#because it will have me staring at the ceiling going. man....
Text
The squeak of Dustin’s sneakers fades away as he heads back to the hospital parking lot, where his mom’s waiting for him.
Eddie watches the door to his room swing shut—the movement as boisterous as Dustin’s entrance had been; for the whole visit, he’d acted almost as if nothing had ever happened.
“You know,” he says once the door’s fully closed, “I kinda thought he hated me.”
He tries to make it come out like a joke—maybe then, it won’t hurt quite as much. He should’ve known that Steve would see straight through it.
“That’s not fair,” Steve says quietly, from where he sits in the corner of the room—arms folded, eyes sharp.
The silence feels damning. Eddie doesn’t dare break it: just sits there and lets it sting.
But then—
“That’s not fair,” Steve repeats, a little softer, “to him or to you.”
Eddie can’t look him in the eye. If he does, he’s going to say something that’s true but hurtful nonetheless—and God knows, he’s done more than enough damage already.
Steve sighs. Eddie can’t work out how to read him.
Maybe if he just keeps staring at the clock on the wall, Steve will give up and leave, and Eddie can keep it together until he knows that he’s alone.
“When are you going to stop?” Steve says and, damn it, Eddie’s resolve breaks in an instant; his head turns, but now Steve’s the one who’s not looking, his gaze fixed on the ceiling like he’s trying to memorise it.
(Fourteen hairline cracks on the tiles. Eddie’s counted.)
“Stop what, Steve?” Eddie says shortly. Maybe this will work instead: if he manages to hold that awful, flat tone for long enough—
“When are you going to stop punishing yourself?” Steve says. His eyes flicker across the ceiling tiles.
Eddie swallows. Forces out, hoarse, “That’s not—”
“Not what?” Steve interrupts. “Not what you’re doing?” He shakes his head a little, and his voice lowers. “You’re acting like they’re right.”
Eddie grits his teeth; he asks even though he already knows. “Like who—”
“You do know you didn’t kill anyone, right?” Steve says bluntly.
For a horrible moment, Eddie can’t breathe. “I—yes,” he says; it’s wrenched out of him like an involuntary reflex, the thought playing in his head over and over at the boathouse, then at Skull Rock—I didn’t do it, I didn’t, please, please—until it sounded less and less like the truth, and more like desperation.
“Then what?” Steve says. His head tilts down—he looks right at Eddie, eyes blazing like a challenge. “What is it? What is so fucking terrible, Eddie, that you’d—”
“What d’you want me to say, man?” Eddie says, exhausted. “I—I hurt—”
His voice cracks; he can’t get through it, can only think about what he wasn’t meant to have seen: a nurse opening his door too wide, and in that split second, catching a glimpse of Dustin frozen in the hallway, Steve crouched down in front of him, speaking too softly to hear; how Dustin’s shoulders shook; you did this, you—
“You don’t think I wish I could take it back?” Steve says.
The words pull Eddie right out of his head. Cautiously, he asks, “What?”
“Because I would,” Steve continues, like Eddie hasn’t said anything. “I’d take it back in a second.” There’s a harsh scraping sound: the chair legs dragging against the floor as Steve stands, like he suddenly can’t bear being still. “I think about it every day. If I hadn’t—” He stops abruptly, like the words have got stuck somewhere painful. His jaw works once, twice. “If I hadn’t left you to—”
“Don’t,” Eddie gets out, pleading. His hand twitches on the bedsheets uselessly; he’s too far away to…
In so many ways, he wishes he was stronger.
“Steve, you—you can’t do that to your—”
“Right,” Steve cuts across with a humourless laugh, “yeah, exactly,” and Eddie gets the feeling that he’s walked right into a trap without realising. “So you don’t get to, either.”
”Steve—”
“No! No, I’m not gonna just watch you fucking hate yourself for—for what? For being scared? For doing the best you could to—” Steve shakes his head again. “Dustin, he—he knows you were… I would’ve done the same thing.”
Eddie can hardly argue the point. He can hear from the strain in Steve’s voice just how much he means it.
And then Steve scoffs slightly, glancing up at the ceiling again—a fragile smile, like it’s only there to keep himself from crying.
“There’s—there’s so much—God.” He drags a hand down his face. “So much blame, Eddie. All the time.” He gets that awful, distant look to his eyes, the one that reminds Eddie that he was thrown into a story in its last horrific chapter; there are things he doesn’t know, but when Steve looks at him, he can feel an echo of the pain in his chest. “And I’m so sick of it.”
“I’m—”
But Steve interrupts before Eddie can voice it: a weak laugh then, “Jesus Christ, haven’t you been listening? Don’t apologise. It’s enough that—that you’re alive.” Steve swallows, steps back. Jerks his head to the door, “Dustin—he’ll be okay, I swear, just give it time. Before you—it kinda, uh. It was awful?” His voice goes up, but not in question, not really: more like he’s the one trying to joke around it, now—because anything else is too much.
It’s another story Eddie isn’t privy to. But he can read it in the way Steve’s eyes trace the ceiling. In soft words exchanged just before a hospital room.
The guilt doesn’t fade, not yet. But its grip eases around his heart. Makes room for…
“Hey,” Steve says shakily, like he’s crying, too. “Eddie, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
Hands are on Eddie’s face, and maybe it should be overwhelming—but all Eddie can feel is something like forgiveness.
“It’s enough,” Steve whispers. “Eddie, I promise you. Please. Please let it be enough.”
Eddie can’t speak. But he gathers Steve’s shirt in his fist; and you, he means, and you.
And maybe Steve hears it, because he sighs like he’s finally let go of something—like he, too, has been cleansed.
#in which healing is messy and hard but so worth it. always worth it#they love each other#pre steddie#eddie and dustin#steve and dustin#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve x eddie
295 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Margay: Chapter 10
Read the Last Page
prev / series masterlist / main masterlist
Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC Audrey 'Moose' Goddard
Word Count: ~4.4K
WARNINGS: Triggers for themes of self harm/ suicidal ideation / fearing that someone will self-harm / Mentions of physical spousal abuse and escaping an abusive marriage. Please read with care.
Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / mentions of past drug use / Minors DNI
A/N: Frankie tries to put himself back together. Frankie tries to figure out why the fuck he's like this. Audrey realizes there is something she's afraid of.
Dividers by @cafekitsune
As always, this is un-beta'd, please do shoot me a message with any typos. Feel free to pop into my inbox if you'd like to chat. We've only got one chapter after this for these two. I hope I do them justice. Here goes nothing.
Francisco spends the next two weeks in hiding.
As much as Benny’s place can be considered hiding.
Santiago is too close to the thing and Will would have tried to pull it apart, deliberately. Methodically. So he could come up with a way to make it right.
Frankie doesn’t want solutions right now, he just wants to feel like shit.
And Benny knows Catfish fucked up somehow, because the last time Frankie was here was when he got hit with the coke charge that suspended his license.
He supposes Fish hiding at his place is better than Fish running through an eightball.
But Frankie’s first night here is the worst night Benny’s had since then.
The night after Tom died included.
It wasn’t all on him then.
He couldn’t hear Frankie’s stuttering sobs in the next room then.
His stomach didn’t churn with the wails that Frankie tries to stifle with pillows when the walls of his heart can’t hold them in any longer then.
But Benny soon learns that Frankie going silent is far worse.
And so he hauls himself from bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand, and quietly makes his way across the hall to the guest bedroom, rapping two knuckles against the guest bedroom door.
“Fish?”
Still, silence.
“Listen, you ain’t gotta tell me what’s up. Not if you don’t want to. I just. I just gotta know that you’re okay, buddy."
“I don’t have fucking coke if that’s what you’re asking.” Frankie’s voice is hoarse. Muffled where he’s face-down in a wet patch on the pillow.
And Benny already knows because Benny checked his bags while Catfish was in the shower and nabbed Frankie’s keys and pocket knife to tuck into his own bedside table.
But still.
“I just need to know—” Benny starts. Thinks better of it. Decides he couldn’t live with any more regret. Continues softly.
“—that you’re not going to hurt yourself, Fish.”
“It’s fuckin’ fine, Benny,” Fish’s voice is only muffled by the door now.
Benny stares at the ceiling.
“Okay,” he rolls off his tongue. “Can you do something for me though?” He bends to sit on the floor with his back against the doorframe.
“The fuck is it Ben?”
“Can we just—do a few breaths?”
And Fish doesn’t say “no” because Fish doesn’t say anything.
“I’m gonna put my hands on my stomach,” Benny reframes, “and breathe in through my nose. All the way in until I move my hands.” There’s a pause as he does. “And I’m gonna let it out and do it again.”
He repeats this cycle. A bit less instruction each time, but following through himself. Palms rising and falling over the worn jersey of his t-shirt.
He repeats the cycle.
Of forcing Frankie to breathe.
Of ticking his nervous system cool.
Until he hears a mumbled, “thanks, Benny,” from the other side of the door.
“Listen man,” Benny starts softly.
“I love you, okay?”
“Love you too, man.”
And he feels a bit better.
But Ben Miller still doesn’t sleep that first night.
Fish hangs around the house like a phantom for the next three days. Benny hears the creak of floorboards in the guest room. The latching of the bathroom door. The tv click through channels.
Hears Netflix pause when it asks if Frankie’s still watching.
He is.
Baking shows from the sound of it.
Benny tries the whole first day to offer him coffee and breakfast. Lunch and Pepsi, because maybe Coke would have been insensitive. Dinner and a beer.
“‘M not hungry.”
“Frankie, you gotta at least drink some water.”
“Got some from the sink.”
So Benny takes to leaving snacks in the guest bathroom.
He breathes a little easier when some of them start to disappear.
And he occasionally hears Frankie sniffling. And then hears deliberate breaths.
He’s grateful to have given Frankie that at least.
The poltergeist’s activity spreads on day five when Benny hears footsteps on the stairs.
And he has to fight a wince when finally the man appears.
Frankie looks like a husk.
Puffy eyes, hair matted down to his head. Overgrown, scraggly beard that's greying on sallow cheeks.
And Benny just pulls two beers from the fridge, cracks them open on a magnet, and klinks the base of his against Frankie’s.
“Wanna watch the game?”
“Sure,” Frankie mumbles.
And Benny breathes a little easier.
He clocks Frankie on the knee with his knuckles after about half an hour of silence, “hey, you eat today, man?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Go take a shower. Gonna order pizza. Sausage is good, right?”
“Not hungry.”
“I’ll get goat cheese on it.”
And Frankie sits for a beat.
“Fine.”
He has a bit more color in his cheeks when he returns to the kitchen.
“Hey, you ever try meditation?” Benny asks after a bit through a mouthful of pizza.
“No, I’ve never fucking tried meditation, Benny.”
“I can show you, if you want.”
“Not right now.”
“No,” Benny huffs through a bite of crust, “not right now. I’m gonna get you a journal too.”
And Frankie starts to protest, but he knows Benny is trying to offer him the tools that he himself uses to get him through.
There’s a Moleskin and a pen in the bathroom when Frankie ventures out in the morning.
And like summer sun after the spring equinox, Frankie emerges from his cave earlier and earlier each day.
“You wanna talk about it?” Benny asks one night from where he’s slumped down on the couch, beer in hand, basketball game on tv.
“Nah.” Fish answers from the other end of the couch, taking a swig from his own bottle.
“‘S about Moose?”
“Yeah,” Frankie works a fingernail between paper and glass, the tack of adhesive catching on his fingerprints.
“She get hurt out there?”
“No,” Frankie answers.
After a minute.
“I hurt her.”
“You cheat on her?”
“Wha–no. No. It’s not like that. I didn’t cheat on her.”
“Good, you’d…” And Benny chokes off his first reaction.
“’S fine, you can say it.”
“Nah.”
“I’d be a fuckin’ idiot. I already am. I’m aware,” Frankie scrubs a hand down his face. “I just. I said things I ain’t proud of.”
“So go fix it.”
And Frankie lets out an astonished huff at how simple the world is to Benny sometimes.
“You in a headspace for me to tell you somethin’?”
“Say what you gotta say, Benny.”
“Listen, Fish. You gotta just face it. And don’t just say 'I’m sorry' because girls hate that shit. Say what you’re sorry for and why you were a fuckin’ idiot for sayin’ it and that it’ll never happen again. And then don’t fuckin’ do it again. Not if you wanna keep her. Because that girl? She ain’t gonna put up with your shit.”
“She left.”
“She left because you probably pushed her away, Catfish.” Benny shifts on the couch to place his beer bottle on the coffee table, elbows resting on his knees before he finally looks over at Frankie.
“Look, I dunno what you said, but she’s got thick fuckin’ skin. Moose will take a lot of shit right on the chin and fling it back at you. So whatever it was, you gotta figure out why you said it. You gotta do that work on yourself, man. And don’t yank her chain, either. She ain’t gonna give you third and fourth chances.”
“You read that shit in a book somewhere, or you just got a lot of experience apologizing, Benny?”
“I do.”
Frankie scoffs.
And he wants to jump right up off of this couch, march up the stairs and slam the bedroom door behind him. But he knows what that would do to Benny.
So he waits until the game is over.
Excuses himself with a “goodnight” and a “thanks for the beer.”
He finally cracks open the journal Benny bought, and on the first page he scrawls:
Why the fuck am I like this?
The hardest part, Frankie thinks, is that his neural pathways are still wired to her presence.
Any second she’ll step through the doorway.
Wild black curls and a soft smile.
A matter of moments before she’ll press her soft weight to his back and her lips to that spot just behind his ear with a soft hum.
Lithe warm body to cover his own.
A pretty little thing to be used when the need strikes and then…
His own words ring in his ears. Crumble the fantasy into powder.
The dreams don’t help either.
The ones of that night in her apartment.
The way things could have gone.
Her hands braced against the wide expanse of his chest as she chases the high that will make her forget.
Both of them move to fit around his neck.
And she comes with his full name on her lips.
And he follows her with sparks bursting in the black at the edges of his vision.
Little death has green eyes.
Little death that slips through his fingers each time he palms his cock in search of relief.
Frankie finds the strength to face Santiago once he’s back at his own place.
Strength or loneliness.
He’s not actually sure on that one.
But he swipes a hand down his face after he shifts his truck into park in the driveway. He rubs it around to the back of his neck, fingers working at a knot there.
He's here.
Might as well.
Dinner passes without incident. Santi's fresh off the plane from Guatemala. And the hesitancy with which he discloses it tips Frankie off.
"How is she?"
Santiago angles hard dark eyes in his direction. And he wants to tell Frankie that she's distracted. That her gaze is constantly weighted with something that all of this dredged up. She's functional now but she's running on luck. Audrey can't afford to run on luck.
She's not well. But that's not Santiago's to confess.
“Frankie. What happened?” Comes out instead.
“I flipped.”
That’s all he needs to say for Pope to know how bad it is.
“What did you say, Francisco?”
“I…I was jealous seeing her there," he rubs at his lips with a finger. "With that man. And then I couldn't stop myself from thinking about everyone else. I said crude things.”
“We say crude things to each other all the time, that wasn’t it. What did you say, Frankie.”
“I talked about other men using her,” he swallows hard. “I…I called her a pretty little plaything to be used when the need strikes and then…”
“Discarded?” Santiago finishes, eyebrows in his hairline.
“I didn’t," Frankie looks down at his lap. "Didn’t say that. Didn’t get that far.”
Santi runs his palm down his face and across his chin and springs from his seat. “Oh. Well then. What were you going to say? What did you intend to say when the first half of that sentence left your fuckin’ mouth. Huh? What was it, Francisco?”
“I wasn’t myself, Pope…I…”
“And you put your hands on her. Again you put your hands on her, Francisco.” And some dark part of Frankie’s brain thinks that where Pope took his side the first time, now he takes hers.
He should be taking hers.
“I saw the bruises.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t fuckin’ apologize to me, apologize to HER.”
Gestured broadly in the direction of Washington DC.
“I did. I did that night,” his voice is a low rasp, “but I…I was a mess.”
“What did you tell her? I’m sorry with big fuckin’ tears in your eyes?”
“Yeah.” And the big fuckin’ tears are back.
“You told her she was disposable, Francisco. I don’t care if the word didn’t come out of your mouth. That’s what you said. A body. Because you were thinking with what, your dick? You told her she’s unwanted. Unloved, Francisco.”
And something in the way he says it makes Frankie think that he knows more than he lets on.
“The crocodile tears? That shit’s not enough. How many times has she grounded you? Pulled you out of one of your fuckin’ moods without asking what put you there in the first place? How many smiles has she put on your face, huh? She brought the fuckin’ light back into your eyes, hermano. I see it when you’re with her. How many times has she made you fucking feel something again, Francisco?”
“She fuckin’ sees you. Every. Fucking. Part. Of you," Santiago stabs two fingers of one hand into the palm of the other with every word.
“And you know what?” He points at Frankie now.
“She loves you anyway.”
“She doesn’t love me.”
“You know she sent your daughter a birthday present from you because she knew that you were gonna forget? Yeah. Your daughter’s birthday was a week ago, Francisco.”
Santiago’s kitchen is spinning.
"I should go," Frankie starts, wincing at the way his chair scrapes across linoleum when he stands.
“But you told her she’s a thing that you wouldn’t keep.” And he definitely didn’t tell Pope that.
“I think we both know that’s a lie, Francisco. But only one of us is willing to admit it.”
“And you know what? You shouldn’t. You don’t fuckin’ deserve her.”
“And it’s your own fuckin’ fault. I can’t help you out of that one.”
But Santiago knows how hard he just bit.
And the part of him that loves Frankie.
This wrecked shell of a man.
The part of him that doesn’t want to get a call in the morning about an overdose tonight.
Now tries to lick wounds.
He wraps Frankie in a hug.
And Frankie hugs him back with closed fists, heaving sobs into Santiago’s shoulder.
“I love you, man,” Santiago murmurs. “I don’t wanna see you throw away one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. The best thing since your little girl.”
“I don’t know what to do. Without her.”
And Santiago’s viscera twist with the pain in Frankie’s voice.
“We’ll figure it out,” he moves back a fraction, hand on Frankie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
Audrey tosses her keys, phone, and a stack of mail on her kitchen island, toeing off her sneakers as she piles her curls at the crown of her head and secures them with the tie on her wrist.
She washes her face and slips into the bedroom, tossing her clothes and bra onto the leather butterfly chair in the corner, swapping linen for the same tired t-shirt she's worn for the past two weeks.
It's one of Frankie's. Found at the bottom of a duffle that never got unpacked in the aftermath. Marled grey cotton that falls halfway down her thighs with a faded Corona Extra logo over her heart.
She idly pulls the collar up over her nose and holds it there as she sifts through the pile of mail.
An L.L. Bean catalogue.
An invitation to her cousin's baby shower.
A padded manila envelope.
From F. Morales.
She tears it open and pulls out a burgundy leather notebook with a yellow post-it stuck to the front.
I’m leaving this with you, because it feels fitting for you to have it.
An exercise in remembrance.
If you read nothing else.
Please just read the last page.
x F
But Audrey’s brain.
The one that’s kept her alive after over 20 years on the razor’s edge of survival.
Has already identified the worst possible contingency.
And she frantically gropes for her phone with panic squeezing her chest.
Santiago answers not two seconds later.
“Yo,” he starts.
“Santiago, don’t say a single fucking word that's not an answer to what I ask you right now. Do you know where Francisco is?”
“Yeah, he’s sitting right across from me. All good.”
Fuck.
FUCK.
Her forehead falls into her palm as she heaves a sigh.
“Okay.”
But it comes out very wrong.
Cracked and choked. High-pitched on the last syllable.
"Okay," she repeats as her legs begin to falter. "Thank you. Thanks, Santi."
And Santiago hears the tremor in her voice.
The raw fracture as she sinks to the floor. Back braced against the cabinets.
Santiago gets up from the bar table, feeling Frankie’s eyes on him and steps out into a cloud of smoke on the patio.
“Hey, hey, hey, Aud. He’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
“He sent—sent me this book and this note and FUCK."
She's hyperventilating now. Now that she's past immediate danger.
Now that the feeling catches up to her.
The fear.
“The…the way he worded this, it. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry for bothering…”
“Hey, Aud no no no. What did he send?”
“A notebook. A note that says I’m leaving this with you.”
“He’s not there, Aud. He’s okay. He’s okay, I promise. He’s not in that space. Benny and Will are here. We’ve got him.”
And he hears the sharp gasp of breath through her constricted throat. The staccato of her letting it out on a sob between beats of her racing heart where everything she’s tamped down rushes out of a crack in the earth.
“He’s clean. He’s not, in that headspace. Not near that point, Audrey,” Santi coos, his own throat tightening now. “He’s okay.”
The Operative spoke first.
The Woman is speaking now.
“How.”
And she means how do you know.
How the fuck can you be so sure.
“We’ve,” Santi clears his throat, “we’ve been through this with Frankie before. Twice. He’s not there.”
“Santi.”
And the tremor in her voice hits him like the first time he saw his dad cry.
“Take care of him. Please. Please take care of him.”
“Please.”
In the softest voice he's ever heard Audrey use.
And it’s the simplest plea delivered to him as though she were tendering her still-beating heart.
“I will, Aud. You have my word, I will.”
Santiago hears her let out a broken sigh that’s muffled by a hand over her mouth.
“Thank you, Santi.”
“He’s gonna be okay, Aud.”
The line goes dead.
And Audrey weeps on her kitchen floor.
Until she’s wrung moisture from the marrow of her bones.
She reaches up to grab the little burgundy notebook, thumbing through to the last page.
A date range, a week and a half from today.
And an address in Jamaica.
An address that she knows.
A place where her future split off a new branch. The limb that she’s curled on now.
And she doesn’t know if she has it in her to go there again.
But not knowing what more to do, she flips to a random page.
Had a good day today. Made it down to the gym with Benny and Will. Think I smashed my hands up a bit, but it still felt good after.
It's a journal.
And she idly realizes she's never really seen Frankie's handwriting before. Composed of tightly wound capitals in places that languidly flow together at the same time.
It suits him.
Another entry.
Saw an old Chevy for sale today and thought about buying it and fixing it up. Part of me wants to. But I don’t think I can right now.
And she flips all the way back to the very beginning.
Why the fuck am I like this?
The journal spans the nearly three months that they've been apart.
Therapist asked me this afternoon if I’ve talked to her. Told him I haven’t tried and he asked why. I don’t think she’d want to talk to me. But he said that’s a decision I’m making for her. Guess that’s right. Asked what I’d say if she did pick up the phone. I don’t actually know. He said would you try to convince her to come back. And I don’t think I would. Not because I don’t want her back, I want that more than anything in the world. I want a future with her in it. But I don’t think it’s right to try to convince her.
He has “convince” underlined twice.
I want to be better. I need to be better first. What’s that shit they say about if your flower bed sucks. You don’t fix the flowers, you fix the soil. You make it a good place for them. I’m not a good place for her right now. But I want to be. I already fucked one good thing up because I wasn’t. I can’t just keep doing the same shit. Not just for her, for Luci to. She deserves a good dad. Audrey deserves a good man. Trying to convince her wouldn’t actually change anything. I guess that’s good to remind myself of.
Chevy’s still there. Talked to the owner, said he’d knock $500 off it for a vet. I’d still give him full asking. Still don’t know if I’m ready. But I hope I’m getting there.
Been thinking about mom and dad a lot lately. That last fight they had before the divorce. How mom just looked so defeated. How she looked at us with so much love. Even after what dad did. Even though her whole world was breaking. Even though we’re half him. How she just told us to get our favorite toy and tucked us into the back of her car with our blankets and never looked back. I remember holding Mr. Bear so tight that night.
I don’t remember ever seeing the bruises. But they had to have been there.
I think I’m dad.
The last thing I wanna be is dad.
Audrey stands briefly, fingers closing around the nearest bottle of wine and the stem of a glass before she returns to the floor and Frankie's notebook.
I keep thinking about that question, what would I say if she picked up the phone. All I can come up with is I’m sorry and I love you. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
Had a dream about Aud last night. We were sitting on a patio watching a storm roll in. It was like I could feel her right there. Today was hard.
She flattens her hand to her heart at that one.
Lucia said today she wants a puppy for Christmas. Her mom definitely doesn’t want a dog in the house. I think a cat’s better since she’s still so young. Tried floating that idea, didn’t fly. Wish I lived closer so she could have a cat at dad’s house. I’d worry about being away so often. Probably on Davis’ shit list right now though so maybe that doesn’t matter. Hadn’t thought about that until now. The last two years doing this set us up pretty well. College and a car for Luci aren’t an issue anymore. Haven’t felt that weight off until now. Feels kind of hollow.
Bought the Chevy. And Santi thinks he’s making progress. Maybe things are starting to look up. Still scares the shit out of me though. Dunno what I’m in for.
I used to wipe the tears from Mamá's cheeks when she tucked me into bed.
What the fuck am I now.
This isn’t who I am. It’s who I was taught to be. It’s what I was shown. It’s wrong.
It isn’t love. It’s fear.
Talked to the therapist about dad today. About how I think he always resented me for being more like mom. For not liking the things he did. How he would yell at me for being soft. And useless. I still remember that. Dug that in every time he could. He hated when I cried. Hated that I would spend hours playing with Mr. Bear. Hated that I liked to read. I think some part of me still believes him. That I'm not enough. That I never will be. I'll never be anything.
And I fear it sometimes. Why would she want a useless fuck-up like me.
"You're not," Audrey whispers, running her fingers over the page like somehow it will carry her message to him.
I think he was afraid of irrelevance, at the end of the day. I wasn’t interested in anything he knew. Anything he could teach me. Think it made him lash out. And Mamá still got the divorce. Made him fuckin irrelevant anyway.
I think he got one fuckin awful lesson in that I never asked for. Love isn’t lashing out. It isn’t screaming or yelling. It isn’t won with a fist. But I think it fucked me up, seeing only that. I think I learned that from him.
I look like him. But I’m not him.
Tears slip down her cheeks as she presses on.
Leaving for Oklahoma tomorrow. Santi’s coming with. Says we’ll have some fun while we’re out there. Part of me is looking forward to it. The other part of me doesn’t know if I’m ready. It’ll either move me forward or set me back. No way of knowing but to try. Because I can't stay here. I can't live like this.
The entries go silent for a week.
Just got back. Needed that time away. Think it helped clear the doubt. Feel better than I have in weeks. It was the right choice. Oklahoma is pretty in the summer.
And a zing of jealousy for whatever is in Oklahoma shoots through her.
As if she doesn’t have something of her own there. As if that’s not the first place she ran to.
I wonder if I should give this to her. If it might be able to say everything that I can’t seem to. Because I know in the moment, if ever there is one, I’m gonna fuck up. I’m gonna look into her eyes and forget everything I want to say. “I’m sorry, I love you” is all I’m gonna have. And it isn’t enough.
“I love you too, Frankie.” She whispers into her kitchen.
She thumbs the long tails of his “y”s. Lazy “r”s that always bleed into the next letter.
But it’s the notion that his hands touched these pages.
Formed these words.
Shed salt upon ink in places.
The way she holds some essence of him in her hands.
The way all she wants is to hold him again.
It’s two hours and three quarters of the bottle of wine gone when she makes her way through, again flipping to the last page.
Her knees crack as she stands, grabbing her packet of Parliaments and lighting one off a gas burner. Three long draws before she sits back on the floor between her wine and Frankie's journal.
Fingertips reach for the glass of her phone as she opens her messages and taps on the “FM” bubble right at the top of the page.
I’ll be there.
Read 1:36 am.
Three dots appear on the screen.
I can’t wait to see you, Aud. I miss you.
And she doesn’t respond right away.
She can’t see through the tears.
I miss you too, Frankie.
I miss you so much.
Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam
@bloviating-vy
And tagging some of the lovely folks who keep me going on here. As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:
@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads
@la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked
@jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub
@76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute @jeewrites
Please note that old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.
Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.
#tw: suicidal thoughts#tw: physical abuse#tw: abusive marriage#frankie morales#santiago garcia#ben miller#triple frontier fanfiction#frankie morales fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal#the margay
24 notes
·
View notes
Note
can we please have bez/cele getting together in of au?
Yes you can! This is a direct continuation of this, where Bezz finds out that Celestino subscribed to Marc's onlyfans before Marc and Vale started dating. That threw Bezz into a gay crisis, and here we are!
Thanks for waiting so patiently for this!
OnlyFans au interlude: celestino and bezz
Bezz wakes up the following morning on Celestino’s couch. He’s stiff and still a little tired, and he enjoys that special type of calm that comes from waking up in a safe place.
He freezes when he remembers the events of the previous day.
Cele has an onlyfans account and he subscribes to Marc Marquez. Bezz lays there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what other types of people Cele subscribes to. Do any of them look like him? Are they all tiny, fit twinks? Are they all fucking Spanish?
Bezz doesn’t realize he’s breathing heavily until Celestino walks timidly into the room.
“Bezz? Are you okay?”
Bezz sits up and looks at Cele. He’s sleep-rumpled, and Bezz wonders how late the two of them must have slept. There’s a pillow line across one of Cele’s cheeks, and the neck of his shirt is stretched out. Bezz wants to wrap Celin up in a blanket and bundle him back into bed. He wants to hold him and kiss him on the forehead and make sure he’s warm and comfortable at all times.
The revelation nearly sends him into another panic attack. Now that he’s acknowledged that he likes men, or, at least likes one man, it’s like he is seeing Cele with new eyes.
“I”m okay,” Bezz says, voice rough and a little high pitched.
Cele stands there awkwardly for a moment, and Bezz pats the couch next to him. Cele sits down, and he grabs the edge of Bezz’s blanket so he can pull part of it over himself as well.
“Can we talk about yesterday?” Bezz blurts.
Celestino looks like he would rather do quite literally anything else, but he doesn’t get up, so that’s a win.
Bezz has no idea what to say now that he’s opened the door, though. How do you tell your best friend that you’re having some not-quite-heterosexual thoughts about him? How is he supposed to tell Celestino that he hates Marc now, only because he has to live with the knowledge that Cele found Marc so attractive that he–
“You aren’t going to tell Vale, are you?” Celestino asks awkwardly, interrupting Bezz’s spiraling.
“What?” Bezz asks, staring at him.
“Please don’t tell him. If you think he needs to know then I should be the one to tell him– but I already cancelled my subscription, okay?”
Well, that’s not the direction Bezz thought this was going to go.
“That’s not what– no, I’m not going to tell Vale. I am trying to explain…”
Cele stares at him expectantly.
“I don’t like that you followed Marc. I don’t like that you’ve seen him naked.”
Cele recoils, embarrassed and clearly a little hurt. Bezz immediately realizes his fuckup and knows there’s no coming back from this. He can’t let Cele think he’s homophobic.
“Bezz-”
“I’m jealous,” Bezz croaks. “I don’t want you to be attracted to him.”
Cele stares at him. Now that Bezz has admitted it, it’s impossible for him to stop his mouth.
“I want you to think of me that way because I want to think of you that way. And I know you didn’t have sex with him but in a way it feels like you did, and I am jealous of that because he doesn’t deserve that from you. You shouldn’t have to watch him jack off or whatever because you deserve to be taken care of,” Bezz complains.
Cele is staring at him.
“Sorry,” Bezz adds, as an afterthought.
Cele is still staring at him.
“You’re gay?” Celestino asks, dubiously.
Bezz hadn’t gotten that far in his internal discussion when he woke up. He has no idea, and he’s not sure how to explain that to Cele. He hasn’t ever considered if he likes men before. He knows without a doubt that he likes Cele, though. He thinks he probably always has. It feels like breathing. This entire situation has felt like his world has been upended, but liking Celestino feels like breathing.
“I… I don’t know,” Bezz says lamely.
Cele looks away.
“But you like me?”
Bezz nods, but Cele isn’t looking at him.
“Yes. I think… I didn’t ever really think about it until you said you follow Marc and I felt jealous. And then I had to think about why I felt jealous. And I guess if I’m jealous that means I’m at least a little gay, right?”
Cele is silent for a moment before he snorts and starts laughing.
Bezz shoves at him, embarrassed and defensive.
“You’re supposed to be supportive!”
Cele is howling with laughter now.
“Of course I am supportive! But you were the one who made me think you were mad at me yesterday!”
Bezz frowns.
“I’m sorry,” he says genuinely, but Cele is clearly not listening. He’s still wheezing with laughter at Bezz’s expense.
Bezz pouts while Cele calms back down.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Bezz complains.
That seems to remind Cele of what they were talking about, and he turns to Bezz with wide eyes.
“Wait,” Cele says, “you have feelings for me.”
Bezz’s heart is racing and he nods.
“You are jealous that I follow Vale’s boyfriend because you want me to see you naked, not him.”
Bezz nods again, sure that he has never been this mortified in his life.
“You’re ‘a little bit gay’,” Cele says, making exaggerated air quotes.
Bezz buries his face in his hands.
Cele laughs again, then pulls at Bezz’s wrists until he uncovers his face.
“You’re lucky I’ve had a crush on you since I was thirteen.”
Bezz makes a startled noise at that information, but before he can think, Cele has placed a hand on the back of his neck and guided their faces together.
It’s the worst first kiss Bezz has ever had. Their noses bump together and Cele is still giggling a little bit, and Bezz’s brain is still moving so slowly that he only realizes he’s being kissed as Cele is already pulling away.
He frowns, deciding that is not good enough, and he leans forward. This time he’s prepared for it, and Cele has stopped laughing, and when their lips meet it’s easy for Bezz to close his eyes and relax.
Kissing Cele is feels normal. It’s almost anticlimactic how normal it feels. There are no fireworks or explosions.
It feels like getting on the bike; a flash of nervousness followed by a sense of rightness; a feeling that all is well. Bezz has a flash of frustration at himself for taking so long to realize that he wanted this.
He’s not sure how long they kiss, but when they finally pull apart they’re both smiling.
#I just think they're silly#little goofy guys#onlyfans au#celebezz#bezzetti#cv13#mb72#celestino vietti#marco bezzecchi
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Good Luck, Babe.
pairing: maggie greene/rhee x fem!reader
genre: angst, mostly.
warnings: mentions of intimacy & alcohol
notes: I rarely write so please enjoy my own self indulgent attempt at it solely for my queen Maggie<3 (this also took me forever, thanks adhd😅)
summary: based on Chappell Roan's song Good Luck, Babe! Set (mostly) before the zombie apocalypse, Maggie struggles with her feelings towards other women. reader gets caught in between, falling for her knowing Maggie isn't ready to accept herself yet.
-Pre-Zombie Apocalypse-
“How the hell did I get here again?”
You thought to yourself as you lay sweaty and tingly all over, staring into the void of the dark ceiling above. You knew exactly how you got here, in bed with Maggie Greene, yet again. All she had to do was bat those eyelashes your way and use that sweet southern drawl and you were a goner. Ever since you started getting to know each other at the beginning of the semester 6 months ago, you wanted to show her all the ways you could make her feel good. But from the start you were aware that this was experimentation for Maggie, being with another woman. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was attracted to women along with men. There were many occasions she’d drunkenly called or text you to come pick her up after one too many shots at the bar, only for you to walk in and find her making out with yet another man. But you always came anyway. Because even through the heart ache of this situationship, you couldn’t help but to start falling for Maggie. She was so smart and kind, gentle but fierce all the same, when she wasn’t being a stubborn bull in denial over the two of you.
Letting out a heavy sigh, you turned to face the soft, bare back of Maggie’s. All those days in the hot Georgia sun on her daddy’s farm had her shoulders and back peppered with freckles. You tried to take in every inch of her while you slowly drew your fingertips up and down along her spine. Maggie hummed sleepily at your touch, and you could feel you heart swell and break into pieces at the same time. You didn’t think you could take this, whatever this was between you and her, much longer.
You woke up early the next morning, way before Maggie, and decided to take a quick shower and brew some coffee. You poured two cups, set them both down on the small table and sat. After wrestling back and forth with your thoughts last night, before you mercifully fell asleep, you decided that it was best to talk to Maggie about what was going on between you two. You sipped the hot coffee slowly and stared into the black liquid abyss in front of you until you heard the small creaks of the floorboard.
Maggie’s figure appeared, wearing nothing but an oversized flannel shirt and a pair of lacey underwear. Her hair, completely disheveled from the passion of the night before. You couldn’t help your heart from fluttering at the sight. She leaned against the door frame and flashed you that winning, toothy smile of hers, signature lip bite and all. It quickly fell when she noticed the sad look on your face as you looked up from your coffee.
“Darlin’ why the sad face, what’s got you down this mornin’?” Maggie cooed in that sweet southern drawl of hers.
“After last night I cain’t have nothin’ but a smile on my face.”
You took a deep breath and looked up into Maggie’s big green eyes.
“Mags, what are we doing? Why do we keep doing this to ourselves? What are we?”
You prepped for the inevitable response you were going to get.
Maggie let out a huff and folded her arms across her chest.
“Whatta ya mean ‘what are we doin’ and ‘what are we’? We’re havin’ fun, it’s just casual sex y/n. We’re not anything but that…” she trailed off, almost as if she was convincing herself at the same time as the words were coming out of her mouth.
God she was so fucking stubborn.
You looked away from her and felt your eyes stinging with inescapable tears. Keeping those tears from falling would take everything in you, so you set your coffee down and started to get up from the table.
“Wait, y/n I didn’t mean it quite like that, you know how much I care about you," she shifted her body up straight,
"But this is just the way it is I can’t-"
You stopped her before she could finish.
“I know that this,” you motioned your pointer finger back and forth between the two of you, “is more than “nothing”, more than just “casual” sex. You know that I love you, Maggie.”
Maggie’s mouth went agape for a brief moment before it snapped shut, her jaw tightening and brows furrowing. A mix of emotions flashed across her face, fear, frustration and sadness. She couldn’t will herself to say anything back to you, so you continued on.
“Y'know what, it’s fine. It's cool. You can kiss a hundred guys in bars, shoot shot after shot just to try and stop you from feeling what you know is true about yourself. Make all the excuses , give me all the stupid reasons, but I won’t be here for them. I can’t do this anymore.”
You stood quickly and snatched your bag off the back of your chair, walking over to Maggie and getting only inches away from her face. Even having just woken up she was exceptionally beautiful, and her scent was something you could get drunk off of. You had ripped the band aid almost all off, you had to control yourself, had to end this now, even though almost every ounce of your body was tempted to push her up against the wall and kiss her until you were both breathless and gasping for air.
“This isn’t something you can just hide from forever, Maggie Greene. And you will think about this, years from now, until maybe you finally fucking realize that. Face to face with my ‘I told you so,’ and a longing for what could have been.”
Maggie continued to just stare at you but with tears now brimming in her eyes, still too stubborn to respond to any of your words. Her eyes fell to your feet until you brushed past her and towards the front door. While reaching for the doorknob you turned and looked back at Maggie, tears already steadily rolling down your cheeks.
“Good luck, babe,” you managed to choke out before swiftly opening the door and closing it behind you with a thud.
-Some months into the Zombie Apocalypse-
Flashes of different images and sensations danced across her mind.
The wind whooshing through her hair as her arms stretched out through the car sun roof.
An arching back and the feeling of sweat rolling down her chest, in a state of complete pleasure. Soft moans and wet kisses.
Giggles rang in and out but soon faded into silence.
Your tear-stained face looking back at her, "I told you so," echoing loudly, and the slamming of a door. Suddenly a mirror appeared and only her heartbroken face was staring back at her.
Maggie awoke with a small gasp and sat straight up in her bed. She took a minute to steady her breathing while trying to recollect the dream she just had. Next to her she heard Glenn let out a sleepy sigh and shift in his sleep. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and put her head in her hands. The world ended and you were right, she couldn't hide the truth from herself forever. She had loved you, completely. Always did. Maggie laid her head back on her pillow, breathing a sigh of relief, finally allowing herself some acceptance.
#maggie rhee#maggie greene#maggie twd#oh boy do i feel vulnerable posting this finally#maggie rhee x reader#maggie greene x reader#maggie greene x fem!reader#maggie rhee x fem!reader#maggie rhee x you#maggie greene x you#twd x reader#twd#the walking dead#twd dead city#dead city#twd fanfic#twd fanfiction#wlw#wlw fanfic#lgbtqia#sapphic#angst
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
give me a story all about hope and I will be unwell about it for free
#destiny is so good. reread The Wager again which is fatal#because it will have me staring at the ceiling going. man....
382 notes
·
View notes
Text
I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!
I am not normal about any of these characters!
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#me just staring at the ceiling thinking about anime characters#if i start talking about the big stuff now it's going to turn into a huge rambling mess so in the meantime#i did not get sebek (yet) (i need to contemplate my gems...) but i did see his groovy#he is just full-on cinderella-sparkles bibbidi-bobbidi-booing into that armor! magnificent.#and i really don't have enough words for how much i love tiny malleus. he is perfect. he is precious. he is everything to me.#he knows who his dad is no matter what some crusty dead talking ectoplasm blobs say#(man no wonder lilia's got hangups if THAT was the general attitude he was getting)#('eww you got your dirty bat cooties on the prince' go sit in the corner with mrs. rosehearts you absolute garbage)#(...i did kind of love that lilia started to wake up because the senate said one nice thing to him)#(and he immediately was like 'this is not reality')#(sounds about right)#on a lighter note i was just. SO charmed by the little throwaway about ✨dragon lord consort esteemed diplomat revaan✨#who picks the vegetables out of his food and hides them under the tablecloth#everything i learn about this man makes me like him more. he was SO dumb.#now we know where malleus gets it from i guess#also unrelated but once again the fact that i named my mc tamago has had unintentional consequences#tamago take the tamago and tamago tamagao tamago#frikkin love that when yuu gives the egg back you can just be like 'i love him. this is my baby now.' 100% accurate.#also yuu continually referring to malleus as tsunotarou even to the senate = amazing. yuu really has NO self-preservation or awareness.#they fit right in with everyone else#<- see what did i tell you. huge rambling mess.#and i haven't even BEGUN to talk about MELEANOR -- (is dragged offstage by a hook)
7K notes
·
View notes
Text
yk in retrospect it really is no surprise that rgg has a lot of queer fans. outside of the games being utterly homosexual of course
#snap chats#sorry i finally finished reading the second volume of yakuza's bias#GREAT manga i cant recommend it enough im already crying waiting for the third one to be translated#i got a stroke when the manga mentioned.. those like. ai-chat character things#like christ i know this is a new series and the japanese version was released in january but my GOD this is still topical#anyway let me. get to my point LMAO#because while i was reading there was a speech given by My Main Man that ive noticed is. p common in yakuza media#yk a speech about how the only people who'll give them (yakuza) worth is themselves#and that they'll forever be casted out by society so their passion is the only thing to turn to and live for. something like that#and of COURSE i remember a similar sentiment from The Clan Heir Is A Trans Woman#and listen..... organized crime is very different from being queer. im pretty sure dont quote me on that--#HOWEVER when you have messages like that being thrown left and right... yeah its no wonder LMAO#of course its not note-for-note and the contexts are VERY different LMAO but yk what i mean#its like that one post talking abut monsters and monsterfucking being queer or something#dont listen to me i only go here on legality but i think im onto something#ok bye im gonna stare at my ceiling until i pass out. i wanna start working on my dummy comic but alas...#too busy with comms this week... AND im sleepy...
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
i rarely see people talking about the trans girl substory in y3 and like. yakuza may have its issues with iffy representation here and there but I’ll give them credit for that one, it was simple but it was sweet and kiryu was very in character. my only question is: where the hell did kiryu learn the word transgender
#he already knew it for some reason and I’m not saying that’s super unrealistic but like let’s be real#SOMEONE had to have told him what it means at some point#im gonna assume ako did but they never use the Word in her earlier appearances I don’t think#anyway this substory is funny to me and very sweet#my friends and I were saying it’s like. the follow-up to rina (the lesbian hostess in y1) telling him he can go out with a guy if he wants#to (because he just admitted he wants to) and him going silent and staring at the ceiling in deep contemplation#the follow-up being: he meets another queer person who’s confiding in him and he almost immediately asks ‘so you’re trans. that’s not the#same thing as being gay right’#like he asks her that in game. and it just sounds like he’s been wondering about this for a WHILE like it’s been lingering in the back of#his head just waiting for the right situation#man’s figuring some of his own shit out#as dumb as it sounds I like to think that was him thinking to himself ‘okay… they’re not the same thing… so IF im gay… it doesn’t make me#any less of a man than I was before…hypothetically’#hdjdjffjfjvn but anyway obviously hc/speculation but hey it’s fun#that substory was written for us queers anyway. we can do what we want with if#rambling#kiryu#y3
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞
❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞
✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part two of the prof geto series)
✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425
✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol) | part one | part three | part four
“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,”
“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly.
“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,”
“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home.
“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek.
“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,”
“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close.
“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“
And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?”
He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips—
RING. RING. RING.
Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams.
But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out.
You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then.
Probably not. That would be far too lucky.
~~~
Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed.
It was too much of a risk.
You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs—
He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you.
But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky.
How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now.
But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other.
You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking.
“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.
And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream.
Perfect.
“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,”
“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?”
“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?”
His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?”
“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here.
“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy.
And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began.
“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?”
“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?”
“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—”
“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive?
Fucking unfair.
“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what?
And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,”
“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,”
“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’
“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,”
“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,”
“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of.
“And I want us to do that—”
And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?”
When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over.
It didn’t.
And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk.
“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—
“I’m sorry.”
But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter?
But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see.
“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea, most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,”
And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library.
“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,”
He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer.
So you did neither, and instead broke the silence.
“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression.
“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—”
“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,”
He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes.
“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward.
“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,” you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one.
But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew.
“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow.
“Are you calling me self absorbed?”
You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,”
“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped.
“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears,
God he’s even pretty when he blushes.
“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,”
And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,”
You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?”
And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”
“Do I have any other responsibilities?”
“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus.
“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?”
And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,”
God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester.
If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students.
After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,”
“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.”
You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over.
And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students.
Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material.
But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right?
It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else.
Something you knew very well.
You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—
“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you.
Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?”
You blink, “how’d you know that?”
And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds.
“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,”
And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?”
“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,”
“What students?”
“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,”
And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium.
“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly.
“No,” and he only smiles wider.
He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,”
“I’m not—“
“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,”
Ah, there is was — you were sinking again.
“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,”
He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,”
And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started.
Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you.
And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since.
He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing?
He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you.
It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best.
That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was.
Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester?
He couldn’t afford to be selfish ��� for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst.
He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross.
And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,”
The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.
“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand?
“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,”
Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?”
It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you.
“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?”
Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,”
“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning?
Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for?
Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks.
“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,”
You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery.
The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly.
You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions.
You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide.
“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you.
Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms.
God, this wasn’t a dream was it?
“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you.
“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he—
“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?”
“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,”
He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?”
Your blood runs cold. Fuck.
“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity.
“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?”
“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?”
“Nothing,” you insist.
“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”
“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him.
Nothing good ever came from your want.
“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze.
And you know you’re in love with him. You are.
But you can’t be.
“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade, “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add.
A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,”
“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow.
“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,”
“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?”
“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,”
“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,”
“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?”
The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him.
You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,”
And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”
You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter.
Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about.
Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep).
It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions.
All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days.
By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work.
It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook.
Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him.
You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down.
This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week.
“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,”
You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“
“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?”
And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise.
So you make the decision for both of you.
“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.
“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do. He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—
Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor.
It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—
No, it didn’t matter.
You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?”
He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”
“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?”
He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?”
“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone.
You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly.
He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,”
You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“
He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.”
And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him.
But why did it hurt so goddamn much?
You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.
Was it really not a big deal to him?
Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two.
But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.”
Just fine.
“There was a problem with your reservation,”
And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”
You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed.
One. Bed.
You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town.
“There is a couch though,” he offers, pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone.
“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?”
Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show?
You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders.
Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.
“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down.
“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head.
“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,”
You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?”
“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“
“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“
“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,”
“We’re both adults—“
“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation.
You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone.
“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,”
And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,”
“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?”
“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower.
You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not).
You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin.
You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry.
Oh. My. God.
“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door.
“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him.
Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek.
“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground.
Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open.
“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,”
“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,”
And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.
“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it.
Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face.
This was going to be a long weekend.
Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see.
Fuck his life.
He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor.
He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once.
God, he sighed, it was such a mess.
But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem.
His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water.
He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most.
And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,�� and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds.
He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.
You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water. Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat.
He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out.
Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you.
It didn’t.
And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep.
His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in.
And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he?
Not when it was you.
“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack.
Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”
And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side.
You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—
You hated how much you loved it
“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar.
You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck.
“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do.
“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,”
You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him.
“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink.
“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“
“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?”
And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,”
Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?”
“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t.
You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t.
Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,”
And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,”
You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside.
“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,”
“Professor—“
“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“
“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.”
He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,”
You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.
“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,”
“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs.
“Of him?”
“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,”
“Not your type?” he asks.
“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car.
“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders.
“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“
“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?”
“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“
“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur.
“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters.
He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be—
“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,”
“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,”
“No—“
“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,”
He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,”
“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,”
“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same.
But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep.
For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.
And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it.
But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it.
You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop.
Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight.
Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep.
He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight.
This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely.
When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title?
He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he?
He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman.
How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair?
And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut.
Just for a moment.
And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you.
Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor.
And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect.
But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine.
No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet.
A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow.
Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you.
Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto.
So much for sticking to your sides.
Fuck.
You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard.
You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with.
You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with.
But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?
Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him.
The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM.
Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM?
“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs, jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed.
Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s.
Fuck.
You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart.
“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him.
You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning.
So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist.
Fuck.
God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now.
But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—
But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—
So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away?
“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?”
You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down.
And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats.
Could this possibly get worse?
Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car.
You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead.
You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand.
“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”
Oh, what the fuck.
The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down.
Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help.
It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go.
But you didn’t know how to begin to.
Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed.
You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone.
“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be.
“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head.
“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this?
“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,”
He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention.
“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“
And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone.
The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh.
His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,”
“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“
“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”
“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“
“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp.
“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well.
And you realize how close you are to him.
The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either.
“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go.
“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again.
And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity.
He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut.
“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat.
Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried.
RING. RING. RING.
And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality.
The department head.
“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.”
You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start.
You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken.
And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you.
Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed.
And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake.
You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart.
Was this fate versus free will?
You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart.
He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto —
And so maybe he should let it.
The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper.
The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.
And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open.
And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words.
Just as you always were it seemed.
And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop?
You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try.
“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?”
“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,”
“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?”
You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”
And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?”
“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself.
Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this.
You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that.
You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A.
But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor.
But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was.
“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk.
“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“
He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,”
“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,”
His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,”
Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end?
He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?”
And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“
“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent.
“We agreed—”
“I don’t remember an agreement-”
“It was unspoken—”
You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft.
“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—”
“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—”
“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle.
“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch.
“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—”
“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile.
“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?”
“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist.
“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?”
You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—”
And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open.
Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need.
“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?”
“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—”
“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I’ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip.
RING. RING. RING.
It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—”
“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,”
And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.
“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again.
Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—
You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body.
And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?”
✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.
✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala, @ashhlsstuff, @blue041803, @mwtsxri, @bblgumfairy, @sukunasleftkneecap, @xo-evangeline, @fiannee, @teatreeoilll, @chalametet, @ryukaver, @d1gitalbathh, @saga3ious, @seventhcinema, @satosugucide, @your-l0nely-star, @sokkasmoon, @deegausserr, @hyookka, @oggsyy, @littlebitb, @higuchislut, @ti-mame, @itoshisins, @cerene-dipity, @onionsoop, @sinlillith, @izzythenaive, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,
#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru smut#suguru geto fanfiction#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#geto suguru imagines#geto suguru x you#geto x you#geto fanfiction
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?
He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.
“No.”
“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”
“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”
This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”
“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”
Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”
“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.
It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”
Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”
Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.
“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”
He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.
“Quit that.”
“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”
“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”
“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”
“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”
“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”
“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”
“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”
Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”
Price simply watches him.
“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”
It's another long moment before Price speaks.
“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”
“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”
Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.
“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”
As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”
He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader imagines#simon ghost riley x reader imagine#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader imagines#simon riley x reader imagine#simon riley imagines#simon riley imagine#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost x reader imagines#ghost x reader imagine#ghost imagines#ghost imagine#ghost#cod#cod imagines#cod imagine#captain price#price#john soap mactavish#soap#john mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#gaz#kyle garrick
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
"i feel kinda ugly" ft. the monster trio!
in which the biggest dumbasses in the whole of sea comfort you when you fall prey to your shitty thoughts
ft. luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader
set-up: you happened to utter out what you thought of yourself and these men are here to prove you wrong. (kind of a serious set of headcanons, but ill try being funny when i can)
warnings: nsfw; somnophilia if you squint, oral f!receiving and m!recieving, boobjob, creampie; MDNI (thankyou very much)
luffy:
my fav little gremlin's in town ^^
- "i feel kinda ugly" you had muttered it under your breath, words dissolving into the chilly night air. you were laying on your shared bed, staring up at the uneventful ceiling as he snored lightly next to you.
- he was supposed to be asleep, atleast that's what you had thought (how can you expect him to stay up after eating like 500kg of meat??)
- but he stirs awake almost instantly, turning his head to look at your face. he stifles a yawn, mumbling through a half-lidded gaze, "why would you say that?"
- "why would i say what?" you smile, waving it off as if it had just been a wayward thought
- but lord knows the amount of nights you've tossed and turned, thinking about all the ways you were incompetent for this man who lay in front of you. you weren't pretty like nami or robin, you weren't quick-witted like them, god, what did he see in you?
- "who said you were ugly?" his face is scrunched up, the crease b/w his eyebrows deepening
"luffy let it g-"
"no. who said it?" his violent undertone doesn't go unnoticed, as if he's threatening to take care of whoever made you miserable
- you don't have the heart to tell him it's yourself. you convinced yourself you weren't pretty enough.
- and so, you stay silent
- but his arms are pulling you impossibly close. closer and closer till your chest is pressed flushed against his and you're staring at him confused
- "luf-"
"that's bullshit." there's conviction in his words that make a dull warmth cascade over your face and neck.
- he is pressing his forehead against yours, hands gripping onto you tightly as if letting his grip loosen means he loses this argument.
"you're beautiful. you're smart and kind and beautiful."
- at this point, youre about to cry
- but he inhales deeply, then says "not to mention you smell like a fruit. thats tasty."
- yeah the tears dried up. they fucked off and went to sahara desert.
- youre currently fighting off a smile because what the actual fuck prompted this man to say that??? and more importantly what fruit do you smell like?
"what fruit do i smell like?"
"mhm" he's deep in thought, "tangerines"
"luffy everyone smells like tangerine. it's because of nami's tangerine trees."
he shrugged, "still pretty tasty"
- and now youre kissing his adorably stupid face. your fingers tug on the hair on his nape lightly and he whines into the kiss, sucking on your bottom lip as he does so
- "you're so pretty" and so he's kissing your neck, nibbling and grazing lazily
- two seconds later, he fell asleep.
- like actually fell asleep. his mouth is on your neck, open mouthed and half-nibbling and he's snoring through it all. (i mean, what did you expect from someone who had eaten 500kg of meat??)
- issokay though cause the second he wakes up, his fingers are hiking one of your legs over his hip. the same fingers then slip inside the loose folds of your shorts, playing with your pretty pussy till you stir awake, moaning his name
- you're the one being toyed with and he's the one whispering and whining like he's gonna explode
"does that feel good, ngh-" a grin, "god... fuck, cum for me, pretty"
- he continues till your velvety walls are spasming against his fast-paced fingers and your teeth are sinking into his shoulder, muffling shrieks this early in the morning
- "you're gorgeous" he whispers through a grin
- you choose to believe him
zoro:
myhusband ^^
- this was the last thing you wanted. truly.
- zoro had just stepped out of the shower with nothing but a towel losely tied around his waist (this was after he had succesfully ignored you and trained for like an eternity)
- water droplets clung onto his broad figure, slowly trailing downwards as they glided over every ridge and scar
- you probably should have pulled him onto the bed with you, straddled his hips and asked him to stop ignoring you to go spend time with his swords
- you probably should have.
- instead, you lay stomach-down on your bed, your head softly cradled beneath your arms and against the pillow
- "what's up with you?" he asks, unfazed to your tactics
"nothing" you mumble half-heartedly
he gave you a double over, "you sure? you're sulking more than usual"
"i-" you sigh, "i just idk... i just feel kinda ugly?"
- this motherfucker laughs, "yeah i mean you kinda are"
- he didn't know you were serious. he didn't know till you were softly crying against the linen sheets, your body shivering against your own cries and staggered breaths
- "yn?" there's panic in his voice, "yn, baby, are you crying?! fUCK IM SORRY!"
- he didn't know you were serious. i mean how wAS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW?! HE THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING DRAMATIC FOR NO REASON LIKE ALWAYS
- "hey" you've never heard the swordsman speak so softly as he does now. he's pulling you up softly, placing you in his lap almost mechanically, "yn, baby-"
- he lets you sob into his chest for as long as you need to, his fingers are rubbing gentle patterns into your back, arms and waist.
- once you've calm down, his hand tips your face lightly towards him. he silently wipes the tears away.
- he doesn't say anything and somehow his silence brings more comfort than his words could.
- "don't think stupid shit" his palm is resting on your face, pouring warmth across the stretch of your cheek, "you're gorgeous."
"but you said im ugly" you lean into his touch
"i also said i will return back nami's loans with full interest" a small smile tugs on his lips, "sometimes even i say stupid shit"
"so, you don't think i'm ugly?"
- his response comes in the way of leaning in and kissing you, one hand on your cheek as the other kneads your waist.
- he's laying you down, hovering over you easily and pressing hot kisses to your neck and jawline. sucking, biting till you can feel bruises blossoming across your skin. his knee presses against your core, blinding you with delicious jolts
" his agile fingers are hiking up your skirt, letting it pool around your waist, "let me show you how pretty you are, baby"
- so, he's pulling your panties with his teeth, he's licking a clean stripe on your inner thigh, kissing and bruising the sensitive skin
"and you're dripping wet already? want me to fuck you that bad, eh?"
- he's running his tongue over your clit, tracing figures as he alternates between your drooling hole and the bundle of nerves
- and so obviously you're now cumming on his face, letting your juices coat his lips, thighs shaking as he gives you kitten licks to help you ride your orgasm
- he looks up at you; your hairline damp with sweat, eyes closed in bliss, a warm hue of red sprinkled across your face, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath
"i've never seen someone prettier" he declares from between the plush of your thighs, smiling up at you like it was the first time he had truly seen you
- you choose to believe him
sanji:
mhm, a fine specimen ^^
- you don't keep secrets from sanji.
- or more like you physically cannot.
- this man is your greatest cheerleader, there's no way you can hide something from him no matter how squeamish it makes you to say out loud
- so after noticing your off behaviour the entire evening and pestering you for twenty minutes after dinner, he had successfully got you to say what you were thinking out loud
"sweetheart, darling, the apple of my eye. what is wrong?"
you shake your head again, "nothing."
"yn, my love, 'fess up"
- he said it so sweetly you had to fess up. there was no choice.
- "i just feel a bit bad about myself today"
"bad? how so?"
"i just... just feel kinda ugly"
- he looks like he's going into cardiac arrest (he probably is) cause there's no way you, his girlfriend, literally the prettiest girl in all four seas just said that out loud
- honestly, i can just see this man tearing up and blaming himself
"is it me, mon chéri? did i do something wrong?" tears are clinging on dangerously onto his lasheline
"what?! no!"
"i am sorry. i love you so much. i must have said something wrong because you're so gorgeous, so earth-shatteringly beautiful-"
- honestly you had to calm this bitch down first, explaining to him that he was perfect in every way he can be, it's probably just your own fault
- but he refuses to accept it as your fault.
- this man, this beautiful, amazing man has to now cling onto you and pepper kisses onto you face like there's no tomorrow. like everytime you try to speak, he wont let you cause he needs to ramble about how absolutely gorgeous you are
- he spoke for so long that you are now convinced that to the world you may not be the prettiest woman alive but to this blonde man (with a great ass), you mean everything
- his kisses blended into soft whispers and whimpers as you forced him to rest against the headboard and straddled his hips
- you can feel his poking erection through his dress slacks as you kiss him senseless with only one goal in mind, to let him know he did nothing wrong
- you nudge his slacks downwards till his cock hits you lightly in your face
- your lips encircle his tip, sucking on it lightly as your hand moves up and down his length, languid and slow
"yn~" his voice is a choked whisper, "you- are killing me. faster, please darling."
- now you're catching his dick between your tits, massaging his length with the softness of your breasts as your tongue laps up at his tip, licking any pre-cum that escapes him
"fuck fuck fuck fu-" his moans are an incoherent ramble, "i'm gon' cum, fuck you feel- so ngh- good"
- he comes on your tits and face and almost releases again when he sees you scoop up the sticky fluid from the corner of your lips and lick it away
- so with cum-painted tits and face, he whispers, "yn, you are the most gorgeous woman i have seen."
- you choose to believe him
a/n: honestly cannot thank you guys for how much you'be blown up these posts in the past few days, so here, have a little treat
#one piece#opla#one piece zoro#zoro x reader#luffy x reader#sanji x reader#roronoa zoro x reader#vinsmoke sanji#monkey d luffy x reader#monkey d luffy#one piece x reader#zoro smut#roronoa zoro smut#one piece smut#sanji smut#vinsmoke sanji smut#luffy smut#luffy headcanons#zoro headcanons#sanji headcanons
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Part one
“..go out with me”
Your breathing hitched, indicating that you hadn’t been asleep all this time. You turned to face him then, flipping on your side in his bed to get a better look at his face. Even in the dark you could see the strong outline of his jaw and his messy blonde hair. He stared up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head, and shrugged. “I mean, why not? We’re practically dating anyways” he followed up, vermillion eyes glancing down at you. “Any reason you’re asking me this now?” You whispered, moving slowly as you shifted closer to place your head on his chest.
This time, his breath stuttered.
Moving slowly, as if you were a flighty deer ready to run at any moment, he moved his hand from behind his head to on top of yours. His fingers gently played in your hair. He breathed a shaky breath, completely stripped of his usual hard shell. He was completely vulnerable to you in this moment. “When I was lying there on the battlefield..all I could think about was your stupid face.” He grimaced, stiffening a bit at the memory. You placed a hand on his chest, tracing circles with your thumb. He exhaled with a shaky breath. “I was bleeding out, all these fucking holes in me, and one of the only things I could think of was how angry I was at myself for not being able to man up and ask you out properly. I waited too long and everything’s a mess now. The city is a fucking wreck, we’re on lockdown..and I had a whole plan too. I was gonna take you to that noodle shop you like with the stupid name. And now I can’t, because it’s too late and now I might fucking die before I ever got the chance-“
You pressed a soft kiss to the new scar that peaked out from his black tank top, causing his words to get stuck in his throat.
“Take a breath..” you told him softly. He obeyed, breathing in air and blowing out his tension.
“It’s okay, B. You’re okay. I was mad too. I was so mad at myself for not being able to protect you when you got hurt, not being able to move a little bit faster and push you out of the way. I was mad that you might die before I got the chance to tell you how much I like you..” he smirked at your words, smug covering up his giddiness. “You like me?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes and moving to shift away from him out of feigned annoyance. But he wrapped an arm around you waist and pulled you closer.
“I like you too nerd…a fuckton”
You couldn’t help but smile, sinking deeper into his hold as you breathed him in. And for a moment, you felt untouchable in here. Despite the looming threat of war, the scorching flames of the world outside, you were safe in his arms. You wished you could stay like this forever. A yawn left you as your eyes began to droop, and time seemed to come to a slow stop.
It was silent for a moment, as you both began to drift off before a question came into your mind. Despite your drowsy state, you couldn’t help but smile as you asked
“…so if you like me, does that mean you’ll admit that Oodles of Noodles is a fantastic name for a noodle shop-“
“Go to sleep, shithead.”
——————
Ps: im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3
#mha#mha fic#boko no hero academia#bakugo x black reader#bnha x reader#katsuki bakugo mha#mha headcanons#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo x female reader#bakugo x gender neutral reader#bakugo katsuki#mha bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader fluff#bakugo katuski#bakugo x reader fic#Bakugo x reader one shot#katsuki x y/n#bakugo x y/n#bakugo x you#katsuki x reader#katsuki x you
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
teeth. ☆ j.jk
⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting
⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k
⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆
“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”
The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.
You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.
Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.
“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.
“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”
Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.
“What number is this?”
“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”
“I don’t know.”
You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.
You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”
You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.
“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”
You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.
“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.
You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.
“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.
You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.
“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.
You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.
“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”
“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”
“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”
You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.
He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.
You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.
The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.
“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.
The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.
“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.
He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.
You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.
“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.
You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.
You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.
He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.
You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.
He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.
“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.
“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.
A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.
He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.
“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.
Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.
“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.
You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.
There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.
“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.
Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.
“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.
A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.
He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”
You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.
He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.
You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.
From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.
“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.
You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.
“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.
His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.
“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.
“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.
He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.
When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.
“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.
“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.
Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.
“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.
A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.
“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”
You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.
“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.
You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.
He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.
You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.
“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.
You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.
+
Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.
“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.
“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”
A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.
TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111
[halloween m.list]
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
JJK men finding out that you’re… pregnant?
MDNI tw : pregnancy, mentions of abortion, mostly fluff
Gojo Satoru
“Did we really have to go to a hospital” you groaned holding the white- now crimson red cloth against your wound.
“Shoko is out of the town so we sadly didn’t have any choice.” Mei Mei answered holding you up as she cringed at the blood on her hands.
Arriving at the hospital the nurses immediately helped you into a wheelchair and took you to a room, leaving Mei Mei waiting in the hallway, she dialed Gojo’s number and waited for him to pick up.
“What is it?? Is everything alright? Why are you suddenly calling me?” Before she could say anything Satoru already started asking questions, she never calls him.
“Your wifey is in the hospital.”
“…”
Just like that, a second later Satoru was in the hospital “What happened?!” He asked, a little too loud causing other people to look at him.
“Jeez don’t worry, she just got stabbed in her thigh. She’s already being taken care of.” Mei sighed, leaning against the wall.
Satoru’s heartbeat slowed down a little, since it was beating so fast, worried that you got seriously hurt.
“The curse should be happy it’s dead.” He muttered under his nose glaring at the ceiling, still mad at himself that you got hurt, if only there was a way to give you infinity…
After some time a doctor came out and Satoru immediately hurried to him “Is she alright?!”
“And you are?” The doctor asked, raising his eyebrow.
“Husband of Y/N.”
“Oh yes, she’s alright no need to worry. She didn’t lose a lot of blood. You can go see her.” Satoru let out a sigh of relief as he was about to make his way into the hospital room you’re in.
“I forgot to mention, the baby is fine too.”
…
…
Satoru paused, his whole body freezing. Even Mei Mei’s eyes widened as she was waiting with him. He sprinted towards your room, “YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” he ran into the room yelling, you’re eyes widening.
“wait wait hold up- what?” You replied, confusion on your face.
“The doctor said ‘the baby is fine too’! Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you go to the mission??” He said confused, as he walked up to the bed you were lying in.
“Because I didn’t know that I’m pregnant!” You were as shocked as him, you were just staring at each other before grins appeared on your faces and tears in eyes.
“W-We’re going to be parents?” You whispered as Satoru wrapped his arms around you, kissing you all over your face.
“I’m going to be a daddy…” a huge grin on his face.
“You’re an idiot for putting yourself in danger-“
“Please shut up Toru.”
Nanami Kento
Four days. Four days since you were supposed to get your period. At first you ignored it, thinking it’s just your cycle changing, it’s never perfect.
But then the morning sickness came. Maybe you just ate something bad? Yeah that’s the reason-
“Do you still want kids?” You asked Kento as both of you cuddled in bed. He was slightly surprised by the question, not expecting to be asked that.
“If you want kids, I want kids. If you don’t want kids, I don’t want kids.” He said, his hand caressing your head.
“Why ask that all of a sudden?”
“My periods late.”
“I noticed that, maybe it’s just your cycle changing?” Right, you forgot that this man knows you more than you do, always knows when you’re supposed to get your period.
“I thought that too until I started puking my guts out every morning.”
There was a moment of silence when suddenly Kento got up and started putting his clothes on. “Where-”
“I’m going to the pharmacy, it closes in 20 minutes so I still have time to buy a pregnancy test.” Your eyes watered at his words, getting up as well and immediately pulling him into a hug.
“Are… you mad?” You asked quietly, letting out a sniffle. He grabbed your face with his hands, connecting your foreheads. “Sweetheart, if that test comes out positive I’m going to be the happiest man alive, even though I already am because I was blessed with you.” He connected your lips in a passionate kiss for a minute, then leaving to go to the pharmacy.
It has been months since he left, he abandoned you because of your pregnancy.
(I had to I’m sorry 😭)
You were stressed as hell, you wanted a child but didn’t expect one now. Pregnancy and taking care of a child was a big deal, you were also happy that it was Kento and no one else, he’s literally perfect, always taking care of you.
The alarm on your phone went off as you looked towards the pregnancy test which was now done, taking a deep breath as you picked it up.
Positive
Tears immediately streaming down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around your husband. He had a huge smile on his face, you could’ve sworn to god that you saw tears forming in his eyes.
“You’re going to be an amazing mama.” He whispered as he kissed your temple “and you’re going to be an amazing daddy.”
“I love you so much.”
Sukuna Ryomen
You and him never really had a talk about having children.
Firstly - you were sure he didn’t want kids because he’s a menace. Secondly - was it even possible for him to have kids?
Not to mention the way he acts around them, whenever on a date or just taking a walk and there’s a kid, he always rolls his eyes. Annoyed at the bratty child.
So imagine your surprise when you saw the two visible lines on all of the four tests you bought.
Well shit
You immediately started thinking of all the scenarios on what could happen when you told Ryomen, of course the first ones that appeared in your mind were the bad ones.
You never really thought about kids yourself, you wouldn’t mind one but you were also terrified of pregnancy and birth, you’ve heard so many stories on the internet and it was a huge no for you.
What if he wanted you to have an abortion? You weren’t against it but you also couldn’t get yourself to do it.
What if he would leave you?
What if-
“Woman, how long can you be in the bathroom?” Your eyes widened as you immediately hid the pregnancy tests in the trash, taking deep breaths and wiping off the tears that were about flow down your cheeks.
“Gosh, I’m out.” You opened the door letting out a forced laugh, he stared at you with an emotionless expression
“What is it.” You raised your eyebrow at the question, “what?” Confusion written on your face as you stared at him.
“Brat, did you forget that I can feel your emotions?” well shit, you did indeed forget, were you going to tell him? Of course- not.
“I-I just saw a sad video about a puppy.” You mumbled with a small pout, making up a quick lie.
“You humans are weird.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. You let out a sigh, thank god he believed you.
…
He did in-fact not believe you, but he decided not to push it.
Just a few hours later he saw a pink object in the trash while he was in the bathroom, grabbed it and saw the words
two lines : pregnant one line : not pregnant
And how many lines were there? Two.
Was he surprised? Yes
Was he mad? Yes
But it’s not because of the pregnancy itself, but because you didn’t tell him.
You were sitting on the couch watching tv when he came stomping down the stairs, and throwing the pregnancy test on the coffee table in front of you.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” You were once again, in shock, unable to say anything
“Kuna I-”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked once again now more louder, you looked down at the floor and bit your lip.
“I was scared…” you whispered, that actually surprised him. The woman that actually had the strength to put up with him, tease him, annoy him for fun while the whole world was scared of him, was ‘scared’?
“Why the fuck-“
“Because you don’t want a child!” You said now louder, tears in your eyes, thinking he’ll abandon you now.
He was taken aback, brows furrowed “I never said that.” Before you could say anything else he continued.
“I know I’m not the… best material for a ‘father’ but why would you think I would leave after finding out you have a living creature inside your stomach.”
“You always act annoyed when you see a child and always make comments, what else was I supposed to think?” You huffed out, burying your head in your knees.
He grabbed your face, making you look at him. “So dumb…” he scoffed before attacking your lips with his. Your eyes widened as you yelped.
“You know I act like that around every single filthy human except you. That child is my creation and my heir, I’ll accept it.”
“So… you don’t want to leave me? Aww-”
“Right now I’m temped to-“
“ M’sorry my lord.” You laughed, kissing him again.
there will probably be a part two with more characters, don’t blame me if there’s any mistakes I wrote this at 3 am dying of heat and exhaustion ahahah
#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#nanami x reader#jjk x you#nanami x you#sukuna x you#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Neighbor
Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)
Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.
There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.
Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.
His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.
She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.
He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.
The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.
And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.
But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.
The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.
For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.
He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.
That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.
So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?
John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.
He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.
It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.
The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.
“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.
“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”
John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.
If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.
“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.
“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.
“Get out.”
Oh.
John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.
Good fucking girl.
“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.
“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”
For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.
There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.
And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.
The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.
John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.
There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’
He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”
Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.
She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.
It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.
The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.
Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.
She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.
John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.
Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.
John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.
What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.
The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.
He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.
Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.
So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.
He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.
“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.
Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.
It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.
She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.
Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.
“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.
“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”
Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.
She doesn’t.
In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.
John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.
They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.
It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.
“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.
“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.
“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.
Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.
By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.
She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.
The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.
Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.
He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.
He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.
There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.
The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.
The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.
“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.
Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.
“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”
He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.
“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.
Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.
“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.
Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.
The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.
His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.
As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.
Well. That simply won’t do.
The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.
He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.
“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”
“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.
To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.
“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”
Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.
He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.
It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.
But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.
She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.
Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.
More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.
“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.
“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.
He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.
“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.
He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.
He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.
Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.
Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.
Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.
“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.
He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.
“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”
Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.
“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.
The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.
A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.
As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.
“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.
“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.
He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.
The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.
“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.
“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.
“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.
His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.
She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.
Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.
Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.
His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.
“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.
“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”
Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.
“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.
She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.
“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.
“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.
She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.
It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.
It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”
He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.
Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.
Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.
John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.
“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.
“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.
“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.
“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”
“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”
He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.
John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.
He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.
Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.
And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.
He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.
Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.
“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”
“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”
“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”
The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…
Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.
“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”
“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“
“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”
“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”
“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”
“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”
“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”
“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”
Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.
“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”
The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.
John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.
But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.
The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.
Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.
She’s awake.
“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.
She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.
“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.
She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”
It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.
Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.
Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.
He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.
Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡
#ocaptainchallenge#john price x reader#captain john price#price x reader#cod x reader#x reader#implied plus size reader#take a shot every time john calls the reader pretty#but dont or youll get alcohol poisoning#also I used ‘turn into a chew toy’ 3 times and I dont care :)#my writing
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
style [sukuna x fem!reader]
summary: a collection of (cute) moments between you and ex!sukuna
w/c: 1.9k
a/n: bruh idk how these two are STILL exes, but it's a yes from me // yes, another taylor fic because i'm in love with her
sukuna
12:56am u up?
you audibly groan at the text, face scrunched up in disgust. sitting up in bed, you shove another pillow behind your back. your fingers fly across the screen, but only for a short time.
12:57am fuck off
throwing your head back in anguish, you sigh at the ceiling. and when your phone buzzes again, you brace yourself for the reply.
sukuna
12:57am ladies first
12:58am open the door
12:58am please
despite the abruptness of his text, you fly out of bed and run into the living room of your apartment. you stare down the hallway at your front door and peek at your phone when it vibrates.
sukuna
12:59am quit thinking so hard i'm cold
rolling your eyes, you tiptoe to the door, lifting yourself on your toes to look through the peephole.
and there he stands, pink hair dimmed against the yellow lights of the hallway, his head tilted back. biting your lip, your eyes glance down at his exposed neck, strained as he studies the ceiling.
stepping back, you unlock the three locks on your door (courtesy of the man outside) and pull it open.
your ex stands in the hallway, a sight you've seen too many times to count, and he tilts his head in greeting. "hey, baby."
you grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt and tug him in, locking your door when he's safely inside. when you spin around, he's gone.
you ignore the clink of glasses against one another in the kitchen and head back to your room, rubbing your eyes are you go.
glancing at the clock on the wall, 1:04am, your shoulders visibly deflate. you pull back the duvet and climb into bed after turning off the lamp on your bedside table. facing away from the door, you get comfortable, tuning out the sounds of sukuna knowing this place like the back of his hand.
"i didn't come over for you to ignore me."
you turn over. sukuna leans against the doorframe, sipping idly from his glass.
you flip back around, snuggling your head into your pillow. "i'm sleeping."
"oh, poor baby," he pouts falsely, crossing the room and setting his glass on his nightstand. you shake your head, your nightstand.
when you hear a rustle, you glance over your shoulder. sukuna tugs his sweatshirt and t-shirt over his head and pushes his sweatpants down his legs. you feel your cheeks heat at seeing him in only his black boxers.
he lifts the blankets and slides into your bed, avoiding your eyes as he does so. despite his naturally cocky attitude, along with his annoying habit of suppressing everything he's ever felt, you know him too well.
"c'mere," you mumble, circling your fingers around his wrist. sukuna says nothing and shuffles toward you, wrapping his arms around your torso, head on your chest. "wanna talk about it?"
he shakes his head softly, tightening his arms. "in the mornin'."
you nod, fingers threading through his hair. "okay."
you wander the building aimlessly, with a lunchbox in your hand and a coffee in the other. you know this place well, though once he got promoted, sukuna moved offices. but you wouldn't call it an office; more of a place to sort through employee contracts and qualifications and watch the cameras around the complex.
he'd complained to you over text that he'd have no time to eat today. so, you took it upon yourself to ensure your ex had an adequate lunch to keep him going, duh.
the sound of your name in that deep voice of his rings down the hall, and you spin around.
"i knew it was you," sukuna tilts his head at you. "what're ya doing here?"
you lift your hands and grin. "lunch."
sukuna stares at you, and you swear you'll melt from the intensity of his gaze. he wears his usual black cargos and a black t-shirt with the company logo on the left breast, but he looks more delicious than ever.
"seriously?" the corner of his lips upturns, and he bites his bottom lip to stop the smile from breaking. he fails. "you're so cute."
sukuna steps forward to wrap his arms around your head, his biceps flexing against your ears.
you smile giddily and circle your arms around his torso, hands hovering over his back. "it's a bento box with rice and steak and those little sausages you like—"
sukuna cuts you off by leaning down and pressing a hot, wet kiss on your lips, and you squeal at the public display.
"kuna..." you turn around the see if anyone is in the hallway to witness.
his laugh is deep and rich, and you can't help but watch the sparkling smile on his face.
"thank you," he mumbles, his smile fading as he becomes serious.
your face heats at his words, shoving the box and coffee in his hands. "just eat your lunch."
sukuna presses a final kiss on your forehead and turns around, returning to his office. "see you at home!"
you shake your head, laughing. "go to your own home, nerd!"
"sukuna, what are you doing here?" the smile in your voice doesn't go unnoticed. leaving the lab at 8pm was a drag, but it was necessary for your thesis, and sukuna knew its toll on you.
sukuna pushes off his car as you approach, his smirk laced with mischief. "picking you up," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
he meets you halfway, walks behind you, and takes your backpack off your back. you loll your head on your shoulder when he falls into step beside you. the streetlights are aglow, and you giggle at the orange tint on his hair.
"such a gentleman."
sukuna scoffs, swinging your bag onto his shoulder. "not the word i'd use."
"oh yeah?" you bump into his side, smiling smugly when he throws his arm over your shoulder. "and what word would you use?"
"whipped!" a voice calls from the car. your smile grows larger when you see sukuna's younger brother, yuuji, hanging out of the passenger seat window.
"yuuji!" you laugh, heart leaping in your chest. "when did you get back?"
after graduating highschool, yuuji and his two friends, megumi and nobara travelled around europe for a year and a half. you remember sending him off with a snack pack for the plane and a kiss on the forehead.
"this morning," the younger boy says, stepping out of the car. "been forcing sukuna to take me everywhere until i get my car fixed."
you embrace him in a hug. "i hope you had fun."
yuuji leans back—he used to be shorter than you, but now he's nearly as tall as his brother. "it was better than fun; i'll tell you all about it when we get home."
you glance at sukuna who's doing a great job of being silent, and get into his car when yuuji insists you get in the front.
sukuna never brought up the topic of your breakup to yuuji, it seems.
and on the way home, 'one way or another' plays through the speakers while the younger boy talks your ear off about his drunken nights in greece, and all the experiences that made him miss you (namely laundry and home cooking).
when you arrive back at sukuna's, you notice the disarray of the apartment.
you hear your name being called from the spare room, and your heart explodes, both in whose calling and the nostalgia of it all.
"here, i got you a few souvenirs," yuuji emerges from the room with a bag held out in front of him. "sorry i couldn't;t give them to you this morning, suk said you left early."
you have to stop the smile on your face from dropping at the last part. you know sukuna is standing in the kitchen a few feet away, watching you.
"yuuj!" you grab the bag, wrapping your arm around his torso in a side hug. "you didn't have to get me anything."
the younger boy rolls his eyes. "of course i did. before i left you said if i didn't bring you a miniature figure of all the sights i saw, you'd wash my whites with my reds."
the memory returns to you in a rush. "oh, yeah..."
yuuji's grin and pure excitement make you lead him to the couch. "put a movie on."
"yes, ma'am," he laughs. there's no doubt in your mind that he's putting on human earthworm 8.
while he's occupied, you glare at sukuna, who leans against the kitchen counter.
after you unwrapped all of your gifts, a generous collection of monumental landmarks, you excuse yourself.
shutting the door of sukuna's ensuite, you turn the light on and cover your face with your hands. you swallow and look at yourself in the mirror.
remnants of mascara have collected under your eyes, so you open the mirror to get your makeup remover out of the cupboard.
"have you eaten?—"
you spin around with a makeup pad under your eye, spying sukuna's face through the crack in the door.
you look back at yourself in the mirror, putting the cotton pad onto the counter. "i'll eat when i get home."
sukuna's deep sigh has you turning to him again.
"what?"
"you're not going home."
and when the door clicks closed, your temper reaches its limit.
"you did that on purpose," you scold, but the bite you intend is weak.
"fuck yeah i did," sukuna whispers. "i can't tell him, he loves you."
"ryomen—"
"don't start that again," sukuna snaps. "we've only been apart for two months."
you don't reply.
"hell," he throws his arm out to his right. "i slept over last week, you brought me lunch when i was at work! we haven't acted like we're apart anyway, and you know it."
you bite your lip. "we broke up," but the more you try to drill the fact into your mind, the less you believe it.
"what the fuck for?"
you scrunch your face up in confusion. "you know why."
sukuna throws his head back in exasperation. "we've moved past that now. i've gotten better."
"i know you have..." you mumble, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, not knowing what to say. though, when you think about it, why haven't you gotten back together?
"if yuuji can't tell we've broken up, then we must be doing something wrong."
tears line your waterline in frustration and sadness. "kuna..."
he sighs, running a hand down his face. he steps closer, softly placing his palms on your face. "please, baby."
you chew on your bottom lip, nodding softly.
sukuna uses his thumb to pull your lip out from between your teeth. "i love you, okay? i will get you back."
"you already have me," you laugh, a breath from the back of your throat, your hands grasping at his waist.
"damn straight."
"just stop leaving your shit everywhere and acting like a child in serious situations, and i'll move back in."
and when sukuna rolls his eyes (albeit lovingly) and opens his mouth to agree, you push yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss his mouth. he groans deeply and moves one of his hands from your face to the back of your head and the other to your back, pulling you closer.
"you guys done fucking in there? movie's on."
#have fun ladies babies & crazies#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen#jjk#jjk x reader#ex!sukuna#big brother!sukuna#sukuna#sukuna fluff#sukuna x fem!reader#sukuna x reader fluff#sukuna imagine#sukuna jjk#sukuna ryomen fluff#sukuna ryomen x fem!reader#sukuna ryomen x reader fluff#sukuna ryomen imagine#sukuna ryomen jjk#jjk fluff#jjk x reader fluff#jjk x fem!reader#jjk x female reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x yn#big brother au#big brother sukuna
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
justherefornothing1
JustHereForNothing
disneyfemslashcomics
Disney femslash comics
nimu-nimura
"Back then, I decided I'd destroy everything."
haydenchristensen-central
hayden christensen central
nimu-nimura
"Back then, I decided I'd destroy everything."