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♥︎playlist: Scrambled Guts, Higher Grades 

    Atsushi loves literature. 

    From Chinese folktales, ghost stories, to philosophical works that challenged his way of thinking, there was never a book Atsushi’s never enjoyed. His mind soaks up anything it can get its greedy hands on, eyes glittering with fascination as words twist and turn into worlds of fascination and mystery. 

    Yet, that's not to say he doesn't have a favorite book or writer, because–truth be told–he has one of both.

    Atsushi had been young when he ran through the orphanage’s small library in an attempt to seek refuge from all the harsh bruises, grabby hands, and sharp words. He wanted an escape–A place with corners so he can hide himself in the deepest corridors of shadows. One of these corners, while full of cobwebs and dust that made his small nose crinkle uncomfortably, had a stack of books. 

    On the top lay a book with a white cover, not tampered with in the slightest, and–overall looked new despite the thin layer of dust that had fallen across the top.

     Rashoumon, the book title read.

    And, with eyes shimmering with wonder, Atsushi’s gaze shifted downward to the author’s name.

     Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.

    This moment in his early years changed the trajectory of his life for good. Had the young boy not discovered the beauty of literature, he doubts he would've had the courage to walk out of the orphanage with the same book tucked securely under his arm. If he hadn’t ran for a place to hide he would’ve never discovered his passion for reading and writing. If he hadn’t stood up to the headmaster and told the old man exactly where he could put his disrespect, he wouldn’t have put in a college application to the very University Professor Akutagawa teaches at. 

    Had he never picked up that book, he would’ve never found himself sitting front row in class full of eager students, all excited to meet the man of his childhood. 

    Tall, covered in dark layers, short black hair with white tips that faded in the ends, and a handsome face that would make any woman swoon. 

    But what made Atsushi fall head over heels was his eyes. 

    Dark and seemingly bottomless, not a ray of light reflecting off the hues as the man surveyed the anxious classroom, all seeing and piercing as they land on every student. 

    And Atsushi means every student.

    When those pair of eyes landed on Atsushi, the college student swore for a few beats that he was going to pass out. 

    His eyes, so powerful and consuming. 

    His face, so beautiful and ethereal. 

    His presence, confident and otherworldly. 

    Akutagawa Ryuunosuke surpassed all of Atsushi’s expectations and more.  

    As his now professor begins introducing himself, Atsushi couldn’t help but smile to himself, giddy for what his future may bring. 

    He’s so glad he fell in love with literature

    Falling in love with literature was a mistake. 

    Now, you might be wondering– Atsushi, why on earth would you regret such a thing? You just went on a whole tangent about how amazing literature is and how smoking hot the professor is– yes, he knows, but more than a couple of things have occurred since Atsushi first sat his ass down in Professor Akutagawa’s classroom with nothing but a notebook and a pencil in hand. 

    For one, the man is so overly critical of people’s works that it's almost impossible to get a decent grade on any assignments. His words are sharp and cruel, cutting away at students' confidence with practiced ease. This behavior alone has made more than a few of Atsushi’s acquaintances drop the class altogether. 

    Secondly, he doesn’t refrain from holding back when it comes to judging people’s works of literature. Essays, short stories, and personal experiences written on paper are damn near torn to shreds beneath piercing eyes and a disgusted scowl. Every time Atsushi has to turn in a paper, his hands tremble, anticipating the snarky and rude comment that’ll be inevitably waiting for him on the side of the paper. 

    Thirdly, he keeps demanding to see Atsushi after class.

    Now perhaps under any other circumstance, Atsushi would’ve felt flattered at holding his handsome professor’s attention, but the older man does nothing but absolutely stab knives into Atsushi’s hardwork and dreams. Whilst not wearing a scowl like he normally would, Atsushi can feel it all the same when the man goes over a past assignment with Atsushi, ruthlessly pointing out mistakes with no remorse, and just when Atsushi thinks Professor Akutagwa is on the verge of complimenting his work, he does a complete one eighty and tears him down. 

    And here's the kicker– Atsushi Nakajima is the only student he does this to. 

    Not his roommate Tanizaki Junichiro who has a lower grade than him and is only taking the class to appease his sister. 

    Not his seatmate Kajii Motojiro who’s always so rambunctious and outspoken during class. 

    Not his close friend Lucy Montgomery who’s had more than a few tempered feuds with the brooding professor.

    Just Atsushi, who’s quiet, minds his own business, and turns every assignment in earlier to please the very man he’s spent his entire childhood looking up to. 

    Does this make Atsushi special? Yeah, but not in the way you might think. 

    He’s special in the ‘main character that's doomed to die in the first episode’ kind of way. 

    This familiar wave of dread, something he has come to expect during the end of every literature class, crashes over him when he once again meets Professor Akutagawa’s gaze from across the classroom, his eyes always so sharp and judgemental, like he can see right through his student’s mind with a single glance. 

    It's as unsettling as it is beautiful, but Atsushi is a squabbling chicken just trying to pass the man’s class with his dreams intact, so unsettling it is. 

    Next to him, he can already feel Kajii-san snickering from behind his hand, most likely having caught the way Professor Akutagawa has been staring at him from behind his desk. Atsushi really wants to hit him, make him swallow the same lemons he can’t seem to stop bringing to class. The student refrains, but he’s sure–under a different setting–he would’ve been too weak to refuse such a temptation. 

    “You hear that Nakajima-kun?” the man with an obnoxious bowl cut teases. 

    Atsushi ducks his head, avoiding the haunting stare of his professor, and turns to Kajii-san, already feeling the telltale signs of a joke slipping off his tongue. “...what?”

    “That's the sound of your perfect A tumbling down to a mere C ~ How glorious!” 

    Atsushi’s face scrunches up, an insult damn near leaving his lips, but he holds back– he has to hold back. He’s already garnered enough attention as it is. The last thing he needs is to be glared at and yelled at by the man he admires so much. 

    And yet, as much as those words bother him, they don’t at the same time. 

    While Professor Akutagawa does make it a habit of calling Atsushi to stay behind after class to criticize all of his recent papers, the student’s grade has not dropped past a 90 since he first started back in April. Professor Akutagawa may let venom drip off his tongue, but it doesn't infect his grade. And–if Atsushi’s suspicions are correct–he may just have the highest grade in their class. 

     But that still doesn't excuse the fact that his Professor’s a jackass.

    Atsushi’s lips part, an insult ready to slip off his tongue, but just as he’s about to talk shit about kajii and his entire bloodline, the bell rings, slicing through the tension like a blade. 

    Saved or screwed by the bell? Atsushi doesn’t have an answer for that yet. 

    Atsushi decides not to contemplate on it for long as he begins to gather his belongings and assignment, ignoring Kajii’s shit eating grin as he makes his way down the steps to turn his paper in to his professor.

    Keeping his gaze firmly on his feet, Atsushi joins the line of students turning in their assignment, all of them receiving a cold dismissive thank you from the older man. Behind countless students’, Atsushi can feel the professor’s presence looming over him, quiet and scrutinizing, like a storm waiting to break. 

    When it's finally Atsushi’s turn to hand over his paper, he finds himself looking up–immediately latching onto the older man’s cold gaze. 

    A shiver, nerve wracking and violent, shoots up his spine when those cold fingers brush against his own–

    “Nakajima, stay after class.”

     There it is–the chimes to the entrance to hell.

     The words spoken so casually, freezes Atsushi in place. He’s left with no choice but to nod, stepping briefly to the side to allow other students to turn in their assignments, all of whom are clueless to the turmoil spinning around in his head. 

    Kajii, the knowing  bastard, passes by Atsushi with that damn smirk. “Good luck lil’ tiger~” the man mocks before slipping out the door like the nasty snake he is. 

     “Fuck off” Atsushi mouths quietly just before Kajii disappears out the door leaving Atsushi with his professor and just a handful fo students. 

    Within moments, the classroom is empty save for Atsushi and Professor Akutagawa. The air feels heavier, the silence scarily oppressive. Atsushi stands awkwardly by the desk, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as his professor takes his seat and grabs Atsushi’s paper, long fingers flattening the assignment across the desk for both men to see.

    “Let's begin, shall we?” Akutagawa’s voice may as well be a weapon at this point with how much those damn words hurt. Standing beside the man’s desk, Atsushi has no choice but to listen to Akutagawa critique line by line of paragraphs, pointing out grammatical errors and weak arguments that Atsushi had considered pretty solid. Alas, he can feel his stomach sink with every insult that leaves the older man’s lips, his earlier determination burning up into flames by the one man he's looked up to his entire childhood. 

    “You have a tendency,” Akutagawa continues while pointing at yet another paragraph, “to over complicate simple ideas. Clarity is crucial in literature. Without it, your message gets lost in a sea of mindless rambling. Do you understand?”

    Atsushi nods his head, swallows the lump in his throat, and plans to stuff his face with ice cream when he gets back to his dorm–

    “But–” Akutagawa picks up the paper and stores it away in his briefcase, eyes staring at Atsushi with an emotion the student can no longer name. “Your perspective is refreshing to say the least. Optimistic, even. You have a way of framing ideas that feels genuine. It's not so easily taught nor replicated–very impressive, Nakajima.”

    The student waits for the kicker, the all famous but before the man goes on another tirade that completely derails any source of pride the student might’ve felt.

    But it doesn’t come. 

    Atsushi blinks.

    Blinks again.

    And then a few more times for good measure.

    Nothing has changed–Atsushi is still in the man’s classroom, he’s still being stared at by his professor. He’s not dreaming–the older man actually complimented him and didn’t take it back with more insults.

    Against his better judgment, Atsushi’s heart begins to soar up into the clouds. A slip of a smile curls up on his lips, the professor’s words echoing inside his head like a symphony in an angelic cathedral. He can hear angels humming along, french horns bursting with joy, and there Professor Akutagawa is with his expression of impassiveness as he recites a firm but genuine Very impressive, Nakajima.

    Atsushi cannot wait to tell his roommate about this. 

    As Atsushi begins imagining how his roommate and fellow literature partner may react to the sudden praise Professor Akutagawa granted him like the holy grail, the student almost misses the way the older man leans back in his chair, gaze intense and expression unreadable. 

    “If you’re interested, I suggest stopping by during my office hours. I can show you how to avoid these mistakes in the future. It would be…quite beneficial.”

    …huh?

    The student–who was just given a compliment by a man he swore hated his guts–has presented Atsushi with an offer the young man could only ever dream of. 

    Atsushi and Professor Akutagawa, in the man’s office together, truly alone with one another as they work on improving Atsushi’s literature skills?

    Not only does it sound too good to be true, but it also does NOTHING to ease the anxiety in his mind at the mere thought of being in such close corridors with the older man.

    Rather than coming up with a tangible response that’ll make him look less like an idiot, Atsushi stares–mouth dry and words–for once–failing him. The suggestion feels almost too intimate to accept, as if this isn’t the same man who’s spent the last couple weeks tearing his work apart. And yet, there’s something in Professor Akutagawa’s demeanor–an almost imperceptible flush coloring pale cheeks, the way his eyes forever linge on Atsushi’s–that make the student’s chest tighten with an emotion he can’t bear to name. 

    “T-Thank you for the offer, Professor Akutagawa,” Atsushi barely manages to say, his voice barely above that of a whisper. 

    The man waves his hand dismissively, eyes sharpening into slits upon hearing Atsushi’s words. “Just Akutagawa is fine. And it’s no problem at all.” 

     Just Akutagawa, huh? That’s gonna take some getting used to…

     Regardless, Atsushi would be a fool not to correct himself, so he nods immediately, taking delight in the hum of approval he receives from the cold distant man. 

    “That is all I wished to speak to you about. You may go.”

    Atsushsi doesn’t need to be told twice. With his bag heavy on his back, he hurries to the door, heart hammering loudly in his chest. As he steps out into the hallway, he risks one last glance back.

    Akutagawa is still seated, dark eyes tracking him like a predator would its prey.

    And the man doesn't dare look away until the door closes, leaving Atsushi to deal with these dumb emotions in his chest all by himself. 

    Atsushi had planned to do a few things when he entered his dorm room:

    If he was alone, then he was probably gonna free himself from his trousers and go at it in the restroom and replay his professor's words inside his head like a gross pervert.

    If he wasn’t alone and his roommate Junichiro had his sister over, he was probably gonna leave them be and bother Lucy instead. 

    If he wasn’t alone and Junichiro didn’t have his sister over, then he intended to make his roommate listen to him rant about his professor and how confusing and frustrating he can be. 

    When Atsushi opened the door to his dorm room, he only saw Junichiro lounging on the sofa–computer in his lap–while the news channel on the t.v. played in the background. From what Atsushi can see, there isn’t a clingy Naomi invading their space–specifically Junichiro’s space– with her high pitched voice and complaints and ohh i wish we had a dorm together big brother~

    It was just him and Junichiro. 

    Awesome.

    Atsushi doesn’t even bother trying to be quiet when he slams the door closed behind him, finding joy in watching the ginger haired college student perk up startled with big hazel eyes wide in surprise before realizing that it is just his roommate. 

    “Junichiro, I think Professor Akutagawa is planning to murder me,” he greets whilst striding across the room to plop himself on the couch beside his roommate. The ginger haired man spares him a single unimpressed glance before returning his attention to his computer. 

    “Hello to you too, Atsushi.” Junichiro responds with a sigh, fingers tapping away on his keyboard as if his friend isn’t dying to get his attention so he can help get rid of the turmoil swirling around inside his mess of a head. “I’m guessing Professor Akutagawa made you stay behind again, yeah?” 

    “Not only did he make me stay behind again, but he complimented my work without any whiplash!” 

    Junichiro’s fingers stop typing quite abruptly. 

    Slowly, his roommate turns his head and if Atsushi weren’t just as shocked by the information he probably would’ve laughed at the baffled expression that crosses the college student’s face.

    “He what?” Junichiro gasps, basically throwing aside his computer to give his roommate his undivided attention. “Are you sure you didn’t just miss him insult you under his breath or something? He does that alot with Lucy when she turns in assignments.”

    Atsushi shakes his head no, further amped up to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on. “No I swear! He was criticizing my essay like he usually does, just shredding it apart man, but then suddenly he’s all like– ‘ your writing is very optimistic, Nakajima, no matter what topic you write about. Its very impressive.’”

    Junihciro gawks shamelessly and Atsushi can’t even blame him. 

    “And he didn’t like…talk shit about your nonexistent mother or anything afterwards?”

    “No–even worse–” Atsushi inhales sharply, gathering his thoughts before laying it out flat. “He suggested I visit him during office hours so he can help me improve.” 

    If Junichiro’s mouth falls open, face paling, as he brings his hands up from his lap to hold Atsushi’s shoulders, forcing his roommate to face him.

    “Dude…”

    “How much time do I have left to live? Give it to me straight.”

    “Honestly? If you do end up dying, it won’t be because of him. The professor seems to like you a little too much.”

    Atsushi’s eyebrows shoot up at the pure audacity spilling from his roommates lips. 

    “I’m serious Junichiro–”

    “So am I, man! If he really did hate you then he would’ve one–failed you a long time ago–two–not insist on talking to you after class every damn day–three–continue insulting you and wouldn't bother to offer his help. He doesn’t hate you– he wants you.”

    And there it is, those three words that all but make Atsushi stop functioning like a normal human being.

    “W-Wants to kill me maybe!” Atsushi interjects quickly, unable to handle the mere thought of his hot sexy professor looming over him with those eyes piercing through his soul, cold long fingers tilting his head up as he whispers very impressive, Nakajima–

    He shakes his head, ridding himself of such thoughts, before turning his attention back to Junichiro. 

    “You’re out of your damn mind if you think he wants me like– like that !” Atsushi splutters, his face burning with images of Akutagawa staring at him, Akutagawa leaning in close to grab his assignment, Akutagawa encircling those long fingers around his neck, Akutagawa’s lips next to his ear whispering praises…

    There it is again–him fantasizing about his idol who wouldn’t hesitate to spit in his face if given the chance. Atsushi knew he had a crush on the professor, that much is obvious with the way he keeps ogling him during class, but to be thrown such a curve boy of ‘he wants you’ by Junichiro of all people has practically made the college student lose sense of all reason. 

    It’s pathetic–no, Atsushi’s more than pathetic–he’s a perverted loser!

    Junichiro’s grip on Atsushi’s shoulders tighten, pulling Atsushi away from his inner turmoil. 

    “He might want you that way, he might not. Hell, maybe he just wants to be for your friend! Whether its platonic or romantic, it doesn’t matter because nothing has changed–the man wants you one way or another,” Junichiro explains with a surprisingly amount of maturity, instantly grounding Atsushi, making the anxious college student hang on to every word like it means something and dammit all, it works.  

    The thought of being friends with Akutagawa seems almost like a daydream he’d have in the middle of his math class when his professor would prattle on and on about fractions. To be able to talk to the older man casually, walk with him to and from class, being invited to conventions where the two of them can talk more in depth about literature…it sounds magical. 

    Anything more than that well…

     There’s no use in venturing into that kind of territory. Akutagawa would never explicitly want someone like Atsushi anyways.  

    “...What should I do, Junichiro?” 

    “I think you should stop hiding behind a pen and paper and seize the opportunity to get better at literature. And hey, if something happens between you and Professor Akuatgawa along the way, then that's a plus–right?”

    Atsushi’s chest eases, his heart no longer hammering loudly in his ribcage, as he calms himself down. Junichiro is right. He won’t ever know if he doesn’t put himself out there. 

    “...I owe you, Junichiro,” Atsushi mumbles whilst turning away from his friend to reach into this bag to grab his computer, intent on pulling up the college’s website to check when Akutagawa’s office hours are.

    “Oh! You should put in a good word for me with Professor Akutagawa–”

    Atsushi levels him with an unimpressive stare, one that instantly stops Junichiro in his tracks. 

    “Don’t push your luck, Junichiro. I’m trying to get this man to like me, not hate me!” 

    “...Meh, worth a shot.”

    Atsushi can’t help but hesitate outside Akutagawa’s office. 

    The words Professor R. Akutagawa gleams sharply from the engraved nameplate on the door, a taunt that does little to settle down the nerves in the college student’s body. For a moment, one full of cowardice, he thinks about turning around and living in ignorance, to forget about the offer and attend Akutagawa’s class as usual–subjecting himself to the unknown in fear of what he might find behind this door. 

    But a flicker of determination roots him in place, hardening his gaze as he stares at the door before him like an unbreakable force. 

     Akutagawa was nice enough to offer to him, the least Atsushi can do is show up, right?

    Taking a deep breath to cool hsi anxiety, he raises his hand and knocks on the door softly. 

     “Come in.”

    The voice is low, smooth, and distinctly Akutagawa’s with the way his tone dips handsomely at the end of the sentence. Heat curls in the pit of Atsushi’s stomach as he pushes the door open, stepping within unfamiliar territory with the grace of a cautious deer. 

    The first thing that strikes Atsushi is how perfectly the office embodies Akutagawa’s presence. Dark mahogany shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, packed with books in both pristine and worn condition. Framed awards and certificates adorn the walls, their uniform alignment a testament to the professor’s meticulous nature. A faint, earthy scent of aged paper and polished wood hangs in the air, settling Atsushi’s nerves to a barely there buzz. 

    At the desk just a few feet away from him, Akutagawa sits hunched over a stack of papers, hsi sharp eyes scanning them with an intensity that Atsushi is all too familiar with. The dim light of the desk lamp cast shadows across his pale skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his handsome face, the downturn frown of his lips, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes that reveal his lack of sleep. 

    When Akutagawa glances up, his expression shifts slightly–surprise and then, just as soon as it appeared, curiosity takes its place as his dark eyes roam up and down Atsushi’s body. 

    “I didn’t think you’d take my advice,” The older man says simply, voice measured but carrying a note of faint disbelief that doesn't sit well with Atsushi. 

    Did the man really think Atsushi would brush aside his offer with ease? Does he have any idea how much Atsushi admires him? Wants to sit across from him and discuss his favorite pieces of literature with him? To listen to the man either compliment or tear into his favorite books? Clearly not if he’s doubting his student’s eagerness to know the man before him.

    “Why wouldn’t I?” Atsushi catches himself saying with a smile. “This is a good opportunity for me to become a better writer, right?” 

    Something else flashes across Akutagawa’s face; for a moment, Atsushi thinks it's amazement, but it disappears as fast as he came. 

    Akutagawa inclines his head, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

    Atsushi easily complies, his hands gripping the strap of his bag tightly as he sits down. Akutagawa shifts the stack of papers he’d been working on to the side and opens a drawer, retrieving a neatly clipped bundle of papers. 

    The moment Akutagawa puts them onto the desk, Atsushi's eyes light up with recognition–written in lines and lines of paragraphs with yellow and blue highlighter is his own handwriting.  

    “Are those..?”

    "All of your assignments, “ Akutagawa replies without looking up. “I keep work worth analyzing.”

    Atsushi can’t stop his mouth from gaping open and closed like a fish out of water, unable to fathom why Akutagawa would consider his work out of everyone else's worth keeping. 

    “I thought…why wouldn’t you just throw them out like you do everyone else’s assignments?” Atsushi finds himself asking, eyes pinned to the stack of papers on the desk.

    To his surprise, AKutagawa flicks his eyes upwards, freezing the student with a single glare. “That would be a waste.”

    Atsushi swallows hard. The man’s bluntness is disarming, but the weight that’s carried within every word fills Atsushi with wonder.

    “As I've said before, you have a unique perspective in your essays,” Akuatgawa begins, spreading the stack across the desk. Atsushi’s eyes follow his long fingers as they tap the top most page–Atsushi’s most recent assignment. “Optimistic but not naive. It's refreshing, especially when paired with grim subject matters.”

    Atsushi once again feels his cheeks heat up. He doesn't think he’ll ever get used to hearing praise leave the older man’s lips, but one can try, right? “I…uh thanks, i guess.”

    “But–” and there it is, the kicker. “You ramble. Frequently. Your essays lose focus, which undermines the impact of your arguments.”

    The sting, as expected, shoots through Atsushi’s heart, but it's familiar and comforting in a way, reminding him that there’s still much to be done about his work. 

    “I see,” Atsushi mutters, shifting uncomfortably all the same from beneath Akutagawa’s haunting gaze. 

    The man tilts his head, arching a brow. “Do you? Or are you just saying that?” 

    Atsushi bristles, eyes flashing with annoyance as he meets the older man’s gaze with his own. “I do see. I just…don’t always know how to fix it.”

    “And that’s why you’re here,” Akutagawa replies with ease, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He slides across one of Atsushi’s essays, a paper the silver haired man had been pretty proud of at the time. “Here, for instance. This sentence–” he taps a line with his pen “--is an excellent summation of your argument. It’s concise, evocative. But this paragraph…” he then flips the page and points at a long chunk of text. “Completely unnecessary. It distracts the reader. Why did you include it?”

    Atsushi frowns, his body leaning in to inspect the paragraph Akutagawa seems to be so hung up about. “I thought it added context.”

    “Context is valuable,” Alutgawa agrees sharply before moving on, “But only if it serves the central argument. Otherwise, it becomes useless noise.”

    Atsushi finds himself nodding, unable to hide the fact that this enlightenment is helping his outlook on his future essays. “So cut anything that doesn’t directly support the thesis?” 

    “Precisely.”

    Atsushi smiles, confidence brewing in his chest as he continues to listen to Akutagawa’s critiques. 

    For the next hour, Akutagawa guides Atsushi through each essay, dissecting his strengths and weaknesses with surgical precision. While this might’ve bothered him a few weeks ago, Atsushi quickly learns to adapt and overcome, using this new knowledge to improve. The professor’s sharp insights, while occasionally cutting, are always rooted in genuine effort to help Atsushi Improve. 

    “This sentence here,” Akutagawa says, pointing to a highlighted line in yellow, “Is excellent. It ties your argument together seamlessly.”

    Atsushi puffs his chest out, proud and happy to have impressed his idol–

    “But–”

     And of course Akutagawa can never give praise without some backlash.

    “This tangent about the socioeconomic implications of urban planning?” Akutagawa sighs, clearly disappointed. “It’s irrelevant. Your tendency to over explain needs to be squashed.”

    Feeling a little too comfortable in the older man’s presence, Atsushi groans in annoyance and rolls his eyes. “I know. I’m trying to work on that.”

    “Clearly not hard enough,” the man mocks under his breath, just loud enough for Atsushi to hear and be offended by. But, mixed within the snarkiness, there’s amusement. 

    Is Akutagawa…teasing him?

    “Well, if you’d stop criticizing me for five seconds, maybe I'd learn faster…” Atsushi grumbles, being mindful of the way the man reacts to his bite back, testing the waters to see if this back and forth banter is okay. 

    A cough–one that takes Atsushi by surprise–is covered by Akutagawa’s fist, hiding the curl of lips that Atsushi barely manages to catch a glimpse of. 

    “I give you a hard time because you’re capable of reaching new heights,” Akutgawa explains, his piercing gaze–for once–soft beneath the dim lights of the man’s office. “You have great potential, Nakajima. Don’t waste it.”

    The sincerity in the older man’s voice catches Atsushi completely off guard. The gentle lull of his low voice and the vulnerability in his softened expression–it's all too much for Atsushi to handle. Not knowing what else to say, he nods his head, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he doesn’t really wanna name. 

    When their session inevitably ends, Atsushi gathers his notes and bag, slinging it over his shoulder, before standing to leave. “Thanks Akutagawa–for the help. Would it…be okay if I came by again?” 

    Akutagawa’s lips curl upwards, his smile so ruggishly handsome that Atsushi has to refrain himself from blushing like a virgin maiden. 

    “So long as you apply what you’ve learned to your essays, then I don't see a problem with you stopping by once more.” 

    Atsushi nods, his chest feeling so full and warm and–

    The college student looks away, afraid of what emotion might flash across his face if he keeps staring at the older man. “See you in class, Akutagawa.”

    “You as well, Nakajima.”

    As sunlight filters through the thin curtains in Atsushi’s dorm, the college student waits anxiously for the clock to hit three—the start of Akutagawa’s office hours.

    Anticipating the private session between himself and the older man, Atsushi leans back and sighs, thinking back to all that’s changed since the moment he found the courage to knock on his professor's office door.

    His grades, which were already impressive considering how harsh of a critique Akutagawa is, have soared to near perfection. Ninety’s have turned into hundreds and harsh comments have turned into compliments that never fail to warm the college student’s heart. As amazing as that is, it’s not just the academic improvement that has him buzzing with excitement. 

    It’s him. 

     The man that watches his every move like a hawk.

    The man who invites Atsushibinto his office to help him improve.

    The man who’s taken up every corner of Atsushi’s mind. 

    Professor Akutagawa.

    Atsushi finds himself craving the very gaze he used to be so afraid of. It haunts him in the best way, following after him, lingering on his body, staring holes into his skin until it simmers with heat. Atsushi doesn’t know how, but the man has a way of making the student feel as if he’s the only person in the world that matters. Those piercing dark eyes are like gravity, pulling him in no matter how hard he wants to resist.

    And, in all honesty, the last thing Atsushi wants to do is resist.

    He doesn’t flinch under the professor’s gaze anymore. He welcomes it—even going so far as to challenge it when he feels particularly bold. The thrill of holding Akutagawa’s stare, even if only for a moment or two before looking away sheepishly, sends an endless shiver down his spine.

    “Daydreaming about your precious professor again?” Junichiro’s voice breaks through his thoughts. Turning his head, he finds his roommate lounging on the other side of the couch, a bag of unopened chips sitting in his lap, as he smirks at the silver haired college student. The sounds of a movie flicker in the background, but Atsushi pays it little mind, his attention having already been captured by his ginger haired friend.

    “Of course not, just thinking about the assignments I need to turn in to Professor Kunikida,” it’s a complete lie, one he knows Junichiro will see through, but he can’t bring himself to care. He just wants the time to tick by faster so he can show off his essay. He wants to see Akutagawa’s expression when he tears it apart and puts it back together, seeing through the hidden meanings laced between lines of paragraphs and tell Atsushi a string of praises that’ll ignite the fire buried deep in his stomach.

   “Oh I’m sure, because Professor Kunikida’s class is soooo interesting…” Junichiro snorts, not even bothering to hide the fact that he can see right inside Atsushi’s screwed up head.

    Atsushi groans, dragging a hand across his face as he’s forced to live with the consequences of his horniness. It’s not his fault Akutagawa is the most handsome man in the entire world and has the sex appeal of a swimsuit model! Not to mention how snarky he is when the two enter a playful banter that fills Atsushi’s chest with joy and the mischievous glint in his dark eyes that never seems to stray from Atsushi’s figure…

    …dammit all, his face burns just thinking about the man! What kind of person fantasizes about their professor? Their idol?!

    Powerless to stop his anxiety from taking over, Atsushi throws caution to the wind and turns his body to face Junichiro, giving him his full attention.

    “Hey Junichiro…” Atsushi begins hesitantly, his hands trembling in his lap as he lets his words take over.

    “Yeah?”

    “Do you think I’m a terrible person for wanting Professor Akutagawa to fuck me?” He spits out in a hurry, ready to hear the words of judgment and sensibility from his friend and roommate.

    “Meh, not really,” Junichiro answers offhandedly like the mere question wasn’t eating Atsushi alive.

    The silver haired man exhales a sigh of relief, happy to find that this isn’t particularly unusual—

    “It just makes you a shitty one with shitty taste.”

    Atsushi sits up in his spot and glares at Junichiro, disappointed to have been led on. “ Dude,” Atsushi hisses with a frown. “Not helping.”

    Junichiro shrugs, the smirk on his face growing with every second that passes. “I’m just saying~ besides, the man probably feels the same way.”

    Atsushi can’t help but roll his eyes again, unimpressed by his friend’s useless feedback. 

    In what world would Akutagawa ever like him back? 

    A fantasy one, maybe, but this is the real world; miracles like that don’t happen to a person like Atsushi. From the moment he was born, Atsushi was blessed with a little something like bad luck. It followed him throughout his childhood, turning him into a scrap of bruises, thinly cut words, and downward eyes that don’t so much as look up unless explicitly ordered to. It's this very thing that’s brought forth these obscene images of Akutagawa, turning the man he sees as his savior into a delicious piece of meat worth savoring. 

    A sigh leaves Atsushi’s lips, full of exhaustion of sadness. 

    He really is a perverted loser.

    Or, in Junichiro’s words, a shitty person with shitty taste.

    Tired eyes glance towards the time on his phone, his heart jumping to his throat when he realizes that he’s late with his meeting with Akutagawa. 

    “Shit–you distracted me, Junichiro!” Atsushi swears under his breath, ignoring the cackles that follow after him as he quickly moves to gather his bag to sling it over his shoulder. 

    “Me? Distract you? I wasn’t the one imagining what it’d be like to be bent over Akutagawa’s desk–”

    “SHUT UP!!!”

    Without so much as a goodbye, Atsushi leaves his roommate behind, all too aware of the snickering that sneaks beneath the locked dorm room door. 

    Sitting stiffly in a chair that’s suddenly too uncomfortable for Atsushi not to fidget in, Akutagawa sits opposite of him, seemingly ignorant to the horny meltdown transpiring inside Atsushi’s poor excuse of a brain. His professor’s voice carries on without a care in the world, delving into the intricacies of narrative flow and structural balance, and all Atsushi can think about is what it might be like to feel those cold hands wrap around his throat.

    Every lesson that Atsushi had once absorbed with breathless devotion is going down the mother fucking drain because Atsushi si apparently too turned on to think properly. 

    In other words, nothing sticks. 

    How can it, when Akutagawa’s presence is so overwhelming?

    Against every sensible outcome, Atsushi’s eyes betray him as they stray from the pages of his open notebook to the man in front of him. The smooth, deliberate glide of Akutagawa's long fingers as he gestures with such precision–hands that command words with the same sharpness they did attention–sends Atsushi’s thoughts spiraling into a disgusting heap of images with those very same hands grabbing places that shouldn’t be grabbed. 

     Focus, just fucking focus! He tells himself whilst gripping his pen so tight his knuckles turn white. And yet, as he tells himself this, the low timbre of Akutagawa’s gravely voice slips beneath his skin, curling around his thoughts and igniting a warmth in his stomach that spreads like wildfire. 

    And it's not just his voice, no, it's the man himself that has Atsushi in a sweating mess of disgusting hormones. 

    The way Akutagawa’s sharp, dark eyes bore into him whenever he made the slightest mistake, pinning him under their weight. One look is more than enough to send Atsushi out of orbit, turning what was once a neatly tied ball of yarn into a mess of tangled strings. 

    Why is Atsushi just now becoming so easily undone by a man who stares at him like a predator deep in the middle of a hunt? He’s been fine these past few weeks, keeping his computer from slipping, his hands from sweating too much, his thoughts from spiraling into a world of madness, but now all of his self control seems to have been thrown out the damn window. 

     “I’m just saying~ besides, the man probably feels the same way.”

     How dare Junichiro say such a thing to screw with him?! It’s a terrible joke, one that should've never left his gross chapped lips. And now, because of one harmless joke, Atsushi can barely bring himself to focus in on what Akutagawa is teaching him–

    “Nakajima.”

    The sound of his name startles him in his seat. Abruptly, he looks up and is immediately ensnared by Akutagawa’s harp all-knowing eyes. 

    “You’re not listening,” The man grumbles with a disappointed huff, his voice clipped and full of reprimand. 

    “H-Huh? Of–of course I'm listening!” Atsushi stammers nervously, the lie tumbling in a rush. The wavering of his voice ratted him out more than anything, betraying a forbidden truth even he can’t deny. 

    And, with the way Akutagawa’ eyes narrow and darken, he doesn't seem to buy it either.

     Shit.

    Suddenly, without warning, Akutagawa leans forward–the suddenness making the younger man flinch in his seat, but what comes next freezes him in place. 

    Cold, long, tantalizing fingers wrap around his chin, tilting his face upward with a firm grip that would be impossible to break out of. 

    “Why are you distracted?” Akutagawa demands, his voice low and sharp like the edge of a blade. 

    Atsushi’s breath hitches, his body leaning into the man’s addictive touch against his will, heart hammering wildly in his chest. What hell is he supposed to do in this kind of situation? How is he supposed to move away when Akutagawa’s chilly touch roots him in place with a sort of power Atsushi has only ever dreamed about? How is he supposed to respond when the closeness makes his head dizzy with desire, skin flushed, and tongue tied in the face of the man he yearns for so dearly?

    Incoherent babbling leaves his lips, words tangling on his tongue, turning the once composed college student into a chaotic mess of want and shame. He tries to look, escaping the unyielding gaze that pieces through his arteries with deadly precision, but Akutagawa’s grip is firm. Strong. 

     Possessive.

    Silences stretch into minutes with Atsushi’s cheeks burning brighter as the seconds tick by. A familiar heat crawls up his neck, spreading like wildfire, and there’s no hiding it; the absurd desire he holds for Akutagawa is more than obvious and it's only a matter of time before the pieces in Akutagawa’s mind clicks. 

    Then, as expected, something shifts in Akutagawa's thoughtful expression–a flicker of recognition crossing his face and Atsushi knows, without a doubt, that he knows.

    Atsushi’s heart drops to his stomach, face paling in horror, as the very man he looks up to catches onto the secret Atsushi tried to keep hidden. 

    The college student wants nothing more than to melt into the floor, to disappear before disgust and rejection take root. After all, this is Akutagawa–a man whose guidance pulled Atsushi out of a world of complete utter despair, whose words have been a lifeline when he had no one else. The thought of losing that, of ruining everything, is unbearable. 

    However, surprising Atsushi to the core, Akuatagwa does something completely out of one of Atsushi’s wildest dreams. 

    Cold fingers soften their grip, sliding to cradle Atsushi’s face with both hands. Slowly, deliberately, Akutagawa leans in until their foreheads touch. 

    Atsushi holds his breath, overwhelmed by what stares back at him when he meets the older man's eyes. 

    Raw, consuming desire stares back at him. And it’s not just lust; there’s something darker, deeper, possessive and greedy that makes Atsushi’s hands tremble in his lap. 

    “Do you really want this?” Akutagawa says at last, breaking the silence between them. Contrasting the dark abyss of possessiveness shining in the man’s eyes, his voice is laced with a kind of vulnerability he’s never heard from the man. There’s hesitation too–hesitation to make the next step? To put a name to what’s been surrounding them for months? “Because I don’t do casual one night stands with my students. Once I have you, I won't let go.” 

    Atsushi blinks, stunned. The words throw him completely off balance; everything Atsushi has ever known, has tried to tell himself, has been thrown out the window entirely because…for some reason…Akutagawa Ryuunosuke likes him back.

    The man is staring at Atsushi with a look akin to a man on the brink of starvation, dark dilated pupils taking in the rosy heady blush that spreads delicately across flesh the older man can mark, bite into, devour.  

    And Atsushi would be a fool if he did anything to stop him. 

    “I do–want this, I mean,” Atsushi stutters out, his trembling hands reaching up to grab the man’s wrists, touching the chilly skin that feels so nice against his sweaty palms. “Yes, Akutagawa, I need you, please–”

    That’s apparently all Akutagawa needs; in seconds, his professor is pulling him in close, crashing their lips together–so fierce and demanding–shattering any semblance of restraint. mind blissfully blank, Atsushi is helpless to fight back against the man when his soft lips feel so nice against his own. The fire in Akutagawa’s kiss stokes flames in the younger’s stomach, making him greedy for more, shameful in his desire to consume AKutagawa the same way the older man is devouring him. 

    Right now, Atsushi doesn't care that the man is his professor. 

    He doesn’t care that if they get caught there will be severe consequences for both of them–Atsushi might get kicked out and Akutagawa will lose his carefully crafted reputation.

    But–with the way Akutagawa seems to melt so easily against his own lips–Atsushi knows that the man doesn’t care about what may be awaiting for them afterwards. 

    And who is Atsushi but a weak man in need of nourishment only his savior can provide?

    The college student can feel the older man’s hunger through the rough press of his lips against his own, the lust that Atsushi once thought was merely one-sided. Whining pitifully, Atsushi’s hands move to caress the back of Akutagawa's neck–the tantalizing heat of a rising flush spreading across his warm fingers–but it's not enough. Atsushi needs to feel more of Akutagawa. 

    He needs to be impossibly closer, melt into him until he can't tell where he begins and the other man ends. 

    Pulling his hands back, Atsushi pushes himself out of his chair and leans forward; the professor catches the hint rather quickly. With desperate hands, Akutagawa pulls Atsushi forward across the desk and the student is more than happy to oblige. Heaving himself across dark mahogany wood, Atsushi’s knees press onto the desk, uncaring of the papers that fly off the man’s desk to scatter clumsily across the floor. One final tug of Akutagawa’s hands is all it takes for Atsushi to land in the man’s lap, exactly where he wants to be. Arms loop around his professor’s neck, reconnecting their lips in a feverish dance. 

    “Akutagawa–” Atsushi mumbles against soft lips before diving back in for more, a pleased hum vibrating through the older man’s throat–music to the younger’s ears. Cold fingers pry Atsushi away for just a moment, enough to give both men a moment to breathe, as dark eyes flutter up to make contact with Atsushi’s glassy sunset hues.

    “Ryuunosuke, please,” the older man sighs, a cold finger prying Atsushi’s bottom lip down. “Say my name, Atsushi.”

    Oh Atsushi could’ve died in the man’s arms right then and there from hearing his name fall from his gasping lips. 

    “Ryuunosuke,” Atsushi whines, fingers grasping onto the collar of his professor’s coat with unrestrained desire. “Fuck me already.”

    Atsushi watches as the man’s pupils dilate, lips gaping open in awe, before curling up into a seductive smirk. “Ask me nicely and I'll bend you over my desk.”

    Holy shit, Atsushi loves the sound of that. 

    So, with glassy eyes, Atsushi stares down at his professor, determined and horny and so goddamn happy that this is actually happening cause what the hell, shit like this doesn't happen to people like Atsushi–

    “Atsushi,” Ryuunosuke’s voice breaks through whatever self doubt tries worming its way into his head, reminding him of his position–trapped in his professor’s embrace, held in arms that hold him so possessively, who stare up at him with a kind of hunger Atsushi’s only ever seen in nature documentaries. “IS everything ok? We can stop and do this somewhere more private if you would like…” the man’s voice fades to the background, Atsushi too stunned to comprehend the situation unfolding before his very eyes.  

    This is real. 

    This is actually happening. 

     Ryuunosuke wants him.

    Inhaling sharply, Atsushi leans down and captures the man’s lips in one more kiss. He takes his time, savoring the sweet taste of herbs and tea, the gentle crinkle beneath the older man’s eyes when he smiles, the faint smell of old paper and ink filling Atsushi's senses, and when he pulls away, he finds himself no longer afraid. 

    “Please bend me over, Ryuunosuke.”

    Ryuunosuke’s smile grows. 

    “Gladly.”

    Atsushi’s muffled groans bounce off the walls of Ryuunosuke’s office as he feels his insides being scrambled into pieces by the older man’s vicious cock. 

    If it weren’t for Ryuunosuke's fingers being shoved down his throat, he would’ve screamed his throat raw with every powerful thrust of the older man’s hips, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. Dazed and dizzy, Atsushi can feel the long drag of the man's cock inside his ass, sliding almost all the way out, before snapping back in, gostling Atsushi's body against the desk as he hits those bundle of nerves square on. The roughness, the fast snap of Ryuunosuke’s hips, the sound of the desk rattling beneath him with every harsh smack against his ass– Atsushi loves it. 

    In some distant part of his conscience, he can hear the older man huffing behind him, his forehead planted on the back of Atsushi’s marked nape, as those long cold fingers hold onto Atsushi’s hips with the kind of tightness that’ll leave bruises. Atsushi can’t wait to look in the mirror later and see those hand-shaped marks around his boney hip, but he has more important things to focus on at the moment–like getting fucked stupid on Ryuunosuke’s desk. 

    “Taking me so– ah– fucking good, darling~” Ryuunosuke purrs into Atsushi’s ear, his professor’s cock somehow managing to go even deeper inside Atsushi, kissing his prostate intimately with a kind of pounding that’ll leave Atsushi weak in the knees for weeks. Sunset eyes roll to the back of head, tears falling down flushed cheeks, every inch of his body trembling and shaking in the older man’s hold. All he can do is gasp and moan in pleasure, body weakly rocking back against strong hips that push him further towards the edge of utter bliss. 

    An unbearable pressure in his groin builds with every thrust, every sound that echoes through his ears, every reminder that it's Ryuunosuke Akutagawa who's reducing him into a moaning mess on some mahogany wooden desk. His dick, left explicitly untouched by Ryuunosuke– everytime Atsushi tried reaching for his cock for some type of relief, the man would swat his hands away and hiss out a ‘not yet’-- slaps obscenely across the top of Ryuunosuke’s desk, dripping enough precum for it to puddle beneath him. The lack of friction drives him mad, crazy, insane, even as Ryuunosuke’s hips pick up their pace to ram deeper inside his student. 

    “Knew you’d be– shit– fucking perfect on my cock,” the man hisses from behind, thrusts growing erratic as the pressure in Atsushi’s stomach grows. “Knew it from the moment you stepped into my classroom with that stupid look of admiration on your face,” Atsushi pays no mind to the words spilling from Ryuunsouke’s lips as he finds himself lost in the midst of his own pleasure. He nods mindlessly to show the man that he’s listening, that he’s agreeing to whatever he’s saying, but all that does is garner him a sharper thrust against his prostate, tearing a startled shriek from his muffled lips. “Even after that stupid look left your classmates' faces, you kept coming back for more, no matter how much I singled you out. And Shit baby, I've never seen that look of admiration turn into that beautiful haze of determination in my life.” 

    Ryuunosuke abruptly takes his fingers out of Atsushi’s gaping mouth to forcefully crane the student’s neck up until he’s being half lifted off the desk. Atsushi remains pliant in his hold, eager for whatever he’ll give him. 

    “You’re fucking mine now, you hear me? I dont–ah–want to see you asking your friends for help on assignments, I don't want to see your stupid debit card out when you’re paying for shit, I don't want you to rely on anyone that isn’t me, you got it?” Atsushi can’t bring himself to respond, not when his pleasure is steadily reaching its peak–

    The grip on Atsushi's jaw tightens, forcing a pained groan from the student’s bruised lips. 

    “ Say it–say you’re mine!”  

    Atsushi’s mess of a mind finally manages to work as he processes the order given to him. With his eyes rolled back, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he tries to meet Ryuunosuke’s every thrust, he forces his lips to cooperate. 

    “Y-Yours! All yours, no one else's, just please let me cum, please, please please–” 

    A wave of euphoric bliss washes over Atsushi as he cums, his tongue tying itself silent as he climaxes all over the professor’s desk. Through the blur of tears, Atsushi’s eyes take in the ropes of white that stand out against dark wood as Ryuunouske forces every string of semen out of him with his hips. Not a moment later does Ryuunosuke join him; Warm, hot, messy spent fills Atsushi to the brim, hitting the student’s overstimulated prostate in a way he never thought possible.

    Tired huffs sing in his ringing ears for what seems like hours; together, the two men slump against the desk, Ryuunsouke on top of Atsushi while the younger attempts to catch his breath. The added weight of his professor behind him is grounding in a way, comforting even. Had the older man pulled away at this moment, Atsushi probably would cried and whined like a baby, declare that he was just being used or some utter bullshit like that–

    But Atsushi knows that would’ve never been the case when he turns his head and catches sight of the look of awe directed at him through Ryuunosuke’s eyes. 

    The very same eyes he used to be so intimidated of, that he was convinced were glaring at him, were actually full of an intense adoration that would’ve put a mother’s love to shame. 

    With a trembling hand, Atsushi reaches back with his hand to comb through the man’s soft black curls, nails dragging against hsi scalp in a way that had Ryuunosuke sighing in satisfaction.

    “You’re mine too, y’know?” Atsushi says at last, breaking the silence between them. “Like that whole possessive bullshit you said to me earlier, the same applies to you too.” 

    A huff of air tickles the back of Atsushi’s ear, one that is full of amusement and endearment. 

    “Of course it would–it wouldn’t be a relationship if we weren’t exclusively possessive over each other now would it?”

    Atsushi rolls his eyes and chuckles against the smooth surface of Ryuunosuke’s desk. 

    “No,” Atsushi says at last, his heart feeling warm and full. “No it wouldn’t.”

    He’s so glad he listened to Junichiro about visiting Ryuunosuke during office hours.