just testing against your swollen, sensitive clit. And normally, if you were in his office or in the lab, or in some dingy supply closet he’d dragged you into, he’d have to shush you, to tell you to be a good girl and keep quiet for him. But now, he’d finally brought you home. Brought you into his bed. He knows now that he’ll never going to get enough of this, of hearing you reach your peak for him at full volume. This could be your home too. Could be your bed to sleep in with him every night.

“Cum for me, pretty baby,” he murmurs huskily into your folds, “Just one more time and then I’ll really take care of you . . . I know you’re sensitive.” It’s that voice . . . the one you hear every day in a lot of different and contrasting ways. And when you think about how you listen to him lecture you about psychology, then command you to cum with an even raspier tone, it sends you careening over the edge of the cliff, the coil in your belly snapping as you gush all over Ryuji's face and soak his sheets. The third time really is the charm.

Ryuji moans, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he drinks in your mess. He could probably cum untouched, just like this - studying the way you come undone for him once again. His expert tongue and lithe fingers work in tandem to prolong your gorgeous high as long as possible, your entire body spasming and shaking for him by the end. He wants to memorize this moment with you. Keep it forever.

Most guys you'd known would pull away from you now. Would expect you to return the favor and get on your knees; if they’d even given you the opportunity to experience this pleasure in the first place. But Ryuji, he looks up at you through dark, fluffy lashes as though you'd done him a favor, the look alone making your breath catch in your chest and your heart race in your ears. He’s gentle about removing his fingers from the fluttering grip of your tight hole, his plush lips pressing a sweet, final kiss to your slippery folds before sitting up. Soft hands massage the meaty flesh of your hips, then slide up your ribcage, gently soothing your overstimulated body without uttering a word. Goosebumps erupt like wildfire across your bare skin, and you smile as his lips capture yours in a tender kiss that both allows you to feel his deep emotions for you and taste yourself on his tongue.

“Let’s take a bath together,” he offers, lovingly brushing some sweat-soaked hair out of your face. You hum, pleasure-glazed eyes trying desperately to focus in on him as he speaks. A sweet, lazy grin spreads across his face at the heaviness of your eyelids, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Rest, little one. I’ll take care of everything.”

You're really learning to believe him, because he always does. Ryuji always takes care of you.

Strong arms lift you after an undisclosed amount of time, your hazy mind and body floating somewhere between reality and a cozy dream. You gasp in surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck and snuggling yourself closer to him as he carries you off to the bathroom.

You notice that the lights have been dimmed in here too, candles of various heights burning cozily on every flat surface in the space. His luxurious clawfoot bathtub stands filled with lavender-scented bubbles, steam radiating off the surface more invitingly than anything you've ever seen.

Ryuji is extra gentle, almost reverant, in slipping your already naked form into the water, the tight muscles of your back, shoulders, and lower body relaxing instantly. You feel the breath catch in your chest as his muscular body settles in behind you, pulling you back to rest against him - skin-to-skin. This is a first for you, not just with Ryuji, but ever. Soaking in a tub under flickering candlelight with someone you may or may not be in love with is a whole new level of intimacy. Out of your periphery, you notice a sidetable filled with your favorite snacks, two bottles of water, and even your favorite champagne. It's at this point that you feel the emotions get the better of you, and tears pool in your normally bright eyes. Behind you, Ryuji stiffens as he notices the distinct glimmer of tears, and the way your body tenses up as you try to hide it.

“Did I hurt you earlier, love?” he whispers, eyebrows furrowed in concern despite the fact that your escapades hadn’t been particularly rough this evening. Certainly not the roughest the two of you had ever been. You shake your head, trying in vain to clear the emotions making you feel so insignificant and unworthy of this kind of love. “What is it, then? You can tell me,” he coos, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he places a kiss to your temple.

“I just . . . I’ve never been treated like this before. So gently. Like royalty. I don’t know if I deserve it,” you admit quietly, hoping that you saying it outloud won't make him realize it too.

Ryuji purses his lips in thought while shushing you and holding you close, frustration and anger threatening to boil over. Because what kind of monsters had you been sharing a bed with that made you feel like you weren't worthy of being cared for once the heat of passion was over? What absolute idiots hadn't seen that you are the most precious treasure on this planet, deserving of all this and so much more? But eventually a sly smirk begins to creep its way onto his face as he realizes that this is exactly why those boys your age don’t deserve you. Exactly why he needs to protect you and keep you for himself as long as you'd let him. Exactly why he is going to benefit from their incredible loss.

Because you should never let a boy do a real man’s job.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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Nights weren’t usually like this — while they were calm, they were never tense. You struggled to hide your frown when you greeted Ryuji at the door, only to be met by a low mumble and avoidant eyes. You could tell something was bothering him, yet he was typically quiet when he was upset, much to your distress. 

— “How was your day, babe?” You asked, hopeful as you took his coat from his taller frame, moving quickly to place it in the nearest storage closet. His answer was a simple yet stubborn “Fine.” Nothing about him appeared fine. He was stressed and it was evident. “How was work?” “Fine.” You sighed when his monotone voice repeated the word over and over again. Although the lack of communication was frustrating, you could understand why he might be hesitant. It was no secret that he had been struggling with his reputation at his school, his passion for researching the afterlife probably the main reason why. 

You never doubted Ryuji’s beliefs, yet you couldn’t hold back a frown when you would overhear someone reducing it to a useless fantasy. Recently things had become worse, his supervisor directly telling him to stop wasting his time and to focus on something else. While Ryuji was strong mentally, the constant negativity was probably taxing. You needed to find a way to cheer him up. 

Without saying another word, you rushed to the kitchen, pouring two glasses of red wine and balancing them as you moved into the living room, beckoning your husband to join you. “Ryuji, c’mere!” You patted next to your own spot on the couch, with the two glasses placed on the nightstand adjacent to it. He nodded wordlessly, walking into the room and sitting next to you as you asked. He wasted no time taking the glass from the nightstand, sipping on it and closing his eyes at the taste. You always teased him for being overly expressive with his alcohol, yet you couldn’t find it in you to make fun of him when this was the closest to happiness you had seen him show since he arrived home. 

You grabbed your own glass, sipping next to him while watching a dumb movie on your television. Eventually, one glass became two and two became three, and before you knew it, the two of you were tipsy. Your head was leaned back, turned to stare directly at Ryuji with no shame. You took notice of how there was a slight sheen of sweat under his jaw, a small furrow in his eyebrows, a light red to his cheeks — you probably looked the same from the wine. 

Suddenly, you were feeling antsy, biting your lip to hold back from voicing your admiration for his face. You truly lucked out, constantly telling him how beautiful he was yet he’d simply hum and look away. You wondered if he would now, choosing to test the waters. “You know, you look really good right now.” Ryuji finally looked your way, and you would bet a million dollars that he was about to scoff and tell you to be quiet, yet his eyes were lidded, riddled with something similar to lust as he bit his lip. “Really?” “Mhmm.” You nodded your head, clumsily enthusiastic. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or the way his hair was styled, but you wanted to feel him closer to you.

Ryuji’s eyes left yours to look you up and down, faintly smiling as he admired you. You felt one of his hands subconsciously reaching for yours, interlacing your fingers and running his thumb on your palm. The feeling made you smile as well, yet you felt slightly empty for some reason, the yearning in you becoming not-so-innocent anymore. “I missed you today.” You whispered, leaning your face to meet his shoulder and rest on it, locking your eyes onto your hands that were holding each other. “Did you now?” You nodded, pouting lightly. “Wanna show you how much.” You responded quietly, finally shifting your head to look up at him. The look in his eye told you he was more than happy to agree, probably secretly relieved that you had offered a way to release his stress. 

Ryuji’s empty hand moved to hold your hip as you got up slightly, straddling his body on the couch and pushing his shoulders back, silently urging him to stay still. He looked up at you, his eyes intense and heavy with a look that overwhelmed you in the best way. Without overthinking, you closed your eyes, leaning down for your lips to meet his. Once they touched, you immediately furthered the kiss, your hand that was on his shoulder grazing up to cup his neck and push him into you. He complied, chasing your lips with his own and humming into the kiss. 

You could tell he was desperate too, with the way his hips would jolt up to meet your own, creating a rhythm as you both began to grind against each other through your clothes. The friction felt so good, heightened by your tipsy actions. Making love was always perfect with him, yet it was always so different when you two were buzzed, the messy desperate actions somehow amplifying each nerve in your bodies. 

Ryuji’s long fingers let go of your hip, trailing down towards the string of your sweatpants. You pushed away from the kiss, ignoring how his mouth chased yours before turning into a pouty frown. Your hand on his neck held him still as you shook your head, “No, this is about you, Ji. We can do that some other time, let me help you.” His frown stayed, now slightly confused yet he nodded at your words, trusting you. 

You smiled, placing one more peck on his lips, before leaving one on his jaw, moving down to his neck to suck on his skin. The flesh was damp with sweat, the pressure of your mouth on him making him feel like he was some horny teenager again. 

Ryuji let out a moan at the feeling, his hand reaching up to grip the back of your neck, pushing you into him fervently. With a renowned passion, you began to suck harshly, leaving purple blemishes over his skin. You would lick them after to relieve the pain before biting the same marks right after. Each time your teeth would graze his skin, his breath would falter, his hips rutting into you mindlessly. 

He whined when you finally removed yourself, yet you simply smiled at him before standing up. “Did work have you stressed?” He huffed at your words, wanting to skip the tense questions in favor of feeling you on top of him again, yet you slapped his hands away when they reached up to grab your waist. “Answer me, please.” He sighed, “He said I wouldn’t get the funding. I… I don’t want to talk about it right now.” You frowned when he responded, his defeated tone making you want to break down along with him. 

“It’s okay baby, I’ll take your mind off of it.” You spoke your last words before descending onto your knees, grinning up at him while your hands reached for his belt. He sank down further into the couch, melting into the feeling when you finally removed the item, pulling down his pants along with it. He kicked them off quickly, watching you intensely as your hands ghosted over his clothed bulge, growing harder with each movement of your wrists. You pressed down lightly, laughing when he threw his head back and whined in response. Choosing to tease him a bit more, you leaned in, leaving a kiss on the tent. He was displeased, his hand rushing to grab onto your hair, roughly pulling you up until you made eye contact with him. “Don’t tease.” Your smile widened, feeling a heat between your thighs at his strict tone. 

Nodding, you waited until Ryuji eased up his hold to finally pull down his boxers. His hard cock sprung out, slapping his stomach and making him groan while biting his lip. You felt yourself grow wetter at the sight, wanting to touch his impressive length immediately. You didn’t hold back anymore, perking up to lean over and grab his dick, stroking the base of it while your tongue darted out, licking his tip. 

The small action had him restless, his blush growing as he twitched at the feeling. You knew he was mostly sensitive in the tip, choosing to focus on it at first. He strengthened the grip of his hand that held onto your hair, getting tighter and tighter as he felt your tongue running over his dickhead. After some more small licks, you finally opened your mouth, taking him in inch by inch until you couldn’t. 

Your eyes were shut quickly, getting more turned on as the second passed, the feeling of his cock heavy in your mouth making you clench your thighs harder. He was no longer trying to hold in his moans, eyes shutting tight while his head tilted back. He was a loud, whining mess at your mercy as your hand ran up and down his base while you hollowed your cheeks on what you could. 

Spit was trailing down onto his bare thighs as some of his precum dribbled down too, though most of it was swallowed down your throat instead. You opened your eyes, looking up to admire your whimpering husband. He looked angelic, veins showing on his forehead as he clenched his teeth, biting his lip as you worked your fingers down him.

Ryuji opened his eyes as your pace increased. When he looked down at you, he caught your eyes, locking into them while his mouth opened to release more moans into the room. You tried to smile at him, although your mouth was occupied, taking him fully down your throat. The sight made him grunt loudly, his hand in your hair tightening. While he tried to fight back the urge, he knew he was slowly losing the battle, feeling his orgasm approaching quickly. 

Your head was pushed into his pelvis while his actions became rougher, finally tipping over when you gagged on his cock. His eyes left yours, shutting tightly once more before he came inside your mouth with one final moan. 

Your mouth was full of his cum, some dripping out to run down your chin, yet you swallowed, looking up at Ryuji when you had none left. Behind his dazed out expression, you saw his lips curl upwards in content, and you jumped up back onto the couch. Pressing yourself next to him, he met you halfway into a messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. 

Your heavy breaths both occupied the room, calming down while embracing each other. “I’ll come home mad again if it means you’ll do that every day.” His voice was unserious, raspy as you could tell he was tired. You laughed at his words, “Yeah right… Next time I’m handing you a broom and telling you to get to work.” You both giggled, holding each other and intertwining your hands once more before you both dozed off together, cramped on the small couch.

♡⸝⸝

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the air heavy with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the faint bitterness of old coffee. Across the lab, Ryuji sat in his wheelchair, stacks of papers and half-drunk coffee surrounding him. His fingers tapped against the desk with a rhythm that seemed almost alive, as if the tapping alone could unlock the secrets he obsessed over.

He didn’t look up as you entered but you could feel the weight of his eyes on you, sharp and assessing. “You still think life is a cycle?” His voice was casual, careless, but it carried a razor-edge that made your chest tighten.

“I do,” you said evenly, leaning against the wall, forcing calm into your posture. “There’s evidence if you know where to look. Unlike some people, I don’t bend facts to fit my theories.”

Finally, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Facts are meaningless if you don’t interpret them. That’s where most people fail.”

You smirked despite the tightness in your chest. “And yet here you are, failing to interpret mine.”

He didn’t answer immediately. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, almost teasing. Silence settled in the lab, thick and heavy, the kind that pressed against your skin and made it impossible to ignore the unspoken tension between irritation and admiration.

Weeks later, you watched him take the stage at a near-death studies conference. Every movement, every word, was deliberate, precise, measured. He spoke of the liminal spaces between life and death, of moments when consciousness hovers and questions the nature of existence itself.

You couldn’t stop the bitter thought from forming. Of course he would phrase it like that. Clinical. Precise. Arrogant.

Later, at your own conference, someone whispered from the audience. “Your theory contradicts his work… are you aware?” You glanced at them, lips curling slightly. “I’m aware,” you said softly. “But the truth isn’t decided by one mind.”

A shiver ran down your spine imagining him hearing that, calculating, disapproving, infuriatingly brilliant.

…

Banda’s words slid over Ryuji like a dangerous current, smooth, deliberate, almost hypnotic. “Help me maintain the game,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, “and you can finally see what lies beyond life. All your research… validated.”

Ryuji’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching lightly on the arms of the wheelchair. “And if I refuse?”

“You risk nothing,” Banda said, tilting his head as if weighing Ryuji like a fragile object, “except discovering the truth too late.” His smile was faint, calm, but there was an edge there that made it impossible to look away.

Later, Banda approached you, moving silently, deliberately, as if he had studied your reactions before even speaking. “I can show you the ultimate truth,” he murmured, letting his eyes linger just a moment too long, “help me keep Arisu alive, and you’ll know everything you’ve been searching for.”

You swallowed hard, chest tight, defiance sparking in your gaze. “I don’t negotiate with people who toy with lives.”

Banda tilted his head, unfazed, almost amused. “Lives are instruments,” he said quietly, his tone teasing and dangerous all at once, “play them well, and you’ll learn what you must.”

You turned away, but your heart hammered in your chest, pulse sharp. Knowledge. Danger. Temptation. The air around him felt heavier, electric, pulling at something inside you that you weren’t ready to name. You didn’t know yet that Ryuji was being pulled down the same path, that his focus, his control, his very presence would inevitably collide with yours in ways you weren’t prepared for.

…

Your first game was called Zombie Hunt. At first, nobody spoke. Twenty players, each clutching decks of cards that could decide who lived and who died. Seven cards each. You already knew the rules, had been watching, analyzing since the start.

You stepped forward, voice calm, deliberate, carrying a strange authority that made a few heads turn. You said what everyone was thinking but too afraid to admit. “If we all panic, we’re dead. Work together, trust each other, share your Vaccine cards, tell the truth if you get infected. Call it a trust barricade.”

Some nodded hesitantly. Others glared, suspicion painting their faces. Distrust spread faster than the virus ever could. Still, for the first few rounds, it worked. You kept people organized, tracking every card played, every action taken. For a moment, it felt like control, like maybe this game wouldn’t destroy you after all.

Then someone panicked. A Shotgun card discharged with a deafening blast, smoke and metal filling the air. Screams erupted, accusations flying. The guy who fired swore he saw someone turn. You tried to calm them, tried to explain that killing each other wouldn’t help, but no one was listening. Fear had already taken root.

Ikeno, the one who had never liked you, directed his anger toward you. His eyes burned with accusation. “You’re lying. Your plan was to make us easy targets for infection.” His hand shook as he raised his card. You urged him to think, to stop, but he didn’t. He fired.

The shot rang out, but you were still alive. Uninfected. The look on his face told you everything. He had wasted his last chance.

Then came Arisu. You faced him during the next round. Calm. Too calm. Focused. Something felt off before he even spoke. When he revealed he had been a zombie all along, building an army in secret, your chest constricted. Everything you had controlled, every plan, every attempt to save everyone, had been a step in his design.

The game unraveled. Infection spread like wildfire. Humans screamed, fought, exhausted their cards. You stopped trying to manage it. There was nothing left to save. You just watched. And when the dust settled, only the zombies remained.

You were one of them now.

…

The city stretched beneath you, quiet for the first time since the train. Your legs ached, your stomach growled, but you were alive and that was enough. You sank down onto the concrete with a groan you didn’t even realize you’d made. Your arms trembled from the last sprint between the gas-filled cars. Every part of you ached, but for the first time in hours, you weren’t running.

Arisu didn’t sit right away. He scanned the edges of the rooftop, eyes darting from shadow to shadow like a soldier still expecting an ambush. Only when he seemed satisfied did he drop down beside you and tear open a foil packet. Without a word, he held it out. You took the food, fingers brushing his, and chewed in silence. The taste was dry and metallic, but it was something solid. Alive enough to taste.

A soft noise made you glance up. Usagi had stumbled through the rooftop doorway, her team behind her. She was pale, eyes glassy, but when she saw Arisu her entire body seemed to collapse inward. She crossed the space between them in three steps and flung herself into his arms. He caught her hard against his chest, the two of them clutching at each other like they’d been drowning.

You turned away, throat tightening at the sight. Relief. Love. Hope. Things you weren’t sure you believed in anymore. Watching them made you ache anyway.

And then you saw him.

Ryuji.

He stood a few feet back from the others, leaning against a low wall. Without his chair, he looked slightly off-balance but not weak. Even like this, he carried himself with that maddening composure, like he was the only one not ruled by adrenaline. His eyes moved over the group, over you. You hated how quickly you recognized him, how easily your body responded to his presence. You’d sworn you were done with this man the moment you’d last seen him across a conference table. And yet.

You caught sight of a dented wheelchair shoved behind an air-conditioning unit. The sight made your stomach twist. He wasn’t asking for help. He never would. But he needed it.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you got up and dragged the chair across the roof. The metal squealed against the concrete. He lifted his eyes to you, one brow arching.

“You really don’t make things easy,” you muttered, crouching to lock the brakes on the chair.

For a second, something in his expression eased barely, but enough for you to catch it.

“Still trying to take charge,” he said quietly, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice had lost its edge, softer now, almost teasing.

You slid the chair toward him, helped him shift his weight. His hand brushed yours, barely a touch, but it sent a current through your chest like you’d swallowed a spark. You straightened quickly, masking the heat in your face by fussing with the brake lever.

Behind you, Arisu and Usagi sat close, her head against his shoulder, their words too soft to hear. For a moment the rooftop was quiet. A rare, fragile quiet.

When you risked a glance back at Ryuji, he was still watching you. Not like a rival, not like a threat. Like he was trying to figure you out. Like he already had.

You looked away first.

Arisu’s gaze snapped to Ryuji. Recognition hit him like a punch before he even moved.

“You” Arisu’s voice was low, dangerous, and his fist shot out before his brain could catch up. The impact landed squarely on Ryuji’s shoulder, and the sharp sound of metal against concrete echoed across the rooftop.

Ryuji stumbled, just enough to let you see the flicker of surprise on his face, the faint curve of that smirk fighting to stay in place.

“Arisu, wait!” Usagi’s voice rang out, urgent and panicked. She shoved against his chest, trying to hold him back. “We all split up to get food and supplies! This isn’t the time”

Ryuji straightened, rubbing his shoulder where Arisu’s fist had landed. His eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked to you, and suddenly his smirk had a different edge, one that made your stomach knot.

“I’m going with her,” he said, voice flat but commanding. “She’s on my team now.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Not because you doubted your own skills, but because of the way he said it, like he had decided something for both of you, like he had already claimed it before you could.

Usagi’s hands pressed lightly against his chest, still trying to hold him back. “Ryuji, don’t make this harder than it already is. Let’s just….”

“I decide,” he interrupted quietly, almost casually, but with an unmistakable weight behind it. His gaze locked with yours across the space of the rooftop. That smirk, now sharper, almost teasing, made the air between you feel too tight, too alive.

You swallowed. Your pulse was pounding, your brain screaming caution, but your chest, impossibly, warmed at the thought that now you’d be forced to spend time with him. Somehow, survival had just gotten a lot more complicated.

You moved quickly, scanning empty storefronts, abandoned crates, anything that could keep your group alive a little longer. Beside you, Ryuji’s wheelchair rolled silently. He didn’t need to speak to make his presence impossible to ignore.

“Try not to fall behind,” you muttered without looking at him.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice flat but edged in that way that made your chest tighten. Calm, controlled, aware. You hated how much that both irritated and intrigued you.

For a while, there was only the rhythm of wheels against cracked pavement and your own shallow breaths. Then the conversation started, quiet at first. Small observations about the game, notes about what could go wrong in the next round. Slowly, it drifted. You found yourself laughing at something absurd, almost human in the middle of all this. He smirked, and it hit you like a spark. He was dangerous, alive, untouchable.

By the time you returned to the hotel where your groups were staying, the sun had dipped low, throwing everything in bruised shadows. Arisu and Usagi were elsewhere, leaving you and Ryuji in the stillness of an empty room.

You leaned against the wall, exhaustion catching up, but his gaze didn’t leave you. “You’re… not what I thought you’d be,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He looked at you, one brow lifting, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “Yeah? What did you think I’d be?”

You hesitated. “Cold. Calculated. The kind of person who never lets anything slip.” You paused, meeting his eyes. “But you’re not. Not completely.” Your voice caught for a moment, and you hated the warmth creeping up your neck.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp and calculating, yet unreadable. “I care,” he said quietly. “Just not in ways people expect.”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost dangerous. Every movement he made—adjusting in the chair, shifting his weight, letting his fingers brush against yours—felt charged, deliberate. You noticed it all. You couldn’t not notice.

Your conversation deepened, moving from survival tactics into personal territory. Each question a subtle probe, each answer a small reveal. He studied you in return, measuring, teasing, testing limits. Every glance was weighted, every pause thick with something unspoken.

Night had swallowed the city, and the tension between you felt almost physical. His presence, the way he occupied space, the quiet intensity in his gaze, drew you in and kept you on edge. The air between you wasn’t soft, wasn’t safe. It was dangerous. And you wanted it anyway.

You swallowed, trying to steady your pulse. He smirked faintly, as if he already knew exactly what you were thinking.

The quiet between you was dense, almost unbearable, each second stretching too long.

He leaned forward in his wheelchair, gaze locking onto yours. The smirk had softened, but only slightly; it was dangerous and teasing at the same time, the kind that made your pulse spike. “You’re… too careful,” he said quietly, almost a statement, almost a challenge.

“I could say the same about you,” you shot back, sharper than you intended, the words carrying more heat than reason.

His eyes flicked down to your lips for just a heartbeat, then back to your eyes.

You wanted to look away, but couldn’t. And he knew it. He moved slightly closer, the chair making the faintest scrape against the floor, and the brush of his sleeve against your arm sent a shiver up your spine. It was deliberate, testing boundaries, and you hated how much it made your chest tighten.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said softly. “Stop thinking.”

“I can’t,” you admitted, voice low, raw. You tried to pull your hand back, but it lingered, almost drawn toward him despite yourself.

He leaned closer, enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. The tension between you was a living thing, heavy and deliberate, impossible to ignore.

He paused, the corner of his mouth curling upward ever so slightly. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, holding you captive, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

“Then let’s make you not think,”

he said, his voice barely a whisper, but the implication clear.

Before you could react or pull away, he closed the distance between you. His lips pressed against yours firmly, demanding and sudden. One hand remained wrapped around your wrist while the other slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply.

His lips were hungry, demanding, and you could feel the raw intensity of his desire. He pulled you onto his lap, one hand gripping your hip while the other tangled in your hair. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate with each passing second.

As you melted into the kiss, you felt the unmistakable hardness pressing against you through his pants. He groaned quietly against your mouth, his hips shifting slightly to create friction. His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer as the kiss became even more heated and desperate.

He bit your bottom lip gently, then soothed it with his tongue before kissing you deeply again. His erection was obvious now, throbbing against your core through the fabric of your clothes. One of his hands slid down to grip your ass possessively. “Fuck...”

He pulled you tighter against him, the hard length of his cock pressing firmly against your clit. He began to grind against you slowly, his hips moving in a deliberate rhythm.

He pulled you tighter against him, the hard length of his cock pressing firmly against your clit. He began to grind against you slowly, his hips moving in a deliberate rhythm.

His breathing grew heavier as he kissed you desperately, his hands roaming your body with clear desperation. He was rock hard and clearly turned on, but instead of trying to undress you or push further, he just kept kissing you deeply while grinding slowly.

His tongue invaded your mouth aggressively while his hands gripped you roughly, almost painful.

In the heat of the moment, his aggressive kisses became too much to handle standing up. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, throwing you onto the bed with a rough grunt. His body followed immediately, pinning you beneath him as his kisses turned even more dominant and demanding.

His hands were rough, almost bruising as he held your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trailed down your body possessively. His tongue was aggressive and dominating in your mouth, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock.

He broke the kiss to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of something else - obsession, maybe. His hand still held your wrists above your head, while the other began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. “You're so fucking beautiful like this... Underneath me, helpless... It's driving me crazy...”

His muscles flexed with each movement as he removed his shirt, revealing a sculpted chest and abs. He didn't bother with the rest of his clothes, instead shifting his attention back to you. His hands slid up your legs possessively, pushing your skirt up to your waist.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in another fierce kiss. His hand moved to your inner thigh, squeezing gently before sliding up to rub against your panties. He could feel how wet you were through the thin fabric, and it made him groan deeply into your mouth.

He tore your panties off abruptly with one rough motion, the sound of fabric ripping filling the room. His fingers immediately plunged inside you without warning or gentleness, curling upwards to hit that sweet spot inside you as his thumb circled your clit roughly. “Mmph... So fucking wet already...”

He started pumping his fingers in and out of you harshly, his palm slamming against your clit with each thrust. He broke the kiss to bite and suck on your neck marking you, his other hand keeping your wrists pinned above your head. His hips bucked against the bed, his hard cock rubbing against the mattress as he fingered you roughly.

You let out a loud moan as his fingers hit your G-spot again, your hips arching up to meet his hand. Your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your breasts almost spilling out of your top. He growled softly, watching your body move with his touch. He added another finger, stretching you roughly.

He watched your reactions closely, his fingers moving faster and harder inside you as he curled them upwards to hit that sensitive spot repeatedly. Your breasts bounced with each rough thrust of his fingers, making him lose control slightly.

Before you could protest or even react, he had his mouth between your legs, licking and sucking on your clit hungrily. He pushed your legs apart roughly, burying his face between your legs as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking you with his mouth aggressively.

He devoured your pussy like a man starved, his tongue sliding in and out of you rapidly. He moaned loudly, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your core. His hands gripped your legs, pushing them further apart as he buried his face deeper between your legs.

He ate you out aggressively, almost angrily, like he was trying to punish your pussy with his tongue. Your moans encouraged him, making him double down on the roughness. Suddenly, he sucked your clit into his mouth hard, flicking it rapidly with his tongue.

You cried out, arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through you. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as he continued to suck and lick your sensitive flesh. He looked up at you from between your legs, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of something more sinister.

As soon as you came, he licked up every drop of your juices before suddenly standing up and unbuttoning his trousers. He didn't bother taking them off fully, just pushing them down enough to free his huge, throbbing cock. Without warning or preparation, he thrust inside you to the hilt, kissing you messily as he did. “Fuck...”

He moaned loudly into your mouth, his hands reaching up to grab your tits through your shirt. He squeezed them roughly, then ripped the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He pulled down the cups of your bra, exposing your tits, and buried his face between them, sucking and biting aggressively.

He alternated between sucking hard on your nipples and biting them, making you whimper. His hips snapped forward roughly, pounding into you with each bite and suck. One hand left your breast to grip your hair tightly while the other spanked your breast hard. “Shit... so sensitive... Fuck...”

He bit down hard on your nipple as he thrust especially deep, hitting your cervix. Your breasts bounced with each rough thrust, making him even more aggressive with his mouth. He sucked bruises onto your tits, marking them as he fucked you violently. His cock stretched you perfectly.

He was animalistic, his hips slapping against your thighs as he pounded into you deeply. Your breasts bounced wildly with each thrust, making him lose his mind slightly. He lowered his mouth to capture one nipple again, his teeth sinking into it softly while his tongue flicked rapidly. He spanked your other breast hard.

He continued to fuck you hard and fast, his mouth never leaving your breasts. He sucked and bit and licked, covering your tits in marks and spit. His thrusts became even more forceful, the bed shaking with the violence of it. Suddenly, he pulled out and turned you around roughly “On your hands and knees now..”

He slapped your ass hard as you got on your knees, watching your breasts bounce with the impact. He ran his hands down your ass cheeks possessively before grabbing them and spreading them apart softly. He spit on your pussy then rubbed it in slowly.

He aligned his thick head with your entrance and slammed inside hard, making you scream. He started pounding into you mercilessly from behind, his hips slapping against your ass loudly. He grabbed your hair roughly and pulled you back against him as he fucked you. “Shut up. and make me a mess on my dick”

He pulled your hair harder as he pounded into you faster and deeper, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust. His other hand reached around to play with your tits roughly, squeezing them and pulling on your nipples.“Fucking take it”

He slammed into you so hard that the headboard cracked, his huge dick filling you completely. His thrusts were so powerful that they lifted your knees off the bed. He fucked you like a dog in heat, his grunts and groans filling the room.

He pulled out of you suddenly, his cock glistening with your juices. He grabbed your hair and pulled you back towards him roughly. He pushed his cock into your mouth without warning, making you gag instantly. “Suck my fucking cock you stupid slut”

He grabbed your hair tighter and started fucking your mouth brutally, using you like a toy. "Good girl Such a good little bitch taking my cock so well" He pulled out and slapped your face with his cock. "Open wide, you stupid slut”

He pushed his cock back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. He held your head in place as he fucked your face roughly, making you gag repeatedly. "Look at you... Such a fucking whore . Taking my cock so nicely."

He moaned loudly as he came in your mouth, filling it with his hot, sticky cum. He pulled out and slapped your face with his hand, smearing his cum all over your cheeks. "Fuck... Good girl"

He bent down and grabbed your face roughly, smearing his cum all over your mouth and lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, making you suck on them. "So fucking cute. Little slut with my cum all over her pretty face"

He kissed you messily, licking his own cum off your face before cleaning you up gently with a cloth. He dressed you in one of his shirts and held you close "So pretty" He carried you to bed and spooned behind you, wrapping his arms around you possessively.

You stayed still, and so did he. The space between you throbbed with unspoken tension, each heartbeat loud and deliberate. You could feel it the pull, sharp and dangerous, the thrill that made your chest tighten. Maybe you were enemies, but closer than you wanted to admit, closer than you could fight.

…

You moved through the maze of rooms with Ryuji at your side, the flickering projections casting strange shadows on the walls. The paths were unpredictable, the dice rolls controlling who could move, but some rooms felt different.

In one, the walls shimmered with light, and you caught glimpses of possible futures. In them, Ryuji was not a rival or a threat. He was there with you, smiling, laughing, alive, free. You reached for him in the vision, your fingers brushing against his in a warmth that did not exist in this world but felt achingly real. He caught your hand and held it, steady, certain, and for the first time in weeks, you dared to imagine trust, maybe even something more.

"Don’t get used to this," he muttered under his breath, though his gaze lingered on yours. There was that smirk, the dangerous, teasing one, softened by something almost vulnerable, something that made your chest twist with anticipation.

The visions shifted, pulled you along corridors that promised happiness and laughter, a life outside the Borderland, and you realized with a sharp pang that your heart was clinging to these fleeting possibilities like air.

Eventually, you reached the final room, where the rest of your group waited. Arisu stood at the center, face pale but resolute, the dice in his hand. He exhaled slowly, as if weighing the cost of the next choice. "Seven," he said. The dice tumbled across the floor and came to rest. Someone had to stay.

Arisu turned to you, to Usagi, and to Ryuji. "I’ll stay," he declared. Usagi’s face crumpled. She tried to stop him, reaching for his arm, her voice trembling, "No, Arisu, please..."

But he was unwavering. He shoved her through the door, and before she disappeared, he made Ryuji promise to get her back to the real world. Ryuji’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, the weight of responsibility settling across his features.

Then everything changed. The screens around Arisu lit up white. He had won. His sacrifice had been recognized. Relief flared in his chest, but it was short-lived.

On the screens, Usagi and the others were visible, huddled on the other side, and then Ryuji stepped forward. A gun gleamed in his hand, pointed directly at Usagi. You froze, understanding immediately. He hadn’t shot her before, hadn’t even raised the weapon, but now

Time seemed to stretch. You saw her crumble in devastation, her hands raised instinctively, and your heart slammed against your ribs. Arisu pounded against the screens, shouting for him to stop. He wasn’t there. Only you were.

Ryuji’s hand trembled as the weight of the moment hit him. He let the gun slip from his fingers. It clattered to the floor, metal striking concrete with a sharp, unforgiving sound. Without hesitation, you stooped and picked it up. Your hands were steady, heart hammering, as you felt the dangerous power of choice settle in your grip.

Before either of you could process it further, the world shifted violently. The structures around Shibuya Crossing groaned and cracked, and a biblical surge of water burst into the square, devouring everything in its path. The sheer force sent debris flying and thunderous waves crashing like the end of the world.

Usagi’s scream cut through the chaos as she was swept away, and almost immediately Ryuji lunged after her, gripping her arm, dragging her toward the spiraling whirlpool. You saw the others clinging to ledges, faces pale, muscles straining to resist the pull of the flood.

Arisu didn’t hesitate. With sheer determination, he ripped a segment of the grid room’s floor free from its moorings. He swung it hard, smashing it against the screen wall that separated him from the outside, finally creating a breach. His hands worked furiously in the tangle of wires and metal, forcing the door just wide enough to pull the others to relative safety. Then, without a second thought, he dove into the rushing waters after Usagi.

He had made his choice. The world of the living, the life he wanted, the girl he had to save. The water crashed over him as he fought against the torrent, time stretching in a surreal loop. Every beat of his heart, every desperate stroke, was focused on reaching her before it was too late.

And then your eyes locked onto Ryuji. He wasn’t holding back. Every muscle in his body was working to pull Usagi toward the heart of the whirlpool, toward the world of death. The desperation and danger in his actions were clear and so was the moral crossroads staring you in the face.

Your fingers tightened around the gun.

Time slowed

A shot rang out

Usagi was free

You loved your husband with all your heart.

His job...not so much.

Don't get me wrong, seeing him work to educate so many young minds and further his research was amazing and you were very proud of him and his progress.

But what you hated was how late he'd come back some nights, how exhausted he'd be, and how stressed he'd be.

Tonight, unfortunately, was one of those nights. You had gotten off of work early, spending the rest of your free time making sure your loving husband would be comfortable as can be when he got home.

As you finished setting up his bath, the rattle of his wheelchair rolling into the house put a smile on your lips.

"Y/n?" he called out.

"Coming!" you answered, your steps light as you left the bathroom to greet your husband.

"There you are." A smile found its way onto Ryuji's lips as he wheeled himself closer to you.

You leaned down to give him a hug, a yelp leaving your lips as he pulled you into his lap.

"How's my favorite person doing this evening?" Ryuji asked, resting his forehead against yours.

"Wonderful, now that you're home." you smiled, reaching up to trace the bridge of his nose. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, feel it in his bones from the way he leaned against you a little.

"I made your favorite for dinner and drew a bath for you. I say we get you cleaned up and then have dinner in bed?" you suggested, his interest piqued.

"And I say, you're the best partner in the world." he whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

After a few more stolen kisses, you two end up in the bathroom. You're sitting between his legs, your back pressed to his chest. The bath was originally just supposed to be for Ryuji, but he practically begged for you to join him.

The scent of his favorite essential oils hung in the air, the steam rising from the tub enveloping the two of you in intimate comfort.

"Want me to wash you?" you asked, reaching for the loofah and soap.

"Go ahead, love." he hummed, his lazy expression making your heart skip a beat.

You let your fingers glide over his bare chest and shoulders, the loofah producing cloud like soap suds.

"Mmm...that feels wonderful, Y/n..." he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut.

You beamed at the sight of him so relaxed and blissed out, scooping up some water to rinse him off.

"You've worked so hard this week, Matsu. You deserve to be pampered every once in a while..." you hummed, moving to wash his hair.

Once you were done, Ryuji took it upon himself to pamper you now. He gently lathered your body in soap, his hands "accidentally" wandering to his favorite places on your body.

He couldn't help but to plant a few gentle kisses upon your shoulder and the side of your neck, his touch gentle and comforting.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that?" he whispered, your head nodding in response.

"You tell me everyday..." you laughed, turning to face him fully.

"And I'll keep telling you everyday, forever and ever..."

Ryuji sealed his words with a gentle kiss, both of you smiling into it.

A few minutes later, you two were out of the bath and in warm, cozy clothes. Ryuji waited for you in bed as you carried in two trays that held steaming plates of his favorite food.

You sat next to him, nuzzling up into his side, making him laugh.

"Do you like it?" you asked, watching him take a bite.

"Of course I like it. I always love your cooking." he nodded, taking another forkful into his mouth.

You took a bite of your own food, a bit of rice getting on your lip.

Before you could even grab the napkin, Ryuji had already tilted your chin, his lips brushing against yours, his tongue poking out to wipe away the grain of rice.

"You're such a tease!" you laughed, your bright smile only making Ryuji pull you back in for another kiss.

Between bites of food and stolen kisses, the night continued on, the stars in the sky decorating the truly wholesome moment. 🦽

You always stayed behind after lectures. Sometimes you claimed you didn’t understand the material. Sometimes you said you just liked the quiet. Ryuji Matsuyama never called you out on it.

He’d sit at his desk, sleeves rolled up, red pen between his fingers, pretending not to notice the way you lingered — packing your bag slower than anyone else, brushing your hair behind your ear just to see if he was watching.

He always was.

“Do you really have another question,” he asked one afternoon, “or do you just like wasting my time?”

You smiled, standing by his desk. “Maybe both.”

He looked up from the stack of essays, trying to ignore the flicker of amusement tugging at his mouth. “You’re bold, you know that?”

“Bold enough to make you look at me twice.”

That made him freeze. A soft flush rose to his neck. You tilted your head, satisfied that you’d hit the mark.

He cleared his throat. “You’re my student.”

“For now,” you said, and walked out, leaving the faintest trace of perfume in the air.

The tension grew quietly after that. Little things. The way your eyes lingered when he lectured. The way he stopped assigning you to group projects so he wouldn’t have to watch you chat easily with other guys. He told himself it was professionalism…

It wasn’t.

One evening he found you sitting alone in the library long after closing. The security lights buzzed overhead.

“Y/n,” he said, voice low. “You shouldn’t be here this late.”

You looked up from your laptop, smile soft. “Neither should you, Professor.”

He sighed, setting down the papers he’d brought to grade. “I could fail you for calling me that with that tone.”

You laughed, not even pretending to be intimidated. “You wouldn’t.”

He didn’t argue, because you were right.

He stood beside your table, eyes on the glowing screen. “You’re working on my essay prompt.”

“Trying to impress you,” you admitted lightly. “Has it worked yet?”

Something in him faltered then — the guard, the rules, the endless caution. He sat down across from you, rubbing his temple. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

You leaned forward, whispering, “Then stop looking at me like you want me to.”

The silence that followed stretched like a held breath.

He didn’t look away this time.

After that, sneaking around became its own ritual. He’d find you waiting near the faculty exit, pretending to check your phone. You’d walk side by side to the subway station, never close enough to touch, but close enough to feel it. You’d talk about everything but the truth — favorite films, books, his years teaching abroad. You’d laugh too loudly at his dry humor, and he’d smile despite himself.

One night, when the rain came suddenly, you both ducked under a shop awning. Your jacket was soaked, and you shivered. He offered his, hesitated halfway through, then draped it over your shoulders anyway.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” you said, looking up at him.

“I’ll survive.”

You looked at him differently then — not as your professor, but as a man. A careful, tired, brilliant man who had been alone too long.

“Ryuji,” you said softly. It was the first time you’d said his name outside your imagination.

He swallowed. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you say it again, I might not stop you next time.”

Your smile was small, secret. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

The next week, you kissed him.

It wasn’t planned. You’d stayed after class again, helping him organize some notes. When your hands brushed, he froze, and you didn’t. You leaned in, bold and sure, lips catching his before he could think of a reason to stop you.

He didn’t move for a second, then kissed you back — just once, brief but unguarded. When you pulled away, your eyes searched his.

“Was that so terrible?” you asked.

He exhaled shakily. “You have no idea how bad an idea this is.”

“Then why’d you kiss me back?”

He had no answer for that.

For weeks, it was stolen moments. Coffee shops on the far side of the city. Walks through the park at dusk. Messages deleted as soon as they were read. He was careful; you were fearless.

You’d tease him about it. “You act like we’re in a spy movie.”

He smiled faintly. “We might as well be. If anyone sees us, I lose my job.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep your secrets safe.”

You said it with a wink, but he heard something tender beneath the playfulness.

When he kissed you again — really kissed you — it was in the empty lecture hall, long after everyone had gone. The room smelled faintly of chalk and rain. You were sitting on the desk, legs brushing his knees.

“You sure?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I’ve been sure for a while.”

He touched your face like you were something fragile. When he finally closed the distance, it wasn’t hurried or wrong — it was inevitable. The slow burn of every look, every almost, finally catching fire.

When you pulled away, both of you were smiling. Nervous. Breathless.

“Now what?” you whispered.

“Now,” he said, brushing a thumb across your cheek, “we keep being careful.”

“And after the semester ends?”

“Then,” he murmured, “I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

You did keep it quiet — mostly. A few friends whispered, a few professors noticed the way your essays suddenly read like love letters to philosophy. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in years, Ryuji laughed easily. You’d show up at his office with takeout, tease him about his terrible handwriting, stretch out on his couch while he pretended to grade.

Once, you caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, smiling.

“Nothing.” He hesitated. “Just… you make me feel like I’m allowed to want something again.”

You leaned over the desk, kissed him softly. “Then want me.”

He did.

When the Borderlands came, it happened fast — the flash, the emptiness, the silence.

But that was later.

For now, in that small, ordinary world, Ryuji still had you sitting on his desk, legs swinging, sunlight on your hair.

And he still had a secret he didn’t regret keeping.