#this was much longer than i wanted it to be
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❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞
❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S YOUR THESIS ADVISOR !! ❞
✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (yuta x f!reader) (part six of the prof geto series)
✧ summary: just when you had moved on, suguru is back in your life as your thesis advisor, and what choice do you have but to deal -- deal with lingering feelings from your breakup, but also yuta's. and through this, you both find out what you all owe to each other.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, post breakup, dealing with exes, insecurity, semi-exhibitionism, desk sex, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, multiple orgasms, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, fanart by @ / kyrraen (pls go follow them, they are so talented)
✧ w/c: 25,305 | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
Suguru never had believed in fate before — before he met you.
And now it seemed fate had its own plans for the both of you — pulling you together, even when he had tried his best to push the two of you apart. Try he had, and in the end, you both ended up back where you had started — seated across from each other with a pile of papers littered with red pen.
Except now he himself had found himself littered with you — your tie pin you had given him, the way his fingers wanted to smooth your brow with a kiss as it furrowed while you flipped through your proposal, and how his heart felt whole from the moment you walked in the room. And he knew he would be littered with your marks all his life, more permanent than ink — and he would never be able rid himself of them.
Or of you.
When Yaga had come to him with the news, it was already too much to handle. He was being re-assigned to Tokyo to handle duties for both schools for a time — until someone stepped up to handle Kyoto. Yaga didn’t trust anyone else — and since Suguru had worked at Tokyo longer, it made sense to have him go back.
But then the question of you — the reminder came on the form of your email during their meeting — and you came into his world again the same way you did before — an email for a meeting. But it wasn’t for him.
Not yet at least.
It was hard to know what to do, or what you would want. Yaga could have you re-assigned, but the thesis you were working on was in Suguru’s specialty and he knew half the reason you had asked Yaga was to have a department head listed on your thesis. And to rob you of that wasn’t a choice he wanted to make for you.
He’s done enough of that to you. And he had done it for your future — and he would do this for your future, if you wanted him to.
You’re speechless when he breaks the news to you — as he expected you would be. But his surprise comes when you reply — he expected anger, frustration, a straight out refusal to work with him — but he did not get any of those — he only got quiet acceptance.
“Fine, should we stick to the same schedule that Yaga and I agreed to?” And Suguru takes a minute, leaning back in his chair, “what?”
“I just…I didn’t expect you to accept so readily,” he replies softly, choosing his words carefully, “in my email, I said you could take time to think about it or we could procure a different advisor—“
“Professor,” the word sticks in his chest like a right dagger that barely misses his heart, “out of everyone who works in this department I know you are the only one who is capable of pushing me to be my best, even when I don’t ask for it,” you add under your breath, “especially when I don’t ask for it,”
A hollow chuckle is stuck in his throat, “If you’re sure, it’s your choice,” and he’s looking for a few notes and edits he had written out for you for the schedule you sent along previously.
“It is my choice,” you echo, your eyes meet his, as he looks up from the papers strewn about the desk, “and I choose this,” and he knows all too well what you mean by your deliberate choice of words— and he did love you for your cutting tongue.
Even when it was used against him.
“If you do, then can you choose to come to my old office?” And you’re blinking, brow furrowing — and his cheeks burn, “I left your schedule there — I had a few notes regarding my own schedule,”
You raise an eyebrow, a flicker of a smart remark on the tip of your tongue that you seemingly swallow, as you gather the proposal into your bag, “let’s go,”
The walk over is in relative silence, the campus mostly quiet with the impending end of the semester at bay — as he forces his gaze forward, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous eyes from sneaking glances all the same. Why was it that he was a lighthouse and his eyes were spotlights only made to find your ship on the dark waves of the sea.
And you stop in your tracks, a glance at your face doesn’t give him the answer — but another face does.
“Yuta?” And he’s holding your lunch bag — the same one you insisted on taking with you, refusing to spend more money on the overpriced lunch on campus. And the realization hits him all at once, and he’s suddenly toppling headfirst into the waves.
“You forgot your lunch,” Yuta offers an awkward smile — and Suguru’s eyes find your face again, right before he goes under — the same soft look you gave him.
Used to give him.
And he lets the water overtake him.
~~~
“You forgot your lunch,”
And you never thought a rushed morning would lead to the most awkward moment of your life. Yuta glances between you and Suguru, as you step forward to take your lunch from his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, as if to ground yourself.
“Yuta, this is Professor Geto, he taught one of the classes I took and he’s taking over as my thesis advisor,” and you’re only lucky Suguru is able to tuck away emotions so easily, a polite smile on his lips as he offers his hand to Yuta, “this is Yuta, my boyfriend,”
You can’t meet Suguru’s gaze as you say it — but you wonder what you would find — hurt, anger, or nothing at all? And you couldn’t figure out which would hurt the most.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Suguru says, before shaking his hand, and Yuta nods.
“Likewise,” and Suguru turns to you, hands slipping into his pockets, while yours remained laced with Yuta’s — but how long ago would it had been intertwined in his? “On second thought, I’ll email you my edits to your thesis schedule, I’ll leave you both to the rest of your day,” he gives a stiff smile, before heading on his way.
And he knew this was a future of his own making — the consequences of his own actions.
He gives a bitter chuckle. Consequentialism — the morality is centered around creating the right consequences — and wasn’t it right? Right for you to be happy with someone your age? Right to be with someone who you can hold their hand and be with? Right to be with someone who can give you everything and anything you want?
“I understand the intention of consequentialism, but it just feels so pointless,” you had said while the two of you sat watching TV on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap, the comfortable warmth of your head resting on his shoulder.
“That’s not where I thought your mind was,” Suguru had chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but still he indulged, “the point is to get as much good as possible out of a decision correct? The most happiness?”
Your brow remained furrowed, “But the problem is the cost of it — it can come at the cost of your own happiness if it’s creating the right consequences,”
“That’s more utilitarianism—“ and you shrug.
“I understand it’s more complicated, but I don’t see the value in making decisions like that — doesn’t it defeat the purpose because you’re doing it for the outcome — without considering your feelings or the others? You’re nothing more than a happiness pump,”
And as he sneaks a glance back, watching you and Yuta stand there still, fingers still intertwined, his fingers squeeze the handle of his bag, is that why it feels so wrong?
He arrived back at his office, fingers turning the knob and finding an empty tomb — the walls stripped down to the bare, a thick layer of dust that clung to the surfaces, the couch he had in the corner of the room likely relocated to another office — that he thought he had finally left behind. But here he was again — right back where he started.
He dragged his finger through the dust on his desk. Was he nothing more than a happiness pump? Giving himself pain for the sake of others’ happiness — and was the outcome worth it? But he’s swallowing down his pain — a bitter consequence he had to take — because he knew — he would take any pain, if it meant you were happy.
And you were.
Right?
~~~
Yuta knew — he did even before he had started to date you. Or rather, he had suspected. But now he knew.
The first time he saw the two of you bump into each other, he knew because of the way Geto looked at you — and even the way you looked at him — the hurt flickering in your gaze, even when you refused to look at him.
Professor Geto has been much more than a professor to you — he was your boyfriend, the same one Yuta had envied for so many months. Only for him to be back in your life again. And he felt like he was right back to where he had started in your life again — a friend.
And there wasn’t a thing wrong with being your friend — but now that he was more than one, he knew he only wanted even more of you — and to give more of himself. If you would let him.
But when your fingers curled around his, ‘boyfriend’ slipping from your lips, assuaged his anxiety for a moment, but as he watched your eyes find the back of Geto’s head after he left, it all came back.
Your fingers squeeze his, “Thank you for bringing my lunch, Yu,” and it brings him back to the moment, and your face is so readable in this moment — as if to make up for the times he couldn’t make sense of you — searching for an indication that he knew, an implication of his emotions, a question unspoken to ask if he knew.
And he did.
“Of course, baby,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, and he wants to tell you he does, wants to ask you why you hid it, why you felt you couldn’t be honest, and why you look like you’re still as heartbroken as the day he ran into you outside this building, “I have to go, but I’ll see you later,” but he doesn’t ask.
“Yuta—“ but he’s only pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, fingers cupping his cheek.
“I love you,” and your lips curl into a small smile.
“I love you too,” and it was enough, he thought, as his fingers parted from yours, and he turned to leave.
It was enough, for now.
~~~
How do you tell someone something they already know? You snuck glances at your own boyfriend after dinner, as the two of you settled in to watch something to unwind. The day had gone by as expected, but the crawling anxiety only grew as more time passed, the words wanting nothing more than to leave your mouth.
Why was it you when you had so much to say you couldn’t say it? And now when you had to explain, no words could leave your lips?
God, how the fuck did you catch yourself in this mess? Your ex as your thesis advisor — was this karma for being unethical? A cruel consequence of the choices you made? Maybe fate? No, it wasn’t fate. Things were better without Suguru in your life, simpler and easier. And you were happy — but now this, this just had the potential to ruin everything.
But only if you let it.
And the longer you went without discussing this, the more damage it would be. It was a secret you had chosen to keep — you didn’t think it was pertinent, especially with Suguru in Kyoto. It was a detail you could spare, at least until after you graduated,
But now it couldn’t wait.
It was a piano hanging by a string that’s already snapped and it was on its last fibers, swinging back and forth, waiting to see whether you would push Yuta and yourself out of the way — or whether one or both of you would get crushed in the process.
The walk back to your apartment is an exercise in coping mechanisms to prevent panic or anxiety from settling fully into your skin, holding the string together with your arms seemingly, ready for it to tear you apart.
But it doesn’t.
“I have to talk to you,” you say once you and Yuta are sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under the other to prevent you from shaking it, or running away for that matter, “it’s nothing bad — well, I mean it’s not—“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head, “just know I love you, and that hasn’t changed—“
And his lips find yours, cutting off your frantic thoughts with a sweet kiss that only leaves you wanting more, but also leaves you with more questions than answers.
He pulls away, a small smile on his lips, “Breath “ and you sigh, taking a breath, “and I love you too,” your fingers interlace with his, “what is it?”
But you don’t even know where to begin, except at the point, “You know the ex that broke my heart before we dated?” And he’s nodding, “Professor Geto is—“
“Is your ex,” he finishes, and you knew he had figured out, but you hadn’t expected it to come out so matter-of-factly, “I had a feeling and this morning confirmed it,”
“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “after he moved, I never thought he would move back, much less become my thesis advisor,” you bury your face in your hands, “and I don’t want you to think I was hiding it. It’s just with the relationship being taboo, I didn’t think—“
“You were trying to protect yourself and your ex, it’s understandable,” he squeezes your hand, “you couldn’t have expected this to happen,”
And you’re lifting your gaze to his, “How are you so calm? How are you so…okay?”
He gives a sigh, “it’s hard, I’m trying to stay rational for you — for us,” you lean against him, “what are you going to do? About your thesis?”
“I think I’ll have to take Suguru as my advisor. I don’t have much of a choice,” you bite your lip, “I could take another, but no other professor has the same specialization as Yaga, except Geto, and I know he’ll give me good feedback,”
“But?” You rest your head in your hand.
“But having to spend that much time with my ex? Having to work on something so important to my career with him? Having to put you through that?” you feel more lost than when you began this conversation, “I don’t know what to do. I already agreed to it, but I think it’s only sinking in,” and you turn to him, “and then there’s you,”
“What about me?” and you shake your head.
“How can I put you through watching me spending hours with my ex over the next semester?” And Yuta shakes your head.
“A decision important to your future shouldn’t just be based on me, it should be about you,” and you purse your lips — another reason why Yuta was so sweet, as you lean against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck.
“I don’t deserve you,” he chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I’ll keep him as my advisor for now, but if you have a problem, please talk to me okay?” You lean back to look at him, “please?”
“Of course,” and his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, “and you always deserve me — because I chose you.” You kissed him, his arms curling around you, as you leaned into his touch — the one place that always felt safe.
And you didn’t know that he just hoped — you’d choose him too.
~~~
Fuck. How was it you found yourself before Professor Geto’s door yet again?
Winter break had flown by and now you found yourself back in the office you thought you had left behind not so long ago. Even if it felt like forever. You had spent your time split between working on your thesis, with the edits to your outline that Suguru had provided you, and with Yuta — who was more endlessly understanding than you could have hoped to imagine. And even today, as you headed off to meet Suguru in his office, he had nothing but soothing words for your nerves, sweet kisses, and a promise for a good meal when you got home.
You hovered before the door of his office — no matter what had happened throughout these months, why did it always feel as if you always ended up here? Pulled against your will into a rotation around him — one that would have you stuck into a constant push and pull — and just when you had let go of his grip, you were pulled back in. And as your fist hovered next to the door, bracing to knock, you weren’t sure if you were ready to fall back in.
But what you didn’t know as you stood before the door was that the man behind it was more anxious about this meeting than you were.
~~~
“You’re early,” Suguru glances up from his paperwork, his top of his pen pressed to the seam of his lips, “for once,”
Suguru himself had nearly been late this morning — ever the hypocrite, he supposed. He could barely sleep the night before, spent catching up on the work piled up for two department heads while the Kyoto campus makes potential temporary candidates jump through hoops. And then there was the other reason, his meeting with you — and all the complicated feelings he didn’t wish to entangle himself in. And yet he always fell deeper into your web, as if he didn’t willingly ensnare himself to begin with.
He didn’t even know Yaga was sick, but he had seen the change in him. The subtle differences in his demeanor, the bags around his eyes, and the creeping slowness that came with illness. But it still hit like a gut punch to hear it from his mouth, and for him to ask to take over duties for him was a double edged blade of honor and complication.
Yaga had given him the option to turn it down: to keep managing everything from Kyoto — but he accepted anyway — accepted because he knew that you’d be out of a thesis advisor. And he would be left unable to help from Kyoto with the in person role an advisor played.
And so he was here.
When he finally had gotten to lay down, eyes fixed on the familiar ceiling fan again — as he had managed to get his old apartment back by some miracle — and he hates how this place is a husk of itself without you here. But even with you here before him, his eyes snuck at glance at you, it somehow was worse being with you — when he was nothing to you. He could bear to not be your lover, but he couldn’t bear the weight of your hatred, or worse, your indifference.
You cross your arms, your laptop bag draped on your shoulder, “You’ll never let that go until one of us is dead will you?”
“That’s assuming we wouldn’t haunt the other,” he replies without missing a beat, as you take a seat across from him, eyes taking in his office. The same set up from before, if not a little less ostentatious and obnoxious — a few missing pictures and awards tucked away, the missing luxury sofa, and the lack of leather bound books lining shelves, instead minimally decorated with a few select titles — including What Do We Owe Each Other, prominently displayed.
“I have better things to do than haunt you,” you scoff, pulling out your laptop from your bag, “did you forget to finish unpacking?” And he doesn’t offer even a look up at your remark.
“No, just decided to take a certain person’s advice and try to take a less pretentious approach to my office,” his lips curled in that damnable wry smile of his, “plus not everything has been sent back from Kyoto yet,” and he leans forward, plucking your revised thesis outline from the neat piles lined up on his desk, “but my office decor isn’t why we’re here,” he flips through his notes on your draft, “the outline is in good shape, have you started on your draft?”
You pull a stapled stack out to slide to him, “I have fleshed out some of my main points and I wanted your thoughts before I dove further,” and he takes it before scanning through it, silent as he peruses the contents.
His eyes flit up, “You didn’t have to wait for my approval—“
“I know, but I value your opinion,” you grumble, eyes averted as you admit it, a graze of your teeth against the bottom of your lip. It draws a small smile from him, hidden away behind his closed fist pressed to his lips, “as my advisor,” you add, and he nods.
The meeting finished up with much else, as you slide your laptop and things back into your bag. And for the first time your eyes meet his.
“Have you been sleeping okay?” and he’s blinking a moment, as you continue, “you look tired. You should sleep more instead of working,”
He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“
“You have bags under your eyes, Professor,” you roll your eyes, “listen or don’t, but I rather my thesis isn’t re-assigned last minute because you ran yourself into the ground,” you say before turning to leave.
“I expect your next draft by the beginning of the next week,” and you pause, the click of the knob as you pull the door open.
“I’ll have it to you by the end of the week.” And you’re gone, door shutting behind you, and he leans back in his chair, a smile that he can’t quite hide on his lips.
Maybe he wasn’t quite nothing to you after all.
~~~
“I’m home, baby,” you say, as you walk in, the burden of the day still in the process of sliding off your back as you passed through the threshold of your apartment. You stripped yourself of your cost and your shoes, hanging your bag up, “Yu?”
You checked your phone with no text or call from him — he said he would be at your place, and that’s when you spot a familiar mop of black hair from the couch. Your lips curl as you round the couch, only to find him fast asleep, his work spread out around him. His first day back seemed as stressful as yours, and yet he hadn’t complained.
His bags were dark — a product of a bad night’s sleep — a running trend for today seemingly. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, knowing he wouldn’t wake simply by that, but you heard the quiet mumble of words you couldn’t catch. You glanced at the kitchen and found dinner prepped but not made. You smile softly, as you take the throw blanket and gently spread it over him, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and then rising to your feet.
You’re almost done cooking curry when Yuta stirs, the smell of the stewing beef and spices waking him, as he lifts his head, back of his hand rubbing his eye, while he glances at you with the other.
“Hey sleeping beauty,” your lips curl, doing a bad job of stifling your chuckle at the sight of his black hair askew, “dinner is almost ready,”
“Dinner? When did you get—“ and he picks up his phone to check the time, a small groan stuck in his throat, “why didn’t you wake me when you got home?”
“I would have,” you wipe off your hands, as you make your way to the living room, as Yuta swings his legs off the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face, “but you’re so cute when you’re sleeping,” and his cheeks flush an ever so subtle pink — even after this time together, it was so easy to fluster him, “plus, it looked like you needed it,”
Your hand brushes his cheek, and he’s leaning into your touch, your other hand running fingers through his hair to straighten it out, “I did,” he mumbles, “it was a long day,”
“Want to talk about it over some rice and curry?” and he bites his lip, before he leans in to press a sweet kiss to you, delighting in the desperate look he gives you when you drag your tongue teasingly against the seam of his lips only to pull away, “don’t pout,” you drag your thumb down his lips, “I’ll kiss you plenty after dinner,”
“Promise?” And you drag him to his feet and he’s walking to the bathroom as you’re opening cabinets to take plates out, only for his arms to wrap around your middle, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.
You chuckle, biting back the shiver that runs up your spine at the warmth of his touch, “what’s that for?”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, meeting your gaze with umbra eyes that has you lost in the only inky black sky you craved.
“Of course, Yu,” you murmur before his lips find yours again, and you just wished you could live in this moment, as he parted from your lips only to press another kiss to your cheek, but you supposed you could—
—For now at least.
“She’s what?” Maki stares at Yuta as he rubs the back of his head, her words nearly ringing out in the empty conference room, “she’s spending a bunch of time with her ex and you’re ok with it?”
Yuta has made a mistake — the mistake of being twenty minutes early to this student government meeting only to find Maki here alone, scrolling on her phone. Her eyes flitting up only for her to tilt her head and bark:
“Oi, what is it now?” And Yuta didn’t know if he liked being so seen by her.
Especially now that he was being judged for his decisions — or rather, raked over the coals for them.
Yuta purses his lips, “I’m not exactly okay with it, but I don’t know what to do. She has to work on her project with him — I guess, how could I object?” And how could he? Your omission made sense, you were only trying to protect your reputation— and your ex’s by extension. But it didn’t make it sting any less.
“Doesn’t she have another choice? Couldn’t she work with someone else?” Maki crosses her arms, eyes narrowed, as if she can detect the holes in his lies by pure reflex, “aren’t you worried she’ll go back to him?” And voices every worry almost if she’s ripped it from his mind itself.
“I am, she does have other choices, but I couldn’t be the one to make her choices for her—“
“But you couldn’t tell her how you felt about it?” Maki shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as if this conversation is giving her a headache — or more likely, he’s giving her a headache, “how do you feel?”
Yuta chews his lip, leaning on his arm on the table, “I don’t know, I understand it’s just a project — it’s something for her future — I don’t want to make things more complicated for us,” he mumbles.
“You mean for her—and for your relationship,” Maki crosses her arms, tilting her head, “Yuta, if you can’t be honest with her, what’s the point of this relationship?” And people start to file into the room for the meeting, so she hisses in a whisper, “you need to figure out what you want — and how to tell her how you’re feeling because it’s going to eat you alive or drive her into her ex’s arms — either way, you won’t be in this relationship,”
And on that bleak note, she gets to her feet to corral everyone into their seats, leaving him to simmer in her words. His phone lighting up nearly on cue with a text from you—
Can’t make the meeting this week, babe — Geto rescheduled my meeting with him this week for now, so I’m headed there
A hint of irritation pricks at him — it had to be today, during the only time that they had together at school?
Another message comes through.
I’ll see you at your place after the meeting - love you 💕
He locks his phone, tucking it away in his pocket — as Maki starts the meeting.
It was fine — he would see you at home. It didn’t matter — Geto had only these meetings, Yuta had much more of you. It was fine.
He forced his gaze forward, a gnawing dread in his stomach. Right?
“What do you mean it was expected?”
You were starting to remember the reason why you hated this man so vehemently when you first met him. His nearly smug expression made you want to leap across the desk and strangle him — though you knew the consequences of that action wouldn’t turn out well for you — nor the proximity for that matter, “what I wrote—“
“Is what others have written in papers time and time again,” he cuts you off, and you slump back in your chair, as you flip through the red inked comments he had so thoughtfully ripped apart your first few pages — the precise cuts and slashes enough for red ink to look like blood, “your thesis needs to be a unique take—”
“And now it isn’t unique enough?” you grumble, crossing your arms, as your cheeks burn, “soon you’ll be saying I’m rambling again,”
“No, I was able to rid you of that habit a while ago,” you glare at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “I would be concerned if you started to regress,”
“Well, at least it would only be academically,” the words spit like venom from your mouth without a thought, but the hurt that flickers across his face is one that seemingly has too much thought behind it, “sorry, that was inappropriate,”
“It’s fine,” the hurt is gone from his expression, as unreadable as it always was, “to get back to our discussion, I know you want this paper to be published by journals, and in order to do that, you need to have a perspective that hasn’t been explored before—at least not fully. Your outline reflects that, but your paper is regurgitating ideas that you’ve read,” he’s handing you a list of papers and books, with some noted passages, “read some of these materials, it might help give you some ideas to rework your paper,” and then he adds, “and you knew I’d say this,”
You knit your brow together, “What?”
He leans against his arm propped against the top of his desk, “Why else would you want me to see if you were going in the right direction? You always have an idea what you want to write, of where you want your paper to go — and you never wanted my greenlight for a long time now,”
You hate how he can still see right through you — you hate how easily he can pinpoint your problem without you uttering a helpful word. Even before, it always felt as if he was the only one who saw you, without you having to explain a single thing.
“You’re right,” and he hated how right he was, “I wasn’t sure where I was going,” this thesis had been weighing on your mind day and night, pricking at your nerves each time you stared at the blinking cursor of the document, “I still don’t,”
Suguru murmurs your name softly, his gaze as gentle as it always has been for you, a part of you hoped — only for you, “As I’ve always said, the only reason why I push you is because I know you can do more. This thesis would be outstanding for many scholars, but I know you can do more,” he tilts his head, small smile on his lips, “and I know you still can,”
“What if I can’t?” The question slips out before you can even think it, and he raises an eyebrow.
“There is no ‘what if,’ I know you can do it,” and you bite your lip, “i don’t have any doubts,”
“Not even one?” You reply, an eyebrow quirked.
“Not when it comes to you,” and he said just what you wanted to hear, but you hated it all the more — because how did he know you so well? How did he know you so well and yet not know to talk to you before breaking your heart?
But it didn’t matter now. And you couldn’t trudge up these feelings now, or maybe ever.
“I’ll read these materials and rework it,” and you begin to collect your things all the while, getting to your feet.
“Good,” and you catch sight of his smile in the reflection of your phone, “it’s what you owe yourself.”
And your eyes meet his for a moment, so why couldn’t he give you what he owed you before?
“Thank you, Professor.”
“I’m back,” you call out in Yuta’s apartment, tucking your keys away into your bag, as you slip your shoes off and shrugging off your jacket, but you hear nothing in response, “Yuta?” But not a sound — no quiet voices of the TV, the clatter of dishes and utensils in the kitchen, and no sign of him in the bedroom either.
You check your phone, as you sit on the edge of the bed, creaking under your weight, and you see his text: sorry baby, Maki took the group out for dinner after, you’re free to join us. And the address is sent underneath.
But the text was well over twenty minutes ago, and it would take you longer to get there — which meant dinner would nearly be over. You laid back on his bed on your side, typing a reply.
Sorry Yu, just saw this :(. I’ll come next time. I’ll make something up fast and probably lie down. I’ll see you at home.
You curl up on the bed, placing your phone down with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Your nose turned into his sheets, Yuta’s scent flooding your senses, and you could nearly feel his arms around you. Almost.
God, you missed him — especially you two just kept missing each other like this — and it made it all the more important you stayed awake.
Your eyes flutter open, the sweet siren of sleep growing all the more tempting, a late lunch sitting like stones in your stomach and the need for the sandman’s relief growing headier.
And before you knew it, your legs were tucked under the comforter and your eyes succumbed to their own weight.
Your soft breaths filled the silence of the apartment, and even as Yuta came in an hour or so later, only to find you sprawled out messily in his bed, phone still in your hand, did he chuckle. His hands are gentle as he guides you into a normal position for sleep that wouldn’t fuck over your back, putting your phone on charge, and pressing a kiss to your forehead.
And as he leaves the room to shower, not hearing the quiet murmur of his name leaving your lips.
“You have to try a little,” you’re nearly waving your ice cream cone in front of Yuta’s face, soft serve dripping onto the pavement, and the soft pink swirl threatening to topple over in front of your eyes, but the risk of losing your beloved ice cream was not as important as advocating for it, “c’mon it’s so good—”
“Baby, the ice cream is supposed to be your treat for all the progress you’ve made on your thesis, not a taste test, and I have my own flavor—” but as the ice cream hovers in front of his face, Yuta tastes it — the subtle sakura flavor lingering on his tongue, “it’s good,” he concedes, “but not as good as my matcha,”
It had been a lot to tear you away from your work — it had been weeks in the making of trying to get you to take a break that wasn’t you falling asleep on the couch with your laptop and notes strewn about or a mindless TV break. And the times you both were supposed to have together often ended with one of you being busy or falling asleep. He barely remembered the last time the two of you had spent together that didn’t involve takeout or the couch.
You pout, “Sakura is so much better,” you grumble, licking at your ice cream, trying to stem the excess melting off the sides of your waffle cone, and he chuckles, as a little of your ice cream sticks to your nose.
“More for you then right?” he’s pulling a tissue out to wipe your nose and lips before kissing them, “Mm, it’s sweeter on your lips,” and he knows your cheeks are burning as you avert your eyes, biting your lip.
“You’re the worst,” and he laughs, as he wraps his arm around your middle, “but I’ll say you’re right about today. This date was definitely needed,” you lean into his touch, still working on your ice cream, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,”
“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not just you that’s busy—”
“I know, but it’s mostly been me,” your eyes find his, and he wavers under your glance, “I know we haven’t had a lot of time together, and I promise, it’s only going to last a little longer, once I’m done with my thesis I’m all yours,”
And it’s hard for him to believe that — but he tries, because he knows you are.
“I know,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “I’m just glad we got to do this today, I just feel like we keep missing each other, and it just…it’s been bothering me,”
And you kiss his jaw, before softly smiling, “You’re not alone,” and his lips find yours again, and again, ice cream starting to run down his fingers and palm, but he could care less about anything else but you at this moment, “You’re gonna make me drop my ice cream,”
“I’ll buy you another,” and you laugh, kissing him this time, and he melts just like the ice cream into your grasp, your arms wrapped around him tight, “now who’s making our ice cream melt?”
“You said you’d buy me another anyway,” you nuzzle his neck, “plus I have to leave space to eat you up later,” and you giggle as his cheeks burn, “you blush so easily still, thought you would be used to my teasing by now,”
“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, still feels like a dream,” you pinch his cheek in reply, a smirk on your lips, as you kiss the skin that you pinched.
“Now, it’s not a dream, is it?” And right as your lips were about to meet his again—
RING. RING. RING.
Your brow furrows as you ignore it at first, before a sigh catches in your throat, “hold on—“ you check your messages, your brow furrowing, “fuck,” you swear under your breath.
“What’s wrong?” And you’re tossing your ice cream in a nearby trash can, wiping your hand with one of the tissues the ice cream place had handed you, before texting back.
“Geto wants to meet today about my thesis. Apparently some departmental meetings got pushed around, and today is the only day he can meet in person—“
“Do you have to—“ and you’re shaking your head in exasperation, burying your face in your hands.
“I have no choice. It’s the only time until a week and half from now, and I can’t wait to get this feedback, otherwise it will throw off my entire schedule—“
“But this is the only time we can meet,” he cuts you off, voice catching on the words, as his tongue is caught between holding it and wagging it, “I miss you, baby, we haven’t seen each other in weeks because of our schedules, because of your thesis—“ because of him, “when will our relationship take priority? When will I be important enough to matter?”
“Yuta,” your voice breaks, “of course you matter to me—“ and your phone vibrates again, cutting you off, and he takes a beat and a breath. He swallows thickly, this wasn’t the right time for this.
But when would it be?
“Go,” he says, and your eyebrows knit together, lips parting to refuse, “I’m okay, really. We’ll talk when you get home,” but he’s stepping towards you, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “promise, we’re ok. Just go. I’ll call you.”
“You sure?” He wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if he should let you go or stand his ground — but, his fingers cupped your cheek, and kissed your lips — but he was sure that he loved you.
“I’m sure,” and he wanted what was best for you — and he watches you leave after you say your farewells — even if it wasn’t best for him.
You shouldn’t have agreed to this.
Agreed to take this meeting over your date. Agreed to meet in the lecture hall instead of his office. Agreed to have him as your thesis advisor. Agreed to even take a course with him to begin with. You were several steps too close to regret being born, but your real mistake was ever pursuing this man to begin with.
That was your mistake — and now you are reaping what you sow.
Literally.
“Your lecture was compelling — I have so much to learn from you,” you stood outside his lecture hall as students filed out quicker than usual, without the typical quorum that formed after every one of his classes — only to find the reason that a single person commanded his attention, “I didn’t realize how wonderfully interesting philosophy could be as a topic,” her voice already grates on your ears, the elongated syllables of her words nearly enough for you to roll your eyes into the back of your head so far that you were they would get stuck.
“It’s a fine line between interesting and dry, I’m glad I could walk it for you, Mei Mei,” and you could hear the smile in his tone, the saccharine sweetness enough for you to choke on and die of excess sugar, but unfortunately you don’t, so you have to hear the rest of this conversation.
“I’m so glad I took Satoru’s advice to see your lecture, it was definitely eye opening,” and you furrow your brow, “he’s been asking me about you — he told me if I stopped by to have you call him,”
You purse your lips — Satoru?
A sigh in his voice as he speaks “He sent a real messenger this time? I get his texts, I have been really busy with my duties—“
“You know what they say — about all work and no play?” You hear the click of heels against the floor, as she assuredly steps closer, “maybe I can help you with the play—“
You knock on the door then, hand possessed, as you spot the woman with whom the voice belonged — her long silver locks tied into a braid that hung past her shoulders, her dark eyes finding yours and brow arched in curiosity, and wine stained lips curled.
“Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but our meeting?” Your voice was laced with irritation you didn't intend to have, “I have a class after this, so unless you’d like to reschedule?”
Suguru’s lips part, only for Mei Mei to speak first, “I’m sorry about that — that’s my fault — old friends you know?” Her head tilts, as if to say, no, I know you don’t know, “and you are one of Suguru’s little students?”
“I’m his former T.A. and he is my thesis advisor,” and his girlfriend, you want to add — ex girlfriend, rather, but the words are as taboo as your feelings are, “I’m sure Professor Geto wouldn’t mind speaking to you after our meeting if you could wait,”
And again Suguru opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off again, “Oh I wouldn’t mind waiting at all, not for him,” she walks past, “I’ll wait for you in your office, Suguru,” and you have to force your expression to be neutral, a knot in your gut, and a fist clenched and hidden around the handle of your bag, “I’ll make myself comfortable,”
The lecture hall door closes behind her, the click of the door brings silence between the two of you, “I apologize if—“
“No, I should be sorry for interrupting,” you cut him off, your throat tied into knots, a distinct dull ache in your chest that surely shouldn’t belong to you — not after all of this, “I should have just rescheduled—“
“No, I’m glad you interrupted,” he says, “we have an appointment and she really is only a—“
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Professor,” and the title seems to cut this time, slicing through his mask, fraying his calm demeanor and leaving behind a deep frown, “it’s your business, not mine,” not anymore.
His mouth opens and close, before he speaks, “Maybe not as a professor,” he says softly, taking a step forward, “but I think I do as your—“
“I’m not ‘your’ anything—“ you interrupt him, taking a step back, “I’m only a student, and your advisee, nothing else, Professor Geto,” you’re turning to leave, “let’s reschedule after all, I have somewhere to be,”
You had to be somewhere that wasn’t here — here with dredged up emotions that had no right belonging to you. Ones that you thought you had moved past, ones that shouldn’t hurt you the way they do now, and ones that you don’t know how to stop from spilling from your lips.
“You’re not just—“
“Did you hear that she would wait for you?” you don’t turn to look back at him, “I wish you could have done the same,” you give him a second, one second longer than he gave you when he broke up with you, to reply, but he says nothing, “I’ll email you a few times to meet next week, just send me any edits you have on my pages.”
The door clicks behind you as you leave the classroom behind, wondering if you had ever rid yourself of your feelings, or if you had simply buried it—
And now, you are starting to unearth it — and your world may crumble underneath you along with it.
There was something wrong with him.
But there always was — when it came to you.
Suguru stared at the email you had sent later that week, opting to skip the in person meeting again for the third week in a row. The semester was over half over — and now the other department head had started in Kyoto, so he had a little more free time — and yet he couldn’t use it to help you, at least not really.
Your thesis was shaping up — you were on the right track now, and he knew your paper would need little edits before being submitted for peer review. And when it did, a journal would be lucky to publish it. By that standard, he could take a more hands off approach — but he never wanted to be hands off, not with you.
He wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms, fingers trace the curve of your cheek as he’s done countless times before, and press a kiss to those lips that consume his consciousness.
But he couldn’t.
Not when he was the one who had broken your heart, when you had managed to piece it back together, and when you had found happiness with someone else.
Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do.
Mei Mei was an unforeseen complication — a donor that made some generous investments in the university — trivial with the amount of wealth she possessed, mostly due to Satoru’s convincing. And Satoru was the reason she had decided to sit in on his class — and he was stuck entertaining her, while his best friend was away on his sabbatical. And he couldn’t resist an opportunity to fuck with him while he was away — his apparent revenge after Suguru had avoided his texts.
And your reaction was—not what he expected. He pursed his lips, you were jealous right? That’s what you seemed to imply with your words — as if Mei Mei was a friend he would be interested in. The pot calling the kettle black — when you were the one to move on first. A sigh caught in his throat, not that he had any right to complain. Not when it was his fault.
But when the only person he was truly in love with was in front of him — the pain in your gaze as fresh as it was the day he had broken up with you — it was hard to hold back, especially when he wanted nothing more than to—
And then there was a knock at his door, “it’s me,” your voice came through the wood, his eyes sliding to the time, it was late into the evening, “can I come in?”
“Yes, come in,”
“I apologize, I just had a few questions I wasn’t able to ask over email, and since I was on campus, I thought—“
He shakes his head, your rambles still as endearing as they always were — though you had kicked the habit in your papers, you couldn’t help but ramble in the way you spoke, “No need to explain, what can I help you with?”
You lean back, hands folded in your lap, “Do you remember when we discussed the concept of a happiness pump as a criticism of utilitarianism?”
“Yes, in class, we discussed it — the idea of someone who will do anything to make others happy, even if it makes them miserable,” he tilts his head, as he leans back in his chair, eyes betraying him as he watches your dress ride up ever so slightly as you cross your legs — he forces his gaze to your face, “do you plan on using it in your thesis—“
Your eyes could cut stone with its biting glare, “No, I don’t, I wanted to talk about it in context of why you broke up with me — do you plan on being a happiness pump for the rest of your life? Or is that simply for me?”
His mind moves slowly as his words do, “what—“
“Because it’s only for me, it’s flattering — if it’s what you do for everyone, well, it’s just exhausting,” you scoff, twirling a strand of your hair with your finger, “especially when your idea of what will make others happy is so misled,”
“And how’s that?” He says through gritted teeth.
And you’re rising from your chair, “You think my happiness means to make yourself miserable, when it does nothing more than make me unhappy,” you’re rounding the desk, fingertips dragging over the edge of the surface, “do you want to spend the rest of your life miserable? Do you think that girlfriend of yours will make you happy?”
“She’s not—“ and your heels clicking against the wood cuts him off.
And you’re only drawing closer and closer, and he can’t bring himself to speak — words caught in his throat because he knew anything he uttered would break this spell, and he wanted nothing more than to succumb, “pumped full of unhappiness when it could very well be the opposite—“ and your hand is sliding up his chest, toying with the top buttons of his button-up, lips ghosting his ear as you whisper, “when you know I know exactly how to pump you, don’t I?”
“Sweetheart, please, we can’t—“ and your fingers finding the buckle of his belt, a gasp lodged in his throat, as your hand grazes his tenting bulge, twitching against your thumb as it runs over the clothed tip, “fuck—“
“We could be so happy, like before,” your lips brush against his, and he crumbles under your touch — his resistance crumbles like a statue made to wait, and god, he’s waited so long for this — too long.
His lips find yours in a bruising kiss, the way he’s wanted to since he had watched you leave that day — the way he should have, the way he should have grabbed your hand and stopped you, pulled you into his arms, and never let you go.
And he never would again.
BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.
Suguru jolts awake at the sound of his phone, a paper stuck to his face, drool sticky at the corner of his mouth. He tugs the paper away, rubbing his eyes, as his heart slowly retracts from his throat.
A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back in his chair, what the fuck was he doing? Sleeping at his desk again accompanied by wet dreams of you — he thought he had grown from this. But you always sent him right back where he started, his eyes falling to the bulge in his pants. He ignores it, gathering his things and tracing the edge of his desk as he rounded it to leave his office. He took a look over his shoulder at his office that he spent so much time with, he was sure of one thing — he flicked off the light — you would be the one to haunt him.
For the rest of his days.
“Baby, aren’t you gonna get up now?” Yuta murmurs in your ear, pressing sweet kisses to the skin behind it, fingers resting against the nape of your neck, “you said you have to practice for your thesis presentation,”
You mumbled, burying your face in his neck, as the two of you lie entangled on the couch for your mid afternoon Saturday nap, “a few more minutes,”
The semester had been going by far too quick, days slipping into weeks, and now there was just over a month left in the semester. And soon you’d be graduating — his fingers raked gently through your hair — and he didn’t exactly know what that meant for the two of you.
He still has a year left in his program, and you were going to be moving on — though you weren’t sure exactly where. And he would be here — but what then? Would it be a long distance relationship ? Would you look for opportunities here? Or would it be something else?
He didn’t want to think about other possibilities.
So many of his friends had warned him not to date while in grad school — that it would only end in heartbreak, and the more significant fact that it would always end. Your face nuzzled into his neck, warm breath still warming his skin, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head — and he never wanted to be apart, not from you.
“Baby,” you mumble, “what time is it?” And he can’t help but smile at you, as he reaches for his phone.
“It’s almost four-thirty,” and you groan softly, wrapping your arms around him tighter, “you still have time before you have to go practice don’t you?”
“No, I reserved the classroom until seven, if I don’t go now, I won’t have enough time to practice,” you kiss his neck, “I have to get as much practice in this month before doing my defense,” You untangle your limbs from his and haul yourself to your feet, his body already mourning the absence of your heat. He watches you make your way to the bedroom to change, the door still open as you strip your shirt off.
His gaze admires you as you do, shifting to sitting up, his chin leaning against the back of the couch, “When is your defense again?”
“It’s in three weeks,” you sigh, as you tug a shirt over your head, “I’m so nervous, I have to start practicing now or I’ll drive myself insane,” and you’re stripping off your shorts in exchange for some jeans, “my advisor, many of my professors, students from the department, and maybe some undergrads might attend,” you turn, as you finish changing, catching his admiring gaze with a slight smirk, “and unlike you, they won’t just be interested in staring at me,”
“I think some of them definitely will,” he smiles, and you walk over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips, “at least, I’ll be, if you let me,”
Your lips curl, “Oh yeah? I think I’ll be distracted if you keep giving me this puppy dog look, baby,” you kiss his nose, “might make me walk over in the middle of the defense and kiss you,”
A soft chuckle leaves his throat, “That would cause a scene, but I could also be some moral support — a friendly face,”
“More than friendly, you’re selling yourself short, Yu,” you kiss him again, and he can taste the lingering salt and butter of the popcorn you two had ate earlier during your afternoon movie turned nap time, “but I think having you there would make me more nervous, so is it okay if we just have dinner to celebrate or cheer me up after?”
His brows knit together, “You don’t want me there?” but Geto gets to be there? The unspoken feelings he can’t find in him to voice, the words lodged in his chest, ricocheting off his ribs if only to free themselves from his anxious heart to spill from his lips — but they don’t.
“I do, Yu, of course, but I think having you there will just make me more nervous, I’ll just keep looking at you instead of addressing the whole audience, and…” you bite your lip, “with Professor Geto already having to be there, I think I would spend the whole time worrying about the two of you together than about my defense,”
And his heart sinks — your ex gets to be there, but he doesn’t? At one of your most important moments? He knows logically the only reason you ask because you can’t ask Geto — but it doesn’t hurt any less. Does he always have to be the nice one? The mature one? Couldn’t he argue with you?
No, but he could ask.
“Do you think I’ll make a scene or that he’ll—“ and you’re shaking your head, your fingers cupping his cheek.
“Of course not. I know you would do nothing but support me, but still forcing you two of be in the room together,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “even if you say it’s okay, I know it’s still hard,” his lips part, but you add, “and it would be awkward for me too. And I can’t do anything about Geto, but I can ask you,”
You could always ask him. He would do anything for you — but did his feelings matter as much to you?
“Of course, I understand,” your lips curl, and you’re pulling him into a hug, you rake your fingers through his hair.
“Are you sure?” You murmur, pressing your forehead to his, “you can tell me if you’re not okay with it,”
He could tell you that he’s not — he could tell you that it’s important for him to come, for everyone to see that he was important to you, for him to see that he was important. But it wasn’t about him. This was your defense, shouldn’t you have a right to have who you want there?
Even if it wasn’t him.
“It’s fine baby, I just want to support you,” he kisses your lips, “but I’ll plan something special for after you pass your defense — because I know you will,”
You kiss him again, softer and fuller this time, as your fingers run down his cheek, “You don’t have to plan anything — I just want you, and maybe some food,” and he chuckles, as you place butterfly kisses all over his face, “I love you,”
And he knew you did — you loved him — and that was enough, right?
“I love you too,” and you’re pulling away, as you pull on your shoes and grab your bag.
“I’ll be home by eight, should I grab dinner?” and he leans back on the couch, nodding, “I’ll see you when I get home okay?”
And he was the one you always came home to — the one you wanted to come home to — and that was enough.
“See you soon, baby.”
For now.
You enter the lecture hall, the door closing behind you with a click that rings in the silence.
Of course.
Of course you ended up with the lecture hall you had with Suguru’s class. You round the podium at the bottom, and give a terse chuckle, how had it been so long but so little time? How many days had you watched him lecture here — only to end up falling for him after? Even despite how much you hated him — it was so easy.
And still so hard.
You set up your phone to record yourself, if only so you could fine tune your presentation, and see any spots that you struggle. You prop it up, making sure it’s framed correctly on the desk directly in front of you. You run through your presentation once, noting spots for improvements or thoughts for potential questions people could pose during your defense.
You flipped through a few pages of your notes — wondering how this semester had flown by.
The rest of your thesis was completed over email — brief email exchanges and your thoughts exchanged through notes scrawled on the pages he scanned to you. It was better this way — you didn’t have to see him. You didn’t have to see the smile on his lips that you didn’t put there, a stray lipstick mark on his collar that you didn’t stain, or the happiness in his voice that you didn’t cause.
No, you didn’t need to see that.
But you didn’t know why.
Why did the idea of him moving on irk you when you had already moved on? You weren’t vindictive — your fingers drumming against the podium — you wanted him to be happy, to find someone who made him happy — maybe in all the ways you couldn’t. But the stubborn thought remained — the same one that kept you up crying every night after he broke your heart and haunted you even in your happiest of nights — that he could have had it all with you — but he didn’t. And now here you both were, fake smiles plastered in front of each other whenever your paths crossed, as if those lips hadn’t murmured ‘I love you’ before in the quiet of the night.
But why did it matter? You were happy with Yuta, you had moved on, and yet — when you saw Suguru with her, it felt as if the stitches holding your heart together had come undone, and you were back — right where you started.
But it didn’t matter. Either way the thesis was complete, and now all that was left in front of you was the defense, then you would be done — with this project, with your degree, and with Suguru.
But would you ever be done with him?
There was a knock at the door, and you turn only to find Suguru leaning against the frame, “Sorry to interrupt,”
Apparently you would never be.
Your shock lasts a moment, before your eyes flicker back to your stack of papers, “Do you need something?” The question comes more bitingly than you intended, but you don’t bother to gauge his reaction, focusing on mindlessly rifling through your presentation.
“I forgot my notes for tomorrow’s class,” he says, quiet steps ringing in the silence of the lecture hall, “didn’t mean to interrupt,” and you’re gathering your notes, catching a glimpse before you step back from the podium, “are you practicing for your defense?”
“I am,” your answer is as terse as your emails, eyes fixed anywhere but where Suguru stood, as he pulled his file from one of the shelves inside the podium.
“Do you need any help?” He asks, and you almost want to ask: ‘haven’t you helped me enough?’ But you don’t, only shaking your head in reply. The silence drags on for far too long, “can we talk?”
Your muscles tense, a bow drawn taut for an argument, but you would draw blood first, “What is there to talk about, Professor—“
His calm facade cracks, irritation seeping in like poison through the fractures,“You don’t need to call me that—“
“I do,” you cut him off, “because that’s what you are. My professor. Nothing more,” and it’s a line in the sand you’ve drawn since you’ve met again, one he hasn’t dared to toe, much less cross, until now.
His voice is broken, “We were so much more,” yes, you both were. He was everything to you as you were to him — but that was before. And this was now.
“Operative words are key, Professor — ‘were’ is past tense,”
“But we’re here now, aren’t we? How long are we going to avoid discussing this?”
You scoff, “am I the one who avoided it? Do I have to discuss it now on your terms — when you didn’t even give me a chance to make my own decisions before?” Your fingers curl into fists, “you broke me, you broke me and now you come back wanting to talk as if you didn’t do the breaking to begin with? You don’t get to come back when I’m fixed,” the bottled emotions burst at the seams of its lid, the contents more vile than when they were placed inside, resentment fermented into rage.
“I know,” he says softly, “I’m not trying to come back, not if that’s what you don’t want. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I left you. I thought it was the best for you—“
“Because you know better than I do?” You give a bitter chuckle, “do you know infantilizing it is to have someone make your decisions for you? I know what I wanted, Suguru, and I would have chosen you, every time—“
“That was the problem,” he cuts you off, “I wanted you to choose yourself,”
“Do you not understand that choosing you is choosing myself too? Because it would have been a choice for me, for us, for us to be happy,”
And those words seem to sink in the silence, his eyes averting from yours, a hand scrubbing down his face.
“You’re right,” he finally says, “I’m sorry,” his words are quiet, but heavy — a rock sinking slightly into near still waters, “I wanted you to have everything, but I didn’t take into consideration what that meant to you,” he says, “I suppose I didn’t consider what I owe you,” he adds, and you shake your head, a small smile on your lips.
“Shut up,” a chuckle leaves your lips despite yourself, cooling the white hot anger to warm wistfulness, “I wish it could have worked out,” and he nods, a small frown on his lips.
“Me too,”
“But maybe it was for the best,” and his eyes find yours, as you step back to the podium to place your papers down, “it was never going to work between us. It was already too complicated to begin with, and when we finally got together, there was a time limit,” you find his gaze again, unreadable, “maybe it was for the best we moved on,” he doesn’t reply, “I should get back to work,”
He nods, as he turns to leave, casting a glance back over his shoulder, “Let me know if you need help with anything. Practice or otherwise, has the final formatting of your thesis been approved?”
“It hasn’t yet, but I believe I followed the guidelines correctly, so there shouldn’t be an issue,” you say, and he nods, as the door clicks open, as he turns the handle, “thank you again, for everything,” and there’s far too much that can encompass everything that he did even in that word, but you meant it all the same. Everything he did had led you to this moment, and you would never be ungrateful for the impact he had.
“Of course, I’ll always be there for you, anytime,” his eyes find yours, lips curled in a wanting smile that wishes to say more, “even when I actually do move on.”
And he’s gone in a moment, the door shutting behind him, as your gaze is fixed on the place he just stood — lips parted.
What?
“Professor,” you stop him, fingers reaching for him, even as you promised you wouldn’t — wouldn’t put yourself here again, wouldn’t find yourself falling into his grasp again, but here you were again — you never learned your lesson. But you wondered if that made you a bad student or him a bad professor, “what do you mean?”
He’s turning only for your hand to grasp onto the sleeve of his jacket, your name leaving his lips but you cut him off.
The question wavers on your lips, “Are you not with—“
“No, I’m not. She’s just a friend, like I said,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I know it’s ironic for me to be the one to break up with you, and not have moved on, but, I haven’t,” his fingers brush against your own holding his jacket, before slowly intertwining, “I don’t know if I ever will,”
“Well, some philosophers believe in endurantism — the past is dead, and we live here and now — we can’t do anything about what happened then — we’re whole right now, and not defined by what happened then, or what happens in the future,” your fingers squeeze his, “if we let this go, we could just exist now — the past erased and the future unclear — but we’re no less whole, are we?” your fingers slowly let go of his — but his don’t. He only clings to your fingers still, stubbornly laced.
“Perhaps you aren’t,” and he’s gently tugging you closer, you don’t find yourself resisting, but instead leaning into his touch, “but I always find myself clinging to my past — when you’re contained within it,” he lifts your hand to his lips, “what future do I have without you?” He presses a soft kiss that steals your logic, “and what present is worth being in that I don’t get to spend at your side?”
“Suguru—“ and he sighs, as draws closer to you, breath warming your lips.
“Been so long since I’ve heard you say my name,” his lips ghost your jaw, barely not brushing against it, “my name doesn’t sound the same unless it’s leaving your lips,”
“We shouldn’t,” but even so, the back of his hand lightly drags against your why shouldn’t you? Not when it felt so good, not when it felt this right, and your lips graze his, “Suguru,” you’re murmuring, the faint lingering taste of coffee on his lips, “fuck—“
RING. RING. RING.
Your eyes flutter open to find yourself in bed alone, your hand reaching beside you only to find more of your blanket and more pillows beside you, as it dawns on you.
A dream. Of course. A sigh stuck in your throat — no, you had watched him leave that night without another word, even though you had so many to say, but none at all. And even now, you didn’t know what to say — to Suguru, to yourself, or to Yuta.
So you said nothing. And instead, you’re left with an aching in your chest as you grab your phone to find a text from Yuta—
Had to go in early today— I’ll see you for dinner, baby
You lock your screen and place your phone on the nightstand, before turning back around to bury yourself in bed — as if staying in bed would bury your feelings along with yourself—
Because that’s not whose text you wanted to see.
“You’re home,” Yuta says when he walks through the door to find you lying on the couch and scrolling on your phone.
“No ‘hi you’re home?’” And Yuta snorts, as he strips off his clothes, and walks in to place a kiss on your lips, burying his face in the crook of your neck, drawing a giggle from your lips, “I missed you too,”
“I thought you were going to practice today. Your defense is the day after tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d get to see you out of a classroom until tomorrow evening when it was done,” you run your fingers through his dark locks, “thought I’d have to pry you away from your notecards,”
“Ha, ha,” you kiss his cheek, brushing your nose against it, “I thought it would be good to take a break tomorrow, and I’m just exhausted after all the practice I did tonight,” you sigh, and he’s on the couch beside you, wrapping his arms around your middle, “this seems like a much better use of my time,” you settle into his arms, “how was your day?”
Yuta shrugs, kissing your shoulder, “Better now,” and you chuckle, rumbling against his skin, sending a shiver up his spine as you lean over, his cheeks a pretty flush that only makes your lips curl, “it’s been too long since we got time like this. I don’t even know where to start,” he nuzzled the side of your face.
You turn your head to kiss him fully, lips sliding against his, voice a quiet murmur, “then let’s make our time count,” your sweet kiss grows deeper, your tongue at the seam of his lips that he parts for you. You swallow his moan with a smirk on your lips, your body moving against his slowly, his tenting erection catching on your clit through the far too thin material of your shorts.
“Fuck,” you murmur, as you slowly begin to grind on his bulge, the delicious friction too much for him as well, head lolling back against the couch, “Yu, s’good,”
“Mm,” Yuta parts from your lips, panting as your lips press eager kisses down his neck, a desperation he hadn’t sensed before from you, “baby, slow down,” and you almost don’t seem to hear him, as your fingers find their way between your bodies to touch him through his joggers, “ngh, you don’t need to—“
But you seemingly do, as your thumb flicks against the tip, a soft hiss escapes his lips, “like that, pretty boy?” You’re murmuring in his ear, “gonna make you feel so good, because you’re s’good f’me,”
And you’re slipping his joggers and boxers down to free his cock, stroking him from base to tip, lovely beads of precum dripping down his length and your knuckles.
“Fuck,” he’s covering his face with his hand, his fingers grasping at your hips, before eager fingers slide between your thighs and underneath your underwear, drawing a lovely gasp from your lips, “wanna make you feel good too, baby,” as his fingers circle your dripping entrance teasingly, a smirk on his lips, as he sinks one then two fingers in knuckle deep—
“Yu—“ your hand stills for a moment as his fingers work their way against your drenched insides, “fuck—“ and you’re melting into his arms — and maybe this was just what you both needed.
“This was so nice,” you mumble against his chest later, pressing soft kisses against his skin as the two of you laid entangled in the afterglow, “it’s been too long,”
He hums, “It was perfect,” his fingers skim down your cheek, “you know we could have this every day,” and you chuckle, the corner of your lips curled mischievously.
“Do you have the stamina for that?” you tease, painting a heated flush across his cheeks, as he rolls his eyes.
“I mean, we could go to sleep like this every night, and wake up together every morning if we moved in together,” and you blink at him, his nervousness overcoming him as he begins to backpedal, “w-we don’t have to! I just thought I’m ready for the next step with you. And I want to—“
You cut him off with a soft kiss, pausing his worries and anxiety in the syrupy sweetness of your kiss, before you pull away, “I think I need some time to think about it,”
And he nods, “take all the time you need, baby,” pressing a kiss to your forehead, but a thought still niggles into the forefront of his mind that he can’t help but dwell on—
Would you say yes if it was Geto asking?
It always seemed that you were ready when it came to him. Ready to be with him, no matter what the consequence, willing to make it work — but with him, it felt as if he was always the one chasing, and you were reluctantly within his grasp.
As you drew closer into his arms as the two of you settled down to sleep, his fingers running softly through your hair, he wondered how long it would be until he felt as if he wasn’t the one desperately holding onto you, even as you seemingly always slipped away.
Even as he held you against his chest, heartbeat under where your head laid. He knew you were the one who had his heart.
He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was always like this. No matter how well prepared you felt, something always managed to go wrong at the last minute. It was always when you were lulled into a false sense of security, only to have a rude awakening—
And this time it came in the form of an email rejecting your thesis formatting as incorrect. An email that came in that morning, but you had slept through, choosing to sleep in past noon after last night. And when your eyes fluttered open, Yuta was gone already for the day, you rolled over to check your email when you saw it.
Fuck.
You barely had time to text Yuta what had happened before rushing to the library to seek possible help from the librarians — fuck, you would have paid every overdue library charge if necessary. You didn’t want to wait another semester to present again. It would be more time wasted, more time spent working towards something you’re already for, more time spent in this place that you didn’t want to linger in any longer.
How had you managed to fuck it up so bad? Now every one of your citations and in text citations would need to be redone, along with reformatting by 5:00 PM today. And it was already 2:00 PM.
But maybe you were going to have to, as you rushed to pull the library door open, only to find it was closed this weekend due to scheduled maintenance.
Double fuck.
Your eyes burned with tears that you didn’t want to shed right now. You had no time to cry. You had no time to panic. But it was all you wanted to do — just crawl into bed and cry.
You were turning back around to leave, when you nearly ran into—
He steadies you, his fingers brushing your shoulders, as his lips part to greet you, but his brow furrows when he sees your expression, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
And that wasn’t the right question to ask.
Tears slip from your eyes before words can, as Suguru blinks, concern flooding his face, as his hand finds yours and he takes you to his office nearby. It takes a few minutes for you to calm down (several tissues later) and you finally explained to him what happened.
His hand never leaves yours.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to waste another semester here, I can’t do that. I want to graduate—“
“Listen, slow down for a second, ok?” His voice is soft, soothing your anxiety like a balm, even as your nerves flare as your eyes flicker to the time again, “There’s time to fix this and go get it resubmitted before 5:00 PM. But, even if you do have to do another semester, what’s so bad about that?”
You shake your head, biting your bottom lip, “I can’t waste time like that. I already said I was graduating. If I have to stay another semester,” more tears trail down your cheeks, your nails digging into your knees, “how could I face anyone after how hard I worked?”
Suguru whispers your name, his fingers brushing against your cheek, “what’s another semester? Nothing will change. No one will view you any differently. But the more important thing is how you view yourself — and you know how hard you worked. You’ll be fine,”
You’re wiping your tears, sniffling, unable to meet his gaze, “How do you have so much faith in me?”
He gives a brief chuckle, “It’s you — how could I not?” And your eyes finally lift to meet his, as his thumb rubs lightly back and forth across your cheek, before he clears his throat, “we have time to get it resubmitted,”
“‘We?’” and he stands up to grab a copy of your thesis and the error notes you had shown him.
“Well I can’t have you do it, otherwise you’ll end up submitting it late,” and you huff, a watery chuckle leaving your throat, “come on.”
“Suguru?” You call softly, as he turns, blinking at the sound of his name, “thank you.”
“Of course.” and he smiles that damnable smile that made you fall for him — your heart squeezing and thudding against its bony cage, an aching that left you longing — a glance at your phone with Yuta’s notification that sent that longing sinking like a stone into the pit of your stomach.
No. It wasn’t that.
It wasn’t. Not if you let it be.
“I’m sorry,”
It had been quiet for sometime as the two of you made edits — him on the actual physical copy, while you edited the digital. The quiet scrape of his pen against paper and the clack of your keys are the only sound in his office. The very same one that the two of you had built your relationship from, and now here you were again. Except there was no banter, no smiles shared, nor even a knowing glance exchanged.
There was only silence.
Until you spoke first.
It was a silence you weren’t accustomed to — a layer of awkwardness that had settled between the two of you as if to bandage the honesty that had shredded the false student-professor only relationship you had superimposed on top of the two of you.
Only for you to claw your way out — and claw him open as well.
But no bandage can seal a gaping wound for long, and there was only one way to deal with a bandage effectively, by ripping it off.
His eyes draw up slowly from the pages in front of him, glasses perched on the tip of his nose so precariously that you wanted to push them back, “You have nothing to be sorry for — and you know it’s better to thank than apologize — I’m always here to help,”
But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for.
“I meant for the other day,” you say softly, guilt was crawling at your throat.
His gaze grows heavy, “There’s nothing to apologize for that either. You were right,” he adds, “I made decisions for us, when it should have been a discussion — especially when I said it was for you—“
“I wasn’t sorry I said it,” you gently cut him off, fingers knitted together in your lap, “but I’m sorry for where and how I said it. It wasn’t the time or place for that.”
“It’s really ok,” he tells you, a glance at his face telling you that it really was, “I would have yelled at myself far sooner, and nothing you said wasn’t true,” his hand tugs at his tie, loosening it, his fingers wrapped around the fabric, “I wish I did it differently,”
You shouldn’t ask the question but it falls from your lips before you can stop it, “What would you have done differently?”
And he gives a smile worthy of melancholy’s grasp, “I would have kept my promise to you,” and you know which one he means without him needing to say, “I would never have left you, if I hadn’t been too busy being a happiness pump,” and those words stir warm coals in a fire you thought was long put out — but somehow burns still, a flicker of a promise for a spark.
One you couldn’t stoke.
“Well, you make an excellent one,” and he scoffs, “no really, I’ve never seen someone so unhappy trying to make someone else happy before,”
“I wouldn’t say, ‘so unhappy—’” his pout is far too cute for your own good.
“Can really tell your life fell apart without me,” you say completely teasingly, as your lips curl, only to find his eyes on you still, “what?”
He only shakes his head, “only regretting not giving you lower than a 99 on your final paper,” and you gape at him as he bites back a chuckle, “I am the department head, maybe I could—“
“You mess with my grades—“ and your phone goes off — it’s Yuta. A text asking if everything was ok, before his face lights up your phone screen, and you’re not quick enough to avoid the awkward moment where Suguru sees it, “sorry I—“
“Go take it. I have plenty to get through,”
“But—“ but he’s already back to reviewing your citations as if nothing had happened as you pick up the call, screech of your chair as you get up to take the call, “hey, yeah I can talk—“ and the door is closing behind you as you step outside.
You don’t see the way he leans back, scrubbing a hand down his face to rest at his lips, “What am I doing?”
And he really didn’t know — as always, when it came to you.
“You’ll do amazing,” Yuta pressed another kiss to your lips, as you did the final adjustments to your outfit for the defense, “I can’t wait to celebrate with you,”
“I know, I can’t wait for it to be over,” you sigh, pulling him into your arms, your chin perched on his shoulder, “you still haven’t told me what we’re doing,”
He chuckles, his fingers cupping your cheek, “I told you it’s a surprise, so telling you would defeat the purpose,” you turn away to look at yourself again, “you look perfect,”
“You’re just saying that because you’re too nice,” you grumble and he laughs, as you bite your lip, meeting his gaze in the mirror, “I’m sorry about not having you there,”
And he feels a twinge in his chest, he had spent the last few days not trying to think about that. It wasn’t important that he was there — it was important that you’d be coming home to him. That’s what mattered — or that’s what he kept telling himself.
“It’s okay,” he intertwined his fingers with yours, and squeezed your hand, “I’ll be here after, waiting for your good news. Because I know it will be,” and his arms pulled you against him, and he can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t want to let go.
Even if you were ready to go.
You barely remembered what you said.
You remembered how your stomach turned and twisted in knots you didn’t know were physically possible as you made your way to the building where your defense was being held. Your fingers kept twiddling with your phone, checking the location and date listed in your email a million times to ensure you hadn’t missed your defense already or that you didn’t imagine your citations were accepted. You were sure your clothes would wrinkle from the sheer anxiety cladding through your veins, the vibration of nerves enough to beat creases into your freshly pressed clothes.
And you remembered seeing Suguru right when you walked in. He stood behind the table with the other members of the committee, chatting — and objectively, you hated how unfairly pretty he was. His long, inky hair tucked into a neat bun today, choosing to wear a crisp white button down, opting for no tie, but a off white sweater vest and black suit jacket over his shoulders, and lips curled in a small smile that only grows warmer when he catches sight of you from the corner of his eye. And it must be nerves, the way your heart flutters within your chest and the way that heat clings to your cheeks — nothing more.
Your eyes slide to him again — no one else.
You remembered how people filled into the classroom that you were defending your thesis in, as you shuffled around the front, setting up your presentation and notes for talking points. You spotted Maki, Panda, and Inumaki walk in, undoubtedly Yuta’s doing, along with a few of your other friends from the program. Your hands shook ever so slightly, even as you wrung them — a nervous habit you had picked up before large presentations or important milestones.
And then as people took their seats and it was 4:00 PM, it was time for your defense. You took a breath for a second — and your gaze finds not your friends, but Suguru’s. He offers you a smile, a look that tells you that he believes in you — always more than you ever had.
So you begin.
You don’t remember what you said — but you remember speaking as you did a million times before in practice. You remember making an adlib or two that draws a few chuckles from your audience. But what you mostly remember is the few glances you stole from Suguru who listened intently, a mouthed encouragement when you took a pause.
And soon you were answering questions after concluding the main part of your presentation. You are fielding them from professors and students alike, until there was only time left for one more. There was silence for several moments — it felt like hours, the committee conferring and speaking amongst themselves.
“I think I can take one last question,” and your eyes darted over the group, finding no hands, until one slowly went up — one you were familiar with, “Professor Geto?”
Of course he would have a question — no less, the last one.
“I just had one comment about your thesis, not a question,” and with how he had poked and prodded at the fire of your work from the moment you met him — the way he pushed you head first into the flames, if only to temper the best version of your work, and of yourself. And even though you had burned yourself one too many times, you couldn’t help but reach for it again and again, “after conferring with the committee, congratulations, you passed your defense.”
The audience claps and congratulates you, a sea of shaking hands and kind words while you recover from the defense. But as the crowd disperses, you find Suguru walking towards you.
A silence settles over the two of you for a moment — a want to speak lingering between you two, but no words said. Why was it always when you had so much to say you found none of the thoughts you wanted to express? There wasn’t enough time — but they would never be.
But he breaks it first.
“Congratulations on your defense. You did wonderfully,” he says, hands tucked into his pockets, as you bite your lip, cheeks burning.
“No remark about me being on time? Or any little criticisms? I’m shocked. You’ve lost your edge, Professor,” he chuckles, shaking his head.
“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he replies, his hand slipping out from his pocket only to be placed gently on your shoulder, “but right now, I just want you to know I’m proud of your determination and grit, but mostly, I’m proud of you,”
His name almost slips from your lips as your mouth opens and closes, words stuck in your throat, “Thank you. It means so much,” especially from you. But you can’t say that, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,”
“You don’t owe me anything,” and you chuckle, gaze finding his own, just as it always did.
“Don’t I? I think I owe you a drink, I never did buy you one after all — purely for networking purposes,” you add, “and a thank you for saving my ass on these citations,”
And he’s shaking his head, “All I did is what you what have done for anyone else,”
“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs.
“For a student? Maybe. For you? Always,” and you bite your lip, gaze falling, “what is it?
“Why?” ‘Why for me?’ was the question you wanted to ask but you couldn’t push the words past your lips even as they rested on your tongue.
But he knew the words.
“You know the reasons,” he says softly, “I know you have nothing but amazing things ahead, and I’d do anything to see you reach your goals,”
And he would. He did.
“I can agree with that,” a hand clasps your shoulder, Yaga gives a small smile, “good job,”
“Professor Yaga, oh my god,” you grin, resisting the urge to hug him, “how are you? Are you feeling better?”
“I’m well enough. Treatment has been honestly shit, but my son is doing a good enough job looking after me,” Yaga rubs the back of his head, “that and balancing classes hasn’t been easy for the kid.”
“Your son goes here?” Professor Yaga points at a familiar cluster of three, “Panda?” You didn’t really see a family resemblance but you supposed you didn’t have to.
He nods, “but I’m not here to talk about him,” he holds his hand out to you, “I’m very proud of you. I know you have a bright future ahead. I apologize I couldn’t help—“
“You did too much. Thank you Professor Yaga,” and then others are calling for you, “if you both will excuse me,”
“Of course, I need to speak to Suguru so it’s just as well,” and your attention is pulled, but the corner of your eye still watches him, watches him leave the leave — leaving you behind here. Just as it should be, your gaze sliding back, as your fingers rested against your chest.
So why did it hurt so much?
Yuta was late — it seems he always was, when it came to you.
Even so, this time it was somewhat purposely, but he still had tried to be on time. He wanted to at least hear the very end of your defense, if not in sight, then outside the classroom. But he had run late, trying to straighten out reservations he made at a restaurant you’ve been wanting to try for months. He had finally convinced them to bring out a cake as if to celebrate your birthday, but for your thesis. It was silly, as Yuta half walked half sprinted to the room of your defense, only to find it was over.
The doors to the lecture hall had been opened after your defense finished, some people filing out, while others lingered to speak to you or others. Yuta held the bouquet of flowers behind him, scanning the group for you — and his eyes fell on you — with Geto.
You were both off to the side, speaking alone, his hand clasped on your shoulder, before slipping off. And it was clear from the way he looked at you — that he felt the same for you as he always did. And you—
You looked the same, as you always did, when it came to Geto.
Yuta’s fingers squeeze at the base of the flowers, plastic crinkling under his grasp. He hadn’t asked why you had stopped meeting with him for your thesis — almost a relief to have your correspondence all over email, and not to face dealing with the weekly meetings. He hadn’t asked, but he could assume some sort of argument happened, a discussion, a confession maybe — something you hadn’t broached with him. And a part of him really didn’t want you to. He didn’t want to have the boat rocked on him — but—
As he watched you become pulled away when another professor joined your conversation, and Geto was pulled away out of the room by that same professor — Yuta saw your eyes follow Geto’s back. The two walk past Yuta without notice, engrossed in their conversation, and Yuta catches a few snippets of it before they’re out the door.
And he turned back to you — he knew he may have to be the one to rock it. Because the ship had already begun taking in water — and it was either he grasped onto the side with white knuckles and went down with it, or he let it go, letting it fall into the wreckage. He glanced away from you, starting to walk off towards the exit — because maybe this ship wasn’t made to sail, but to sink.
And he couldn’t let himself drown — even for you.
You checked your phone again as you left — no phone calls, not even a text back. You bit your lip as you made your way back to the apartment. You had already called him three times, but your anxiety was getting the better of you. He had told you he would meet you after the defense, but there wasn’t any sign of him.
You opened the door to your place, keys jingling as head inside to find him sitting on the couch. You put your things down, as you head to the living room.
“Yu? Are you okay? You weren’t picking up—“ and you see a bag of his things packed, “Yuta?”
“Sorry I made you worry, baby, I just thought,” he sighs, unable to meet your gaze as he looks in front of him, “I thought I could wait, but I can’t,”
“Yuta, what? What’s—“
Your name leaves his lips, cutting you off gently, as he finally looks at you, gaze heavy, “we need to break up.”
You don’t have words.
No, you have one word.
“Why?” You ask, as you take steps forward to sit beside him, as your mind struggles to keep up — your certificate still in your hand, the excitement of being done all but extinguished.
“I’m sorry, but don’t you know why?” He asks softly, and your eyebrows knit together, shaking your head,
“What are you talking about?” And you’re wringing your hands, fingers nearly in knots, a sigh parting your lips as you try to soothe yourself, “Yuta, I know I’ve been busy this semester with my thesis, but it’s done with. And we can go back to—“
“We can’t,” and it was so final — so definitive — and without a way for you to have a choice. Yet again. Were you doomed to repeat this cycle? Again and again. With no change in the outcome. And you don’t know what to say, as you scrub a hand down your face.
“Okay then,” and your name slips from his lips, as you cross your arms.
“You don’t understand—“ and your chuckle is so bitter.
“How can I when you haven’t explained? All you’ve said are cryptic things that I’m supposed to piece together what? What am I supposed to know?” Tears slip down your cheek, forcing your voice to stay steady, the stress of the last few months crashing down around you just as your relationship did, “I know that I haven’t been the best girlfriend. And I’m sorry. I really am,” your voice breaks, “But I tried. I tried to communicate. I tried to spend time with you, even when I didn’t have a minute to myself. You knew I’d be busy. You knew that going in and still—“
His voice is gentle, so gentle that it infuriates you — gentle even when he’s hurting you, “It’s not that—“
“Then what is it?” You snap — you were tired of running in circles — you needed an answer, a tangible reason why.
“Geto,” you blink, as the confession settles over his face, “it wasn’t your schedule. It was who you spent it with,” and you’re staring for a moment, expression crumbling under the weight of the truth.
“Yuta, Yu, no—“ you step towards him, but he only sighs, running a hand through his hair, “it was only for my thesis. Nothing happened between us. I promise,”
“I trust you when you say nothing happened,” but his eyes lift to meet yours, “and in a way nothing has happened, because you still love him,”
“yuta—“
“I know you love me, in some way,” the words leave his lips slowly, cutting you each syllable, but you can’t imagine how deeply and how long he’s been cut by these thoughts already, “but not like you love him—“
“That’s not—“
“You know before we started dating, I talked to Maki about how I feel, and I told her I was afraid that you would never look at me the way you look at him,” and the mended pieces of your heart break apart with new cracks with the way his voice wavers, “but all this time, and still, you haven’t. Even today, when I waited outside of the lecture hall, I saw you both together — and I know,” he breaks off, biting his lip, “I know it was him congratulating you, but the way you looked at him hadn’t changed—“
You’re shaking your head, “Yuta, no, no, it’s just a look. I don’t even know how I look at him, but it doesn’t—“
“I do know how you look. It hasn’t changed,” he’s swallowing, his eyes fall to the floor, “and it’s not just that. Do you see a future with me?”
“Of course—“
“When I brought up moving in, you said you’d think about it, but have you?” you open and close your mouth, fingers grasping at the fabric of your clothes, “have you thought about what happens after you graduate? Or what’s next for us?” your silence is answer enough — sinking in for you, as it already did for him — slipping in between your ribs like a well placed dagger — and it had stabbed him all the same too, “you love me, but I don’t think you’re in love with me,”
“Yuta, I do, I do love you—“ and he draws close to you, fingers cupping your cheek.
“But the world doesn’t stop for you when I come near? It doesn’t feel as if I steal your breath when I hold you like this? Does it feel as if you don’t wish to spend a moment without me?”
“Love doesn’t always have to—“
“But it does — to some extent,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “you imagined your future with him didn’t you? Didn’t even want to spend a moment apart?” And he gives a terse chuckle, “we have to break up,”
You don’t want it to be true. You want to fight him, argue, convince him he’s wrong, that the explanation he’s pieced before you is falsified — a distorted version of how you felt conflated by misunderstandings.
But you can’t.
“Yuta, I—“ and he shakes his head, “no, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean—“ your eyes burn with tears, “I’m sorry,”
He smiles softly, pulling you into his arms, “I knew we had rushed in, but I didn’t want to wait, because I thought I’d lose my chance,”
“Yu—“ he kisses your cheek, “I do love you, I do,” and he nods, lips curling sadly, before he pulls you into another hug.
“I know. I love you too.”
But it wasn’t enough — and it wasn’t right.
Not for either of you.
You don’t know how much time you spent in bed after that. The semester had closed out, and you had curled up under your sheets — seemingly a new tradition you had of ending a semester with a break up. You wondered if graduating would end it — and if it didn’t, you might have to reconsider going for your Ph.D. — if only to avoid this pain again.
You stick your head up out of your blanket, glancing at the light pooling in from the window — because time went on no matter how you felt, and the sun rose each day, despite it all.
Yuta had grabbed his things and left a while after. You still could feel the brush of his fingers against your skin as he squeezed your hand one last time.
“You’re still my best friend,” you had told him, forcing your voice to stay even, and he chuckles, a smile on his lips.
“You’re still mine too.”
But even so you hadn’t heard from him in a few days — but you couldn’t blame him. You could only blame yourself. It had become so exceedingly clear that he was right. And you didn’t know how you hadn’t seen it. The anger still lingered, but anger was only the remnants of your love for him that still stubbornly clung to life, despite your efforts to move on.
But moving on wasn’t as simple as finding feelings for someone else — not when you were only ever truly in love with one person.
You were still in love with Suguru.
Despite it all — you hadn’t gotten over him, and you weren’t sure you ever would. If months weren’t enough, would years be? Would you ever get rid of the feelings you had for him, wrapped around your limbs, and had snuck into the crevices of your heart. An invasive species that perhaps you would never eradicate.
But you couldn’t go back now. Not after everything that happened. Not
Your phone goes off, lighting up on your bedside table before beginning to ring, your fingers slipping from inside your cocoon of blankets. You grab your phone — Professor Yaga?
“Hello?”
He greets you with your name, “I hope you’re doing well — I just wanted to reach out to congratulate you again on your successful defense,” you smile, sitting up as you do. The two of you make small talk as he discusses his recovery, reporting that he’s doing well.
“Thank you so much Professor Yaga, for everything, really,” and he chuckles.
“Thank you for being so understanding of my situation — it was difficult, but I’m glad Suguru stepped for in me so well, and I’m sure he’ll do well in Kyoto—“
“He’s going back?” the question spills from your lips before you can even hold your tongue, “I didn’t know you were—“
“I’m not returning yet, but even if I do, I don’t think I will be returning as a department head. So I gave Suguru the choice to stay department head here or move to Kyoto,” and he adds, “I did give him the choice to stay here or move back to Kyoto,”
And your throat is dry, “Oh I see. That’s good for him,” a silence settles over the call for a moment, before Yaga speaks.
“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Yaga says, and he’s staying for graduation so if you’d like to thank him in person since I interrupted your conversation, II know on good authority that he’s in his office right now,” and he adds, “it’s not too late if someone were to speak to him now,”
You blink, “Professor Yaga—“
“You’re all but graduated so I’m allowed to say this — I wish you both the best. But I know Suguru has never been happier than when he was with you,” you bite your lip, “so for both of your sakes, you should go talk to him,”
“Thank you, Professor, for everything.” And you hang up without much to do, grabbing your bag and keys before heading out the door.
He was right, fingers squeezing around your phone — it’s what you owed him — and yourself.
Suguru sat back in his office, finally done with his papers for his philosophy class. The sun had long fled the sky, along with most staff and students. The end of the semester had come quick, and with it came a quiet and deserted campus with nothing but his grade book and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights in his office to keep him company.
Not that he was craving company.
He loosened his tie, unbuttoning a button or two on his shirt and on his cuffs, and then rolled his sleeves up. He was insane for still insisting on teaching a class amongst the insanity, though he did have another professor step in to co-teach the course. He didn’t know why he had stuck to that sticking point when it was illogical — but, as he gazed down at the stack of final papers strewn in front of him doused in his red ink, he knew it wasn’t a logical reason.
He was rifling through the graded stack, adding the scores to his grade book. This semester has been a mixed bag, a mix of grades — from high to low. Some of the papers were insightful, others were clear that they had only taken this class as a course to blow off. But even of all the high graded essays, not one of the papers compared to yours.
But of course, no one compares to you, and that’s why he needed to leave. He knew that. He wanted you to be happy — even if that didn’t include him. And after this semester, it couldn’t. Being around you was an exercise of torture — Tantalus who had been starving for decades to get a taste of food, only to be hungrier after that morsel. A bite of the apple only makes you want to devour it, core and all.
It was just as Aristotle had said — desire was made of both rational and irrational, and his longing for you is rooted in the rational — because yes, perhaps his body craved you irrationally and carnally, but that was far overshadowed by the need for you after experiencing you for himself. This self made inducement would be the death of him, and Aristotle himself would call him a fool.
But he didn’t need him to — because he was. A fool and a coward, just as you said. He sets down his pen, leaning against his hand, as he looks over at the blank reply email to Yaga with his cursor blinking. It would be for the best if he left for Kyoto again. So you didn’t have to see him again.
And then there was a knock at his office door. He paused, eyes flicking up only to hear your voice through the door, “It’s me,”
He hates the way his breath catches at the sound of you, heart picking up as his eyes flicker to the somewhat late hour and back. No words on his lips except the one thing he can say.
“Come in,”
And you do — you always liked to tease him that he was the one who was unfair when it came to how he looked, but to him, it was you that was unfair. Your hair askew, chest rising and falling quick, clothes a little disheveled and yet, you were always the most gorgeous person he’d met in his life.
You shift in the entryway of the door, squirming seemingly under his gaze, “Is this a bad time?”
Time never was in either of your favor, not ones that she found beguiling, except in a way meant to deceive. But time and time again, he allowed himself to be tricked — if only for a moment with you.
“No, not at all. I just wrapped up grading the final papers,” and you give a soft chuckle, as you close the door behind you, before taking careful steps forward, eyes finding the stack nearly bleeding from his careful cuts and slashes.
“How many red pens did you use up? Fifty?”
“Oh, only forty-nine this time, trying to be more conservative with my usage,” and you scoff, more of a chuckle than a sneer, “plus, I didn’t have a student write several pages over the limit this time—“
You gape at him, and he has to bite back his smile, “It was one page, and you said I could,”
“Bullied into it was more like it,”
“Don’t know of a case where a student could bully a professor into anything,”
“They clearly haven’t had you in their classroom,” and then he adds, a soft smile on his lips, “but I suppose I could see them enjoy being bullied by a student as passionate about the subject — even if my office hours suffered for it,”
“You loved those office hours,” and he wants to say, yes, when you were there — but he can’t. He told himself he wouldn’t cross that line, “and I did too,” you add, and his eyes find yours — but maybe you would cross it instead, “you remember what you said about not being my professor anymore?”
And he did — all those months ago at the end of the first semester you had spent in class together, and he’s nodding, mouth impossibly dry, “Well I’m as good as graduated, so you’re definitely not my professor, not anymore,”
Your name slips from his lips, brow furrowed, a question almost, as if it can’t be what your words implied, but you’re shaking your head, as you pull a folded paper from your bag, unfolding it before sliding it across his desk.
His eyes fall on it, and it’s the note he had written all those months ago — asking you for a drink, and for so much more. He had admired your determination, your wit, your beauty, your intellect, and so many other things he didn’t have space to say —
“Suguru,” and his eyes find yours, and god, why was it so easy to get lost in your heady gaze? “We had said we didn’t want to hurt each other — but I don’t think that’s something that can be avoided. You hurt me,” and he nods, lips parting ready for an apology, “but I’ll probably hurt you — and I probably have already,”
“Sweetheart—“ the pet name falls from his mouth as if it’s second nature, “I—“
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” and the corner of his eyes burn with tears — is this a dream? Because he swears, it would be the cruelest one so far, “I can’t stop loving you, and I’ve tried to—I’ve tried to move on,”
“Maybe it would be for the best,” but you’re shaking your head, as you’re slowly rounding his desk, and the truth can’t help but fall from his lips, “I don’t deserve you—“
“What did I say about making decisions about us without me?” And he sighs, resistance crumbling as you draw far too close — and he couldn’t bear not to reach out, “you have to take responsibility for your actions, don’t you?”
“Sweetheart—“
“You said you haven’t moved on — is that still true?”
His fingers reach across the chasm he had carved between the two of you, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw and the swell of your cheek, just he had wanted to for all these months. And just a taste, a brush of your skin, he’d never let you go again.
“I never could — not from you,” his voice wavers, “every day I missed you — I never wanted to break up with you, I just couldn’t bear to be the reason that you ever hold yourself back from getting something you wanted,” and he gives a bitter chuckle, shaking his head, “who knew I was the one doing that by leaving? And I’m so sorry, I am so—”
And your forehead pressed against his, his words nearly swallowed with a sob, as he squeezes his eyes shut, tears burning a trail down his cheeks, that you gently thumb away before cupping his cheeks, “I want to hear something other than an apology,”
His flutter open, lips brushing against your cheek, “I love you, I always have, sweetheart. I never stopped—” his voice breaks, a crack in the dam enough to spill the truth from his lips and tears from his eyes, “and I promise I’ll never break my promises anymore — that’s a contradiction, but—“ and your fingers find purchase on his cheek, consuming the words on his lips with your touch, “I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,”
Your lips curl, eyes watery as you kiss away one of his tears, “Is that a proposal?” you tease, your other hand slides back through his black locks, twisting one strand around your finger, “seems a little fast for that when you haven’t even kissed me properly yet,”
He snorts softly, clearing his throat ever so slightly, “If memory serves me, we’ve done a lot more than kiss before,” and he’s daring closer, as you lean down, your legs pressed against the lip of his desk, “nearly in this office,” and he’s slipping up from his desk, his breath stolen from his lungs by the whisper of your perfumed skin, and his logic eroded by the heat of your body against his.
“‘Nearly,’” you repeat with a soft hum, as your lips graze his jaw, “then why don’t we fix that?” your lips find his, a chaste kiss, barely a few seconds when you pull away half a centimeter, and he’s already leaning back in for another and another.
The familiar feel of your lips against yours makes him wonder how he had survived without you for so long — falling for you was as natural as breathing and kissing you was needed as oxygen. But each kiss only sends jolt over jolt up and down his body, and he wonders if he were to ever stop again, perhaps his heart would too.
Because all the time he had spent not with you was time spent living — perhaps breathing and existing. But no, he only felt alive when he was at your side — and in your arms. And especially against your lips. Delights in the way your lips part for him like muscle memory, tongue against yours — in a sloppy, desperate kiss that has every ounce of reason sucked from his mind (and likely into your mouth).
He parts if only for air, a string of spit connecting your lips, that he thumbs away, “If I recall, you had something about me not being very ethical last time we did this,” he remarks, his lips parting before kissing down your jaw, your taste an addiction to his deprived lips — a desert wanderer ready to swallow you whole, “and now here you are,” he’s leaning back, as your hand is splayed back against the wood of his desk, your chest rising and falling, lips kiss bitten red and swollen from his own, “what do you call this?” His finger is toying with the top button of your blouse.
“A student taking after her teacher,” your lips find his pulse, teeth grazing his skin as if to taunt him, to goad him to go further, but, and his fingers slip behind. your thighs and squeeze no goading was needed — he was ready to devour you.
And he’s lifting you onto his desk, papers crumpling underneath and pens flung onto the floor, and a gasp caught in your throat as he pins you against it, before tugging his tie off.
“Looks like I still have plenty to teach you.”
“Sugu, fuck,” your fingers thread through his black locks, undone from his bun hy your own hands, your nails digging into his scalp. How long have you been in this office with him now? Half an hour? Almost an hour? Time had lost all meaning to you when he had kissed his way down your body.
Burning kisses that had stolen your thoughts from your mind and left only him in its wake — how had you lived without him? Your fingers had found their way to the back of his neck, as his lips mapped the peaks and valleys of your neck and collarbone.
“Fuck,” a gasp parts your lips when his teeth teases the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting again and agin, until he’s left pretty love bites gracing your across your skin.
And that sharp tongue of his dragged over the marks left blooming on your skin, as if couldn’t simply get enough of you, and he couldn’t.
“Suguru, please—“ you’re whining already and he barely began, and the all too smug smile against the swell of your breast only told you he thought the same.
“Patience, Princess, so needy f’me, aren’t you?” But he obliged anyway, fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt.
And now your blouse was nearly shrugged off, your bra undone with your pert nipples still sticky with his saliva and breasts covered in small marks from his teeth grazing your skin. And now he had tugged your skirt down and off, leaving you only in your underwear.
“You’re making such a mess on my desk, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, as his large palms slide up your plush thighs and squeeze, drawing a lovely gasp from your lips, before he’s parting your thighs, “but it’s such a pretty mess when it’s you,” and you were so fucking pretty with your legs parted like this, panties translucent from your juices leaking from your dripping folds, even glossy against the wood of his desk now. And he would be sure to make a bigger mess soon enough.
“Sugu,” your cheeks burn as he stares, your embarrassment melting into a gasp when his fingers drag against your clothed slit teasingly, up and down, so meticulously again and again, until his fingers are sticky with your pre, “ngh, please—“
Your plea is enough for him to snap, as he’s tugging your underwear away and off, tucking the ruined panties into his pocket with a glint of his amethyst eyes in the low light of his office. Pretty folds in full display for him, with your swollen clit and glistening slit nearly begging for attention, and he’s more than happy to oblige.
And he’s running a finger down your lovely folds, gathering precum on his finger, far too slowly for your liking, as he takes his time to circle your clit, “All this just from a few kisses?” lust pools in his gaze with a flicker of amusement, “so sensitive just for me,” your need for him as plain as the juices that seep from your pussy, walls fluttering and aching for something more than the tip of his finger.
“Suguru, fuck, I can’t,” your toes curl when he finally pities you with a kiss to your needy cunt, nose bumping against your clit teasingly, the friction making your thighs tremble, “please—”
“Never thought I’d hear my quick witted T.A. beg for me like this, but I have dreamt of it,” you glance down at him, lips glossy with your pre, “I have to make up for time lost, time I wasted without you, princess,” and his thumb rubs at your clit, while his lips press sweet kisses to the flesh of your inner thigh, “it’s what I owe you, isn’t it?”
“I—” your sentence lost to a moan as he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit, tip of his tongue teasingly lingering around your entrance, and your hips buck into his touch, warm palms coming down to pin you in place against his desk.
You can barely stifle your moans, fingers flying up to press a hand over your mouth, as the tongue starts to flick and circle your clit, while a lithe finger teases your tight cunt, “I’m not one for sweets, but you may give me a sweet tooth,” and his lips close around your clit, sucking and licking, making your back arch, your arm behind you shaking as it struggled to keep your balance.
“Fuuuuck, Sugu, I—” you’re panting, head lolling back when he finally sinks a finger into your fluttering walls, the wet squelch of your cunt and your barely contained moans filling up the relative silence of his office, “please—” and a second finger joins the first, a smirk on his lips as he kisses your puffy clit again, a groan when he feels the way your walls clench around his fingers, knuckle deep.
“Gonna break my fingers at this rate, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, but even so he’s adding a third finger, the stretch far too delicious as it sends stripes of heat up and down your body and right to your spasming cunt, “what are you going to do when I put my cock inside? Our refresher lesson has barely begun,” and he’s enjoying this too much, and when his arms are hooking around your thighs, carefully lying you back on his desk, your hands slipping from his hair, and instead propping himself up on his elbows.
“Sugu, wh—” and your back arches as he begins to thrust deeper into your cunt, a strangled gasp on your lips that melts into a moan as his lips close around your clit. You can barely make out the obscene noises that leave your lips, as his fingers fuck you open, before he’s sucking hard — once, twice, and then a third time— “I’m—“
You can barely find the words before you’re cumming, walls squeezing and fluttering around his fingers while he fucks you through it, lapping at your juices, his name on your lips again and again, until you finally come down from your high. He pulls his fingers away from your twitching pussy, only to bury his face in between your thighs again.
“Fuuuck, Sugu—“ your moans are broken as your body arches into him, fingers finding purchase on his shoulders, sucking and licking your release eagerly, seemingly hellbent on tasting every inch of you.
Pretty moans fell from your mouth, muffled as you clasped your hand over your lips, “can’t waste a drop, sweetheart,” he’s slurping and sucking at your cunt, and god, if anyone walked by his office, they would surely hear you both — hear the nasty squelch of your pussy and your barely muffled moans.
How many times did you orgasm from his tongue alone? You had lost track. Each time he would bring you over the edge with the thrust of his tongue or the suck of his lips, and he would eat you out through it, only building to the next and then the next.
“Sugu, please, I’m close, fuck—“ and you can’t even hear your own broken voice, not over the lewd sounds of his mouth sucking at your pussy, the coil tight in your stomach and ready to snap, until another hard suck makes you cum, hard.
Your fingers find their way into his hair, clutching at him desperately as you squirt all over his face, drenching him along with his desk, wood sticky and soaked with your release. He’s lapping at your cunt, thighs twitching from your orgasm, until he’s finally pulling away to glance up at you with dark eyes, his chin and mouth glossy with your cum and his spit. His tongue darts out to clean both, before wiping the rest away with the back of his hand, glazed over gaze half lidded with need.
“S’good for me, Princess,” he’s pressing gentle kisses up your body, “so pliant, and yet you were so mouthy before,” and his lips kiss that mouth of yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, as he presses you further into the desk, his arm slinked around your back. And you’re pulling him just as close, hands grasping at the front of his button-up.
And then you’re pushing him back, forcing him into his chair, as you get to your feet, before sinking to your knees. His breath catches, eyes watching you — your disheveled appearance, hair half mussed, and skin shiny with sweat, “let me show you how mouthy I can be.”
“Imagine someone walked in now, see your pants down for your favorite student,” your tongue trailed up the underside of his clothed cock — and he could nearly cum looking down at you between his thighs, your kiss bitten lips pressing a sweet kiss to the head of his dick, thumbing at the leaking slit, licking your lips at the sight of the large stain of his precum on his cock, “Sugu, you’re so fucking big, can’t wait to feel this inside,” and his length twitches, a grunt in the back of his throat, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the waistband against his sensitive skin.
And god, he’s fucking pretty like this. Black locks falling in front of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones with a lovely flush settled over his features
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he’s panting, head nearly lolling back against the headrest of his chair, “gonna tease me after this long?” it’s half joking, half pleading, but you’re only clicking your tongue at him.
“You made me wait much longer, Suguru — made me cry too,” and his gaze softens, lips parted with an apology that fades into a hiss, as you free him from his boxers, erection slapping against his still clothed abs, “but now I’m going to make you cry,” you press a teasing kiss to his weeping tip, flushed red with need, letting his white pearly release paint your lips, “until you’re begging to cum,”
A strangled gasp caught in his throat, tracing the pretty veins and curves like it was made for you, “You’re so pretty, Sugu — all of this is for me?” Your fingers slowly stroking his length, his moaning music to your ears, as your other hand teasing his balls, “gonna cum down my throat already? Can’t cum this soon,” you cooed, his fingers digging into the armrests of his chair, and yet your fingers squeeze around his base, hips jerking into your touch.
“Princess, stop teasing—“ his protests had fallen on deaf ears, as you bring your pretty lips to his aching tip, only to trace his slit with the tip of his tongue, salty precum disappearing inside your mouth, and fuck, it’s enough for him to nearly cum there and then, “please,”
“Didn’t know you could be so polite, Sugu, when begging for your student to swallow your cock,” and finally you let his cock part past your lips, and his head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as your tongue swirls around his length. It was already too much for him — so much, just as you were, your tongue tracing and teasing his dick, while your lips sucked along the base.
And you weren’t doing much better, the weight of his cock against your tongue makes your cunt ache for him, and sneaking glances at his fucked out form — muffled moans of your name as he covers his lips with the back of his arm, as his dark gaze watches you sink his cock into your mouth again. Your hand is slipping into your throbbing pussy for some relief, as you bob up and down his length.
But he doesn’t miss it, a groan at the sight of you swallowing his dick whole whole riding your own hand, “Does fucking your mouth feel that good, Princess? Feel that good that you need to touch yourself?” And you’re moaning around his length, vibrations of sending shivers up his spine and a groan of your name from his lips, “So fucking good f’me, Princess — too good for me,” he’s grunting, as you let his tip brush the back of your throat now, making pleasure rip up his body, “sweetheart, please, g’nna fuck your throat if you keep that up,”
And you ease off, letting his cock slap against your tongue as it slips out, “maybe I want you, Sugu,” you’re kissing and licking along his length, “want you to fuck my smart little mouth,”
Fuck.
You’re sliding his cock back in, his hips jerking against you as you let him sink all the way in, tip brushing against your throat again. And fuck, the wet squelch of your fingers inside you breaks him, as he starts to give an experimental thrust, a light one that has you moaning around him. He’s gauging your reaction, only for you to force his length down more, barely not blowing his load there and then, as you look up at him, a smile in your eyes as if you’re daring him.
And he can’t hold back.
He’s fucking your mouth, your tongue massaging up and down his length as he thrusts inside your warm mouth, his nails digging into your locks as he holds you flush to his body. The sight of you on your knees, taking his dick as drool and pre drip down your chin, eyes nearly rolling back with pleasure as you do, making his cock twitch in your mouth.
“That feel that good, Princess? Wanted me to fuck this mouth that bad? I should do it more often if that’s what it takes.” he’s almost drunk off the pleasure, thrusts growing a little rougher as he grows close, “fuck, I’m close, baby, where—“ and your hands are sliding around to his lower back, holding him in place as your answer, “shit, sweetheart, you’re going to be the death of me,” and you suck around him as his tip hits the back of your throat again, and that’s it—
He spills, hot cum flooding your mouth and down your throat, as you both moan in unison, large spurts devolving into smaller ones, as he comes down from his high. You don’t waste a drop, swallowing every bit of it, as you finally pull away from his cock with a pop, the sight of your ruined lips with strings of spit and cum still connecting you to his dick is enough to have it twitching again.
“Sweetheart, you’re s’good to me,” he’s gently pulling you up into his lap, his fingers running through your hair. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t—“ and you’re cutting him off with a soft kiss that steals the words from his mind, your eyes shiny with tears.
“You do, you do because I choose you, because I love you, and I know you’re sorry,” you cup his cheek, before lightly pinching it, “and if you ever do anything that stupid again, I’m going to kill you and I’ll be ethically and morally justified,” and he chuckles, burying his face in the crook of your neck to press soft kisses to your skin, before pulling back to look up at you.
“You have my permission to do that, because if I ever leave my soulmate again — it’s only the consequences of my actions,” and he kisses your forehead, before he presses his to yours, “and I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not by my side,”
You kiss him slowly, wrapping your arms around him, slowly heat building as the head of his cock bumps against the length of your cunt — the sparks grow into flames, threatening to engulf you both. And you would let them if only for one more second of his touch.
“Sugu, please, I need you,” you murmur, breathing in his pants as your noses bump, “need you inside me,” he cups your cheek, meeting in another kiss, before you’re lining yourself up, weeping cock bumping against your needy entrance.
“Are you ready?” You ask, and it’s for more than just this moment, it’s for everything that comes after — for every second that you both get to live together, “our phones are off right?”
He snorts, “I turned it off when you entered my office,” and you laugh, shaking his head, as he places a kiss behind your ear.
“I did the same before I came in,” his fingers cup your cheek, as you lean into his warm palm, “just you and me?” You echo from your first time together, and his lips curl into the softest smile.
“You and me, sweetheart,” and you’re sinking onto him, tip parting your spread folds as your walls swallow him whole, inch by inch, and his fingers grasp at your hips, helping you ease onto his cock, pretty lips parted with a quiet murmur of your name.
And when he finally bottoms out inside you, he’s almost forgotten how good it felt — pleasure ripping up his spine as your hips are pressed flush to the other, “So deep, Sugu, fuck,” your walls are fluttering around him pulling even deeper, clamping down as if he groans, “I’m gonna move,” you manage between pants.
You lift up to the tip before slowly beginning to bounce up and down, your moans filling his ears along with the squeaks and rattling of his computer chair. His eyes flutter open only to watch your breasts bounce up and down as you ride him, his hands reaching out to squeeze at the pillowy flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.
“S’big, fuck, Sugu,” you’re moaning, a mess as you fucked yourself on him, but still not quite deep enough, and he begins to meet your thrusts with his own, making you fall forward holding onto him with a whine as he fucks up into you. The sounds of his balls slapping against your needy cunt ring in your ears, the grunts your pussy pulls from his mouth as he drives himself impossibly deep, “ngh, Sugu, fuck, s’good—,” you’re whining, back arching into his touch, nails digging into his shoulders, “please,”
“That’s it, take my cock, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “so good for me. So tight, never going to leave this cunt at this rate, baby—“
And then they hear a door creak open and close nearby, freezing as they do, heart thumping against your ribs, but your wall flutters all the same, “think they’ll see us like this?” He teases, and his cock twitches in your cunt, “spread out and fucked by your former professor’s cock?” And you know he’s only goading you as the footsteps depart, but your walls squeeze at the thought, “want them to see how good you are for me? How well I’ve taught you to take this cock?”
And he begins to fuck into you again, pistoning up into you, drawing more moans from your lips. He had taught you every inch and curve and vein of his dick, but this refresher would make sure you’d never forget.
“Sugu, I’m close, I-“ and his hand is slipping between your bodies to rub at his clit right as his cock hits that spot that has you seeing stars as you cum hard around his cock. He watches the place your bodies meet, a white ring of cum around the base of his cock as your walls flutter around him.
He fucks you through your orgasm, hips stuttering as he twitches inside you, “fuck, sweetheart, where should I—“ and you’re moaning as you manage to meet his thrust to notch him even deeper as he finally cums.
His thick ropes paints your walls, as he rocks against you slowly, forcing his cum deeper and deeper, your name leaving your lips again and again — reverent whispers and promises muttered in your ear, as he finally stills underneath you.
You’re leaning against him, mixed releases surely leaking onto his lap and the chair, both of your quiet pants filling the silence, until he’s breaking it. He kisses your lips again and again, before he stares at you — kiss bruised lips and the pretty sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, “It’s not fair you’re this perfect,” he murmurs, a thumb dragging down your lips, “how would I have ever resisted you?”
“Luckily, the universe did that for us,” and he huffs a chuckle, “and you,” you add in a small whisper, and he frowns, nodding.
“I did and I never will again, I promise, sweetheart,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your burning skin, pulling you impossibly closer to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, “I’m yours — yours to keep, yours to use, yours to love — you have my heart and my soul,” he’s cupping your cheek when you lift your head, “and I’ll never let go, because you’re the only answer to life I need, if you’ll allow to be yours,”
“You were always mine,” your forehead pressed to his, “that’s never changed, and it never will,”
“You always one up me, don’t you?” And you roll your eyes.
“The student has to surpass the master someday, doesn’t she?” his lips curl.
“Oh you’ve done that a long time ago, Princess,” his lips graze yours again and again, and soon enough you’re shifting on his lap, until the chair buckles under the weight and the seat travels to the bottom of where it’s wheels rested. The two of you are silent a moment, before a giggle escapes your lips, “I think you’ll have to get a new chair,” you murmur, and he’s chuckling, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Why not the chair and the desk?” And you’re blinking before he’s lifting you up, before making you turn, pressing your front flush against the wood of the desk, “and if I’m getting new furniture, I might as well use this to its full capacity, shouldn’t I?” And he’s dragging his erection across your ass, “really make sure it’s broken,”
You gasp, walls fluttering as his tip teased your messy entrance, “don’t you need broken in—“ and he bottoms out in one thrust, as he presses his body against yours, lips pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, before his teeth dig into the sensitive flesh.
And he smirks as he hears you moan under him, as he soothes the blooming hickey with his tongue, “No, I meant broken, sweetheart.”
“Suguru!” You called from his bedroom, as he smoothed his hair out in the bathroom mirror, a glance over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, “can you come help me?”
And how could he refuse? He steps out of the bathroom to only find you struggling with your Hakama. The formal garment hangs uselessly around your front, your brow furrowed and lips pursed.
He suppresses his laugh, forcing his tone to be even.
“Does my incredibly brilliant girlfriend need help with her hood?” Your pout is enough for him to nearly break his promise that he wouldn’t kiss you when your makeup was done, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the offending garment from around your neck, and you cross your arms.
“I can handle reading Hegel’s works — The Phenomenology of Spirit was irritating but doable,” and you scowl at the Hakama in his hand, “but that thing was made to torture,”
He snorts, “Consider it your last trial before graduation,”
“No, my last is seeing if my thesis was peer reviewed and accepted for publication somewhere,” you sigh, “I still have to make the edits—“
“That can be a later problem, just focus on the moment right now,” he steps behind you after adjusting the Hakama and tying it around the back and front to secure it, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “and now you look both beautiful and properly dressed,”
His arms wrap around your waist from behind, “Sugu, we have to leave soon,”
“Just a minute, just let this sink in,” he kisses the side of your neck, “have I told you how proud I am of you?”
“Hmm, just about every second of the last few days,” you lean against him, and nothing ever felt so perfect — his arms were the only ones you belonged in.
And yet, why did that thought also hurt?
“What is iy, baby?” Suguru murmurs, ever too perceptive as always, “something on your mind,”
“More like someone,” you mumble, and you’re laying your head against his shoulder, “I can’t help but feel guilty — Yuta and I just broke up and I’m—“ you’re shaking your head, “I’m so happy, and I hate myself for it,”
Suguru frowns, “I don’t know Yuta well, but I know he did love you, the same way I do, and I can’t speak for him,” but then he’s squeezing your middle, “but as someone who loves you, I’d want you to be with someone who could make could make you happy,” you kiss his head, “and isn’t that why he broke up with you? You both deserve that chance — even if it’s not each other.”
“When did you get so smart?” and he pulls you impossibly closer, kissing along the neckline of your kimono.
“Somewhere between my bachelor’s degree and being your professor,” he adds with his lips curled in a smirk, “though I’d err closer to the time of being your professor,”
Your head against his shoulder, you lean up for a kiss, as he blinks, before melting into your touch, as you pull back with a grin, “it’s ok if I initiate the kiss,” you chuckle when you catch sight of his pout, “don’t worry I’ll be giving you plenty after the ceremony — and maybe something even more than a kiss,”
“Is that a promise?” And you tug him close, pressing another kiss to his lips — your lips were already smudged, so why hold back.
“Always, for you.”
Yuta knew it was for the best.
It had been a few weeks that he spent mourning his relationship — but he knew that it was the right choice for him. He had chased after you, it felt as if he was dogging your every step, waiting for you to notice him. And when you did, he still felt as he was your second choice — and that he would live in Geto’s shadow for the entirety of the relationship.
And he didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve that — and neither did you. More than anything, he wanted you to be happy — even if that wasn’t with him.
It was for the best.
And the start to the new semester just proved that. He was starting his final year of his program, he had become the head of the student government (after Maki decided to step down to a more administrative role to focus on her degree), and he had even become a teacher’s assistant to one of his favorite professors. He didn’t have time to focus on a relationship, not when he should be focusing on his future.
He entered the classroom that day, a little early on his professor’s request to set up the classroom with handouts, only to bump into someone, papers spilling from his hands.
“Sorry, I—” he leans down to pick up the dropped papers, before glancing up and finds himself looking at just that—
His future.
A few months later.
“You’re late,” Suguru Geto remarks, as he shows you his watch on his wrist — the very one you had bought him for his birthday a few weeks before, “but I should expect that by now, shouldn’t I?”
You give a guilty grin, as you find your way to his side, sliding your hands up around his neck, “Yes you should, especially when your girlfriend is a very important lecturer who was kept by all her students — jealous?”
And he chuckles, his hair tied up in a half bun as usual, your fingers toying with a strand again, before he’s lacing with fingers with yours to press a kiss to the back of your hand, “Very — because your students are stealing my time with my very intellectual girlfriend,” and he leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of your throat, “it sounds like it was a success — I knew it would be,” he adds, “but someone else wasn’t so sure,”
You roll your eyes playfully, “Yes, yes, you were right — the students found my work interesting, or at least interesting enough not to fall asleep and ask questions—”
“High praise,” and your lips curl into a smile, “What?”
“I love you,” he grins back at you, a chuckle on his lips, as he leans down to capture them, his smile apparent against you, as he parts from you, a heat still present in the pit of your stomach, a need for him burning as it always was, “I love you so much, Suguru,”
“I love you too, princess,” he’s rubbing his thumb back and forth against the length of your cheek, “Good thing too because otherwise, moving in together would be more than a little awkward,” and you pout, and he’s laughing before kissing you again and again, until he’s kissing your pout away with a languid kiss that has you melting into his grasp — breathless when he pulls away, lips utterly kiss ruined and red, “they should be calling us into the viewing soon,” he bites his lip,and you’re nodding reluctantly if only considering whether if you could sway him for another few moments alone. Instead you settle for burying your face in the crook of his neck, lips brushing against his leaping pulse, “you’re sure about moving to Kyoto? I had only chosen Kyoto to give you space—”
You cut him off with a glance up and a raised eyebrow, “You’re the one who said I could choose, and I chose Kyoto because not only is it a good opportunity for you here to build your reputation as the department head, but because it’s a fresh start for us,”
His fingers lace with yours, “Well if they keep asking you to lecture in Tokyo, you might develop a commute,” and you roll your eyes, before shrugging.
“I can handle it,” you squeeze his hand, “as long as I'm coming home to you.”
“And a cat or a poodle,”and you light up, grinning even wider, “we should ask if they allow pets,”
“Really? We can—”
“I heard poodles are a good choice of pet,” and you’re leaning up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, “I made an appointment for at an adoption center after this,”
“Mr. Geto?” a person comes out of the leasing office, “we’re ready for you both,”
And you pull away, your fingers interlacing with yours and squeezing his hand, “Are you ready?”
His lips curl in a smile, “I think we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? Especially they agreed to take us for our viewing after you were late,”
And you chuckle, as the two of you made your way inside, “I swear you’re going to leave without me one of these days if I’m late enough,”
“No, I’d never do that. I’ll always wait for you, sweetheart,” he holds the door open for you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “we have all the time in the world after all.” And you grin at him as you walk past him, his fingers reaching into his pocket.
He had found out his answer to life — watching you greet and speak with the agent, before glancing back at him with a small smile and tilt of your head — his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket—
And now he just needed to know yours.
END.
Yuta’s own love story will be coming after Professor Gojo’s!
✧a/n: wow i'm still in disbelief i finished this series. this is my first series on tumblr, and i truly hope you all enjoyed. this part was wayyyy longer than i expected. but i hope i did the series justice.
✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @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 , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @lalacute03
#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru fanfiction#suguru geto fanfiction#geto x reader#geto smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru x reader
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Forceful breeding with Perv!König (🌽 link)
CW; FORCED IMPREGNATION, BREEDING KINK, NON-CON/DUB-CON, AFAB!F!READER — MDNI 18+
König is looking out for himself. His oma and his mother are desperate for some children from König and have been pestering König as he ages. All könig thinks about is the soft giggles of a little baby, to hold his own child in his arms protectively, to care and look out for them like a father should.
Although, you're fearful of pregnancy. All the side effects and complications, the things that could possibly go wrong. Shame fills him when he thinks about what he could do to convince you, or get you pregnant, whether it was a consensual and conscious decision or not. König admires your drunken facial expressions, the smell of booze assaulting his nostrils when he takes in a deep breath beside you. Guilt leaves him conflicted, but inevitably, he chooses to take you. König knows it's wrong, but he wants it too much to bear.
You're too weak to fight against König, who quickly manhandles you into a position where you're vulnerable and powerless and unable to fight back. Even if you tried, your attempts would lead to wasted energy as König carries out with his sickening, distributing acts despite your pleas, all caused by his perversity, selfishness and corrupted perception of love. You don't react, or at least not until König is shoving himself inside to get this over and done with. The sound of your pained cries pulls at his heartstrings, but regardless, he ploughs into you with your legs pulled over his shoulders and your hands pinned to your sides, held in a fist as you dig your nails into your palms, choking on your sounds and sobs.
“I know, I know, it hurts, doesn't it? You're doing so, so well. You know this will benefit both of us, right? Just- a little bit longer, Suße...” He grunts out, working towards that desired release he's been dreaming about all day.
The impact of his hung balls slapping against your ass is excruciating. Your body contorts and trembles as you attempt to wriggle your way out of his firm grasp, useless as König begins to lean further into you, pushing all of his weight down onto you to slam into your ass. You gag at the feeling of König hitting deeper than before, right against your bruised cervix. It's obvious that König wants this, and he'll make sure not a drop leaves your hole.
Just think about how happy his mother will be, the excitement on his oma's face and the presents they'll bring you, little lamb...
#orla speaks#tw: forced impregnation#tw: forced breeding#tw: non con#konig x reader#konig x female reader#konig x reader smut#könig x reader#könig x you#könig x y/n#könig cod#könig call of duty#konig mw2#konig modern warfare#konig mwii#könig smut#konig cod#konig call of duty#konig smut#konig headcanons#konig x you#cod imagine#cod#cod x reader smut#cod x reader
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menace ⎜l.hughes
pairings: luke hughes x reader ⎜ ft matt rempe
prompt: "back the fuck off"
genre: fluff ⎜established relationship ⎜
warnings: matt rempe being a menace as per usual ⎜angry luke ⎜protective bf luke ⎜mentions of fighting ⎜insults towards reader and luke ⎜
synopsis: you never realised your boyfriend could get so fired up by a simple little comment.
word count: 3.6k
authors note: this was requested a while ago and was the clear winner of the poll I put up so I hope you all enjoy. also don't pay too much attention to the timeline it is less than accurate.
(UNEDITED)
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Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things.
But he does know a lot about hockey.
His life has always been about hockey - sleep, eat, hockey, repeat - so when he met you it was refreshing to not have to live for hockey.
It was refreshing to live for him.
The first time the two of you had met, you were sitting at the only table with a free seat in the library - Lukes textbook for his sports management classes in his arms as he looks around for any other possibilities, not wanting to disturb the brunette girl with her nose in her own textbooks.
“You can sit down, you know.” Your voice was quiet, and at first he was sure he had imagined it and continued glancing around for other seats. “I’m not going to bite.” You added as you pushed your headphones off your head, glancing away from your books at the lost boy.
Lukes eyes shoot to yours, his head nodding quickly as he shuffles over to the seat, his shoulders rising in a cringe as his textbooks drop on the table - the bang resonating through the library, a few heads turning his way as he quickly slides into the chair. You watch him as he opens his text book staring at the page for a few moments before pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You good there, curly?” Luke's eyes raise to meet yours, your head tilted in amusement as you glance down at his books and then back up at him.
“This class was supposed to be easy.” He admits slowly, sighing as a smile blooms on your face - your hand flicking closed your textbook, the front cover matching his.
“Super easy.” You admit, as you close your laptop, your headphones are still around your neck as you scoot your chair around the round table to look down at his notebook. “You’re a bit behind on the lessons?” You question, noting his notes are from a class over two weeks ago.
“I get caught up with sports sometimes.” He can’t help the goosebumps that rise as your arm brushes over his - reaching to flick his textbook back a few chapters.
“You do know that the student comes first in the name student athlete?” Your words are sharp but the smile on your face lessens the blow, his head nodding quickly again - and he’s sure there’s a dumb glazed look in his eyes.
“I can help you out if you want.” Lukes never agreed to something quicker in his life - his hand shooting out to shake yours as he almost yells his name in introduction - he repeats your name under his breath a few times after you return his introduction not wanting to forget anything about you.
Months passed quickly - the two of you meeting up at least once a week to go over the material you had learnt in class, making sure Luke was understanding everything - even going as far as to FaceTime when the team was on road trips.
It was a Thursday afternoon - the two of you sitting on Luke's small bed in his dorm room, textbooks splayed on the bed though neither of you were paying much attention to them. Luke's attention was focused on the hockey game on his laptop, and your attention was focused on him.
“Hey, Luke?” You call quietly, his eyes never leaving the screen as he hums in response - his body tensing every time one of the players in red get close to the goal. “When are you going to ask me on a date?” Luke doesn’t look at you, but you can tell his attention is no longer on the hockey game in front of him - the goal horn blaring as he sits frozen on his bed.
“You’d want that?” He finally asks, his voice cracking as his head lifts to slowly close his computer, his hands gripping the cold metal as he waits for your response.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it.” Luke can feel his heart burst in his chest, your hand reaching out, a gentle finger on his chin turning his head towards you - “ask me.” You say firmly, his eyes locked with yours as you wait for his brain to reboot.
“Would you like to go on a date with me?” He asks, the words falling out of his mouth before his brain can catch up.
“I would love to go on a date with you, Luke.”
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It’s funny how true the silly little saying your parents teach you as a kid can be so true.
Time really does fly when you’re having fun.
It also flies when your boyfriend gets called up into the professional hockey league and has to leave you behind.
“Did you watch the game today?” Luke asks through your phone, his small face on your phone propped up beside you on your desk, his hair wet from his shower post game, a soft glow on his skin as he smiles at you when you’re not looking.
“Of course.” You say, jotting something in your notebook before closing it softly, “I also watched when you almost got your back broken by being hit into the bench.” You huff, a frown on your face as you glance over your boyfriend. Luke's smile drops a little, as he sits up in his bed, watching as you wipe at your face roughly.
“I just worry about you, Luke.” You say quietly, your eyes teary - Luke can feel his heart stop as he looks around his room in panic, for what no one knows. Luke feels his chest tighten as you let a small sniffle escape before wiping at your face again.
“When are you going to ask me to be with you?” Luke never knows what to do when you ask questions like this - his response typically falling under a freeze response, his brain moving slower than normal when you catch him by surprise.
“You’d want that?” He asks, the deja vu settling in his bones as he adds, “What about school?”
“I’m doing a degree in business management, Luke - I can do that online if I wanted to.” Luke feels like he’s going to have long term effects if you keep making his heart stop and start like this - the deja vu hitting again as you add, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it.”
Luke feels like he’s going to explode as he yanks his laptop from where it is charging, looking up flights and hotels as quickly as possible.
Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things.
But he knows he would pay whatever he had to, to have you here with him - to be able to entwine his two favorite things in his life together.
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The last six months have been a crash course in ice hockey - after the play off season had ended with an unfortunate loss Luke had dragged you to Michigan for the summer, wasting no time in introducing you to his whole family and everyone around who would listen.
His two older brothers had put in the work to sit you down every night after dinner. A game from the previous season loaded onto the T.V a notebook in your lap as Luke slipped onto the couch behind you - his hand fiddling with whatever they could latch onto.
“Okay so what is it called if one player insults another player?” Jack quizzes, the video paused on his captain's mouth open mid yell.
“Chirping?” You say Jack giving a strong nod and a smile, resuming the video.
“And what do we do when someone chirps us?” Jack asks, his smile mischievous as he waits for you to respond.
“Chirp back?” You assume, Jack clapping his hands together in joy as Luke shakes his head behind you - leaning forwards to pull your short hair out of its bun.
“No, we ignore it.” Luke corrects, his fingers gentle on your scalp as he detangles the knots left in your hair from the day on the boat.
“That’s not fun, Lukey.” Jack huffs, looking over to his older brother for back up, Quinn just throwing his hands up with a shrug.
“I think ignoring it is a better answer.” Quinn says softly, his attention solely on his phone.
“Alright let’s watch something else - I think she knows everything she can.” Luke says pulling the remote from Jack's hand as he exits off the hockey game, pulling up Netflix to scroll through. His arm banded around your waist as he pulls you to lie back against him, a blanket thrown over the two of you as his brother argues over what to watch.
“The post is blowing up, Luke.” You say quietly, showing him the notifications on your phone - Luke had posted an instagram story early, undeniably hard launching the relationship into the public - both of you had expected some attention but this had been more than anything you would imagine.
“It’ll settle down eventually - you’re lucky Jack hasn’t posted anything, that would probably make your phone crash.” You let out a small chuckle, leaning into Luke further as you scroll through your notifications trying to clear your inbox as much as possible.
“Hold up, who’s that?” Luke asks as you stop scrolling through your inbox, clicking on the message he pointed at. “Matt Rempe? Why does that sound so familiar?” Luke questions as you click on his profile scrolling through the photos in confusion.
“You mean the giant kid who was just signed to the rangers?” Jack asks, his attention momentarily leaving the movie trailer Quinn was showing on his phone to respond to Luke.
“How do you know that?” Luke asks, his brother just shrugging in response. “What did he say?” Luke asks as you swipe back to the message reading over the words with a frown.
“Hey, how’s heaven handling things now that you’ve left?” You read aloud, Quinn letting out a loud snort and Jack's mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh dear god, that’s bad.” You sigh, moving to delete the message before Luke’s hand stops you, his hand swiping the phone from your hand as his fingers tap on the screen.
“Luke, what are you doing?” You hiss, watching as he types out a message before deleting it and starting again “What happened to ignoring it?”
“This is off the ice - you don’t hit on other players' girlfriends.” Luke types again before hitting send on the one sentence message.
‘She has a boyfriend.’ You roll your eyes before snatching your phone back, the device dinging as you place it back in your lap. Luke looks at you expectantly as you pick up your phone again showing him the response.
‘We’ll see about that.’
“He’s messing with you Luke, just leave it.” You say, blocking the players profile before turning off your phone and tucking it under the blanket before he can type out more messages to his fellow rookie player.
The message echoes around Lukes head for the rest of the night - the man shocked by his fellow players' audacity.
Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things.
But he knows about hockey - and you don’t go after another player's girlfriend.
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The season started off tense - with most of New Jersey’s star players out with injuries the team was scraping by on wins - only just managing to pull ahead towards the end of each game.
The most anticipated game of the season slowly sneaking up behind every one - the New Jersey Devils against the New York Rangers - normally a big rivalry but this year everything seemed more tense - especially with the rising enforcer of the New York Rangers making his presence and dislike for the New Jersey Devils team known.
“Everything will be fine.” You reassure Luke for the hundredth time, squeezing his hand once more before releasing it to fall back to his side, his face falling as he stares down at his empty palm. “I’ll meet you in the locker room after you take the arrival photos.” You say softly, before leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, smoothing out his unruly curls before giving him one last smile.
He watches as you walk away, greeting some of the staff you pass as you move to where the other family members were gathering to wish their player good luck before the game. You lean against the wall as you scroll absentmindedly on your phone, occasionally adding something to the conversation going on around you, each of the wags splitting off towards their players as they make their way to the locker room.
“Excuse me?” A deep voice says from behind you, a large hand tapping on your shoulder. You turn slowly your head lifting as you glance up at the abnormally large man, his face immediately flagging recognition in your memory. “Are you a keyboard?” He asks quickly - your brows pulling together as you frown.
“What?” You respond.
“Are you a keyboard?” He tries again, waiting for a few moments before adding, “because I think you’re just my type.” You can’t help the scoff that comes out of you, physically cringing at the pick up line.
“Wait, I have more.” He exclaims quickly, a soft smile on your face as you shake your head.
“I’m aware - I’m pretty sure heaven is fairing pretty well without me.” Your retort seems to strike something in the man's memory, his mouth falling open in surprise before a slow grin grows back in its place. “You’ve really lived up to your name as hockey’s new menace.” You add, glancing over your shoulder to see Luke making his way up to the locker room.
“Ah so you’ve been watching me?” Matt’s confidence in himself is jarring, your frown deepening as you shake your head.
“Unfortunately for me, you seem to pop up in a lot of conversations about my boyfriend.” You say quietly, “Maybe it was due to your blatant disrespect for your fellow rookie players in this league.” Matt hesitates for a second, his eyes grazing over your face for any sign that you were joking.
“You’re not my type, and frankly I was hoping you got the message when I blocked you, but clearly your thick head isn’t good for anything other than fighting.” You add, and you know you shouldn’t be adding fuel to the fire but you just can’t help it.
“Everything okay over here?” Luke's voice is like dousing fire with water, his hand smoothing over your back to sit against your hip as he slides up beside you.
“You should keep your girl on a tighter leash.” Matt speaks before you can reassure your boyfriend, “Seems like she’d jump ship to anyone offering her a good time.” You can feel Luke tense beside you, a few of his team mates pausing in their movement, watching their rookie player glare up at the intruder.
While Luke has always been considered in the group of larger hockey players - Matt was on a whole other level.
“What did you just say about her?”
“You heard what I said - your girlfriend is a whore.” You flinch at the words, your arm looping around Luke’s back to grab hold of his suit jacket hoping he was smart enough not to engage with the larger man.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Matt continues his taunting, your gaze flicking over your shoulder hoping to catch the attention of another person.
Luke takes in a deep breath, rolling his eyes before stepping away from you a little, his hands moving you behind him slightly as he moves toe to toe with the fighter. “Look, back the fuck off dude. She said she wasn't interested and I’m not interested in paying a fine for bothering with someone like you.”
You let out a sigh of relief as one of the older players steps up besides you, pulling you a step further away from the pair, his own glare set on the two boys.
“This can be dealt with on the ice.” Kurtis says roughly, tugging on Luke’s arm to break contact, the rookie quickly following the wordless instructions of his veteran teammate. “Forget what you said about her…” Kurtis pauses, waiting for Luke to object before adding, “Why don’t you fight someone your own size?” You can see the anger rolling off the two rookies as they finally nod at each other in understanding, Matt glaring at the three of you before turning towards the away team locker room.
“Leave him for me, Kid.” Kurtis says quickly as Luke turns towards him, adding “You’re not a fighter, Luke. We need you to be able to play.” Luke nods hesitantly, the two of you watching as Kurtis kisses his wife quickly before moving into the locker room, your gaze turning up to your boyfriend.
“He’s right, you know.” You say.
“I know.” Luke agrees, leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on your cheek before following after his team mate.
“Play safe.” The words falter as Kurtis’s wife thread her arm through yours - reassuring you everything will be okay.
“Kurtis will sort that kid out.” She says quickly, the cheeky gleam in her eyes.
The pre game warm ups move quickly - both teams seemingly tense on the ice, neither making much contact with each other, Luke goes through his normal motions, his body seeming no looser than before as he exits the ice to walk back into the locker room.
“Why do I have a feeling this is going to be bad?” You ask the wives and girlfriends besides you - all of them agreeing with your gut feeling, all of you tense in your seats as you watch the teams take the ice again - a strange mix of players starting for New Jersey - Luke steaming from the bench as he watching the referee talk to the players at center ice.
It’s not clear who starts it from where you’re sitting - but as soon as the puck hits the ice, chaos breaks out - each of the ten players on the ice matching up a five on five brawl sprawling across the ice. Most of the fights end quickly, each player slowly making their way to the penalty box as they get pulled apart by the officials, but one match up continues.
Matt and Kurtis go head to head for over five minutes - both teams cheering them on the pounding of sticks on the boards echoing through the arena. Finally the two get pulled apart and to everyone's joy Kurtis comes away relatively unharmed - the other team's rookie seeming to have gotten the worst of the hits in the fight.
You watch Luke yell something across the ice as Matt is dragged from the ice the two of them yelling at each other back and forth until Luke’s captain pats his shoulder gently, motioning for him to calm down.
The game continues tensely - the ejected players cleaning themselves up before joining your group in the family area, Kurtis patting your shoulder gently as you thank him for stepping in.
“The kid needing a proper welcome to the NHL - I’m glad I was the one to give it to him.” Kurtis says quietly, before adding, “Luke’s pretty fired up, try to get him home in one piece.”
The game finishes with a loss for the Devils, everyone disappointed but unable to wipe the smiles off their faces as they reminisce on the earlier fight - everyone wanting to share their point of view. Luke pushes his way out of the locker room, his face set in a deep frown as he reaches his hand out for yours, his shoulder dropping a little as you squeeze your hand in his.
“You need to relax and try not to crash on the way home.” You comment as you both get into the car. Luke lets out a long groan before flopping against the driver's seat.
“I feel like such a wimp.” Luke’s words surprise you, your boyfriend had never had much interest in fighting before definitely being a lover and not a fighter.
“Why?”
“Because I let another player fight my battle.” You let out a snort of a laugh.
“That’s his job, Luke.” Your boyfriend flicks his faze over to you, “He’s supposed to give and take the hits to keep the best players on the ice, I think Kurtis had more fun than anyone else that player today.” You continue, reaching over to pull on one of the curls sitting on his forehead.
“It’s not a bad thing to know when to fight and when you’re outmatched - Matt is a fighter and knows what he’s doing and you’d be stupid to think you could take him on.” Your words are harsh, just like they were when you had first met - but the blow is softened as you smile softly as the man sitting next to you.
“I’m proud of you for choosing the high road - he’s a meat head hockey player who’s got more brawn than skill - but you have talent and it would’ve been a shame to see you waste it all for one stupid fight.” Luke nods slowly at your words, turning his head to press a kiss against your palm before turning back to the front of the car.
“Okay, I think it’s safe to drive now.” He jokes, his posture far more relaxed than it was before.
Luke doesn’t know a lot about many things.
But he knows that he would do anything for you. Even get in a stupid fight.
#nhl imagine#nhl x reader#nhl#nhl fic#luke hughes#luke hughes x reader#luke hughes fanfic#luke hughes imagine#matt rempe
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𓆩Shy Boyfriend Seungmin𓆪
gn!reader | fighting my demons (my wips) so take this brainrot until I can post something longer :3 MDNI!! smut/NSFW below the cut
Shy bf Seungmin who can’t hold eye contact with you for more than a few seconds when you first start dating, constantly looking to the side or down at the ground when he talks to you
Shy bf Seungmin who almost takes off the first time you hold hands, shoving the cuff from his sweater on his free hand against his lips to hide his smile (🙁) and prevent himself from screaming like a lunatic
Shy bf Seungmin who always is sly when it comes to buying you things
Shy bf Seungmin who carefully watches your every move at the mall and waits until your back is to him to take pictures of things you linger on for too long or things you straight up show him and tell him that you like
Shy bf Seungmin who sneaks gifts instead of just handing them to you; sliding them into any bags or drawers he knows you go into at least once a day or putting them on the table the split second you look away
Shy bf Seungmin who keeps an extra blanket and hoodie of his in areas you two frequent just in case you get cold so he can say “Oh, I left my sweater here last time. You can use it.” or so he can ‘coincidentally’ find a blanket in a cabinet that nobody ever goes into and silently drape it over you before acting like nothing happened
Shy bf Seungmin who can’t find it in himself to be comfortable with pda in front of the others, but will “accidentally” brush his hands against yours or will “accidentally” leave something in the now vacant practice room that he needs your help in finding
Shy bf Seungmin who then drags you to the very entrance of the room, steal a kiss, then walks out and goes "Oh, never mind, it was in my pocket."
Shy bf Seungmin who freezes in place and turns red in the face when you eventually bring up taking things a step further
Shy bf Seungmin who can’t help but be timid during your first time together, his face a bright red the entire time
Shy bf Seungmin who is still hesitant and soft with his touches, even months/a year into the relationship
Shy bf Seungmin who is secretly ecstatic can’t help but choke on his spit when you ask him to be rougher in bed next time
Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who sits you down to discuss kinks you want to try and has you decide on a safeword
Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who doesn’t exactly tell you what he likes, but you can see the sides of his lips twitch at certain things you list
Suddenly less shy bf Seungmin who, next time you’re in bed together, repeatedly asks you if you’re sure. So much so that you almost take it back
Not so shy bf Seungmin who will suddenly grab your throat, squeezing the sides expertly and pinning you down to the bed after you convince him you’re sure
Not so shy bf Seungmin who eases you into degradation by making you beg for his dick to be in you and calling you things like his "pretty little slut"
Not so shy bf Seungmin who bullies his dick into you, hushing you with his fingers down your throat when you start to get too loud
Not so shy bf Seungmin who folds you into any position he knows of that will get him as deep into you as possible and pull the prettiest cries from your lips
Not so shy bf Seungmin who tells you to “Take it, like a good pup” when you cry out that he's so deep and it's too much, but not before reminding you that there’s a safeword in place
Not so shy bf Seungmin who laughs when you don’t use it, teasing you about how much of a slut you are for enjoying this
Not so shy bf Seungmin who grips your chin and forcefully makes you hold eye contact with him as he pummels into you when you shy away from his gaze
Not so shy bf Seungmin who threatens to tie you down and overstimulate you when you almost cum without his permission
Not so shy bf Seungmin whose dick twitches against your walls when he catches sight of tears on your face as he fucks you through your orgasm
Not so shy bf Seungmin who pats your cheek with his fingertips when he’s close to cumming and tells you to “Take it all. Every last drop.”
Not so shy bf Seungmin who gives you the CRAZIEST orgasm(s) of your life to then, two seconds later when it’s all over, shower you with kisses and praises
Shy bf Seungmin who gives you the best aftercare ever, cleaning you up, hand feeding you food, and holding up your water for you while you take sips
Shy bf Seungmin who gives the warmest cuddles after the fact, holding you close and massaging your skin while he presses soft kisses to your lips, face, and hairline (and needing some of these for himself) until you’re both normal again
Shy bf Seungmin who needs reassurance when he holds you close, wanting to make sure you enjoyed it as much as he did and that he didn’t actually hurt you
Shy bf Seungmin who now has newfound confidence in bed. Not as fragile with his touches and no longer shy of eye contact, even in more vanilla sessions
Shy bf Seungmin who, even after all this, blushes like crazy and stutters when your lips sneak his a kiss near his members the next day
#sian’s writing#stray kids fluff#stray kids smut#stray kids drabbles#stray kids x reader#skz fluff#skz smut#skz drabbles#skz x reader#seungmin fluff#seungmin smut#seungmin x reader#seungmin drabbles
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HARD THOUGHT !
pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader
cw: smut, unprotected sex, usage of nicknames.
warning: 18+ content, minors dni
Best friend!Sunghoon had easily convinced you to move in with him. His reasoning sat well with you—low cost and splitting of the rent. As a university student, you would do anything to save up some extra cash and this deal was spot on as it saved you half the amount of your usual living expenses.
However, the provided reason wasn’t even close to what Sunghoon had actually wanted. He knew you had a crush on him, yet you never acted upon it due to your experiences regarding sex and love were limited, which made him want to ruin you beyond words. He was more on the possessive side of the spectrum, which was also laced with jealousy as he hated the idea of anyone else touching his little angel, his kitten.
So he took the matter in his own hands, pulling you even closer to him now that you shared an apartment with each other. He stared at you a little longer, walked around shirtless, his touch on your bare skin lingered for a second too long and you loved it. Your body always reacted to him in such a manner which made him lose his patience each fucking day, until he finally decided to cage you between him and the wall when you had freshly came out of the shower, clad in just your tiny towel.
“You like showing your pretty little body, don’t you, kitten?” He’d whisper in a deep tone, eyes dark as he stared right in your eyes. He could see you biting your lip, your thighs pressing close to each other as you tried to formulate a reply. “What are you talking about Hoonie—” you were shushed with his slender finger, which was now pressed against your lips. “I know you want me, baby. You just have to say it, yeah?” He assured you slow but serious.
You couldn’t wait any longer, not when you dreamed the filthiest of your fantasies with him, not when you touched yourself desperately hoping that it was him instead, even more so when he simply sat in the room next door. You nodded fervently, “want you so much, Hoonie,” you almost whimpered, feeling smaller than ever under his intense gaze.
“Oh baby, I’ll ruin your cunt and fuck you in every corner of this goddamn apartment,” he growled.
He was gentle with you for your very first time, he knew exactly how you’d like it, he was your best friend after all. But you didn’t bother thinking that he’d actually fuck you everywhere. It started from your bedroom, where he took care of your all night, trying his best not to go overboard with you. The next time, he took you to his bedroom. The task was simple, you’ll have to suck his dick and he’d make a mess on your pretty face.
It then progressed to you crying out his name in pleasure as he fucks you from behind on your couch which barely fit two people. He didn’t even leave the kitchen out of the deal as he fucked you on the marble counter, his cock hitting just the right spots as you dug your nails into his shoulders for support. Then he proceeded to take you to the bathroom, the reason was simple again—to save the water.
It didn’t matter if it was your study table or the wall next to the front door, it never mattered if you were on the carpet or his gaming chair, he had to fuck you. As for you, you loved every second of it, he made sure to get your wildest fantasies out of you, only to make them come true.
When you finally crawled up to him, giving him your sweetest smile as you asked him to fuck you, he knew he had won in life.
He had ruined you.
© jaylaxies | tumblr
#ria:thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen smut#enha smut#sunghoon smut#kpop smut#sunghoon hard thoughts
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What about Nat taking you for the first time, being soft and careful but losing control for a bit and filling you up to the brim 🥴
sorry for the wait anon, i needed to get rid of my uni things, but here we go! it came out longer than i imagined, hope you enjoy either way!
warnings: sex scenes, dom/sub dynamic, g!p nat, daddy!nat, p in v, gxg, breeding, blowjob, fingering, orgasm, age gap, dirty talks.
daddy! nat was a completely a soft bear during your first time. you weren’t nothing but an inexperienced little virgin thing and natasha was this older woman who clearly had lots of sex in the past.
she took so much care of everything. the bed had towels for the eventuality of blood loss, bottles of water were lined up on the bedside table, the room was in the right temperature, a hand towel ready to wipe you off and she already set items ready for the aftercare. everything was under her control and ready to assure every of your comfort.
wet, needy and ready you were on her big bed being eaten and stretched out for the first time, at every whimper of discomfort natasha would softly hush you and press a kiss on your thighs. she was slow, lovely, giving you time to process and let her taste you in the most delicate ways.
natasha could’ve swear she would have been happy to die between your milky thighs with her mouth and fingers deep inside you, the sweet taste of your juices tempting and the most sinful sounds rolling off your tongue were driving the older woman drunk and lustful.
she was there with you, living the moment, living the passion, living the love flowing between you. starting to memorise your body that eventually became her favourite place to be, to mark, to own.
her knee sunk into the bed and while you were worshipping her plump breasts, she was jerking herself off with grunts and moans. your pussy was soaked thanks to the two orgasms she already gave you.
she shifted both of you on the bed, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed. fully naked, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath came in shallow gasps as natasha watched you, who was positioned between her legs.
natasha’s cock was standing erect and ready as you leaned closer, breath hot against the warm flesh. you kissed the tip hesitating, lips soft and teasing. your daddy eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a low groan escaping her lips.
“oh, bunny,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire.
your tongue darted out, feeling bolder to giving the tip a series of playful kitty licks looking up at the redhead for guidance which was immediately given as big veiny hands found their way into your curls, gently tugging to guiding your movements.
“look at me, baby girl,” natasha commanded, her voice firm yet tender. you obeyed, gaze locking with her and slowly taking the cock in your mouth starting with just the tip, tongue swirling around it before starting to take more, inch by inch like a drug.
the woman’s hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to thrust deeper into your wet and welcoming mouth, hands tightened in your hairs, trying to maintain control. “take it all, bunny. I want you to take every inch.”
your eyes filled eventually with tears as the cock reached the back of the throat, but you didn’t pull away because you wanted to make your daddy proud, so you relished the sensation of pleasing her, the power and submission blending into a heady mix that made your own body tingle with arousal. bobbing head, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue working the length of the massive venous cock.
natasha’s breathing grew ragged, her moans louder and more desperate. “fuck–you’re amazing, baby girl. just like that.” her fingers twisted in your hairs holding you in place firmly.
you could feel the twitching of the prick as the heavy balls of the woman prepared to release its contents, you redoubled efforts, mouth moving faster, eyes never leaving natasha’s. the connection between you was electric, the intensity almost overwhelming.
“daddy needs you to swallow, bunny,” natasha growled, her hips trembling with the effort to stay still, she was so close and only god knows how she wanted to pin you down and fuck your mouth with mercy. “can you do that for me?”
you nodded as best you could, eyes filled with determination and devotion. with one final, deep thrust, natasha released her load, filling your mouth with the warm, sticky cum. you gagged slightly but quickly composed yourself, swallowing every drop as your daddy had commanded.
the redhead whole body shuddered with pleasure as she watched you. “that’s my good girl. you took it so well, baby.” pulling you up for a kiss, your mouths meeting in a passionate, messy collision. the taste of the cum was still on your lips, and natasha licked it off, savoring the flavor.
"you're so beautiful, baby," natasha murmured against your lips. she kissed her way down to your body again and her thumb found your clit, teasing your folds. you moaned softly, body arching towards the woman.
natasha made sure you was wet enough, she was so worried to hurt you like you were made of glass. patting the tip of her cock against her pussy and brushing the tip gently over her entrance, she breathed softly "are you ready, my little one?.”
you nodded with eyes filled with trust and need. "yes, daddy. please."
the redhead positioned herself and slowly pushed the tip inside you, inch by inch, ensuring you didn't feel too much pain, her lips found yours in a slow, sweet kiss, muffling your mutual groans of pleasure and then finally she bottomed fully inside you.
"you're doing so well, princess," she praised, her voice tender and head resting on your neck, you were so warm and tight and natasha was already on the brick of blowing. she kissed you softly while you gripped at her back with nails digging in slightly.
natasha, once sure the pain went away, began to thrust gently, setting a slow and intimate pace. each movement was filled with love and adoration, her hips moving rhythmically against yours. "you feel so good, bunny. so perfect.”
you whimpered, body trembling with pleasure and need for more. "daddy! oh–more, more. please!”
natasha increased her pace gradually, her thrusts becoming more intense. "fuck–baby, i need to cum inside of you. i need to fill you up, sweet girl. daddy needs to claim you." she continued to move, her body pressed intimately against yours until she felt the climax building.
with a final thrust, the redhead released the cum inside your warm pussy, humping softly to ensure it stayed within you. "take it all, princess. you're so good for me," natasha praised, her voice full of pride and affection.
foreheads touching, breath ragged and sweet smiles painted your lips and bodies locked close, natasha caressed your hair, kissed you gently, and whispered sweet nothings. "you're my everything, bunny. you did so well," her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.
she kissed you deeply again and again. your connection building stronger than ever, as you held each other close, the world outside fading away in the warmth of your shared love.
#anon#anon ask#nonnie#anonymous#romanovthinkver#answered#natasha romanoff#romanoffthereal#natasha romanov#marvel#mcu#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff imagines#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha alianovna romanova#natasha romanoff smut#natasha x reader smut#daddy! natasha romanoff#daddy!nat#daddy natasha#daddy!natasha#bd/sm daddy#g!p natasha romanoff#g!p natasha#g!p#gxg#wlw#reader#sub!reader
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i’d look for you
din djarin x f!reader | masterlist
summary: din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers
warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again.
wordcount: 2k
notes: pairing is the same as other din fics by me. but don’t need to read to enjoy. written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge - this fic has made me smile so much, I hope it does the same for you.
“Can you do something for me?”
The question hangs, burns, in the air of his bed. Your eyes blinking awake, having been roused from slumber by his gloved hand on your cheek.
You’re aware he’s waiting, biting the inside of your cheek, as you nod.
Swallowing the longer answer which burns on your tongue, finding it now tastes of acid and wrongness, having been trapped inside for so long, having let it overstay its welcome.
You suspect he knows it all anyway. Likely as easily able to read you, as you are him. Able to hear the words you don’t say, just from the way you stare at him, like a written passage all on its own.
He helps you up, but doesn’t hurry you. You almost smirk at the purposeful, cautious touches on your side, trailing his gloved hand along the curve of your back as he leads you to the refresher, awakening thoughts more sinful than you suspect is his intention.
It’s then he tells you the time, but shares nothing else about why the ship is quiet.
“What about—”
“He’s asleep.”
Your mouth clamps shut, taking the clothes he hands you as you bury the rest of the questions. Each piece you slide on, you don’t shy away as he stands waiting. Letting him stare, letting him take in the sight of you in more light than he can when your bodies usually writhe.
Are you admiring me, Din? you want to ask. Do you feel the invisible string between us too?
Sometimes, you dislike that he told you the shade of his eyes, because you look for them. Peer through the visor with more hope than you’d allowed yourself to have before.
“Can you turn around?”
It should sound like a command, but his tone is softer, more brittle. Something unspoken within it, tightening around each letter, bending and forging with it—likely things he’ll never admit.
Still, you obey. Closing your eyes as you feel him behind you, his presence crowding and looming—recollecting when he’d been barer than he is now, draped over you.
If you will it enough, you swear you can feel his breath fluttering over your shoulder—remembering how he makes you feel full and sated, content and happy. The last time, you’d been in a haze, fucked out, blissfully aware of the naked fingers resting at the base of your neck as you came down and the way he had tilted your head back and swallowed your whine like he knew it belonged to him.
You do, you think, belong to him.
Not because he has taken, but because he has earned—he has proven. A thing which rises to the tip of your tongue and sears alongside the other words which linger and ferment.
“Trust me,” he says.
Not a question, but an ask. And you don’t mean to, but an unintentional gasp escapes at the feel of the soft, smooth fabric when it slides over your eyes. Light fades as though he clicks his fingers, blanketing you in night in the middle of the day as it tightens around your head—rendering you quiet, shyer, almost smaller, as your sense is removed, willingly given but taken all the same.
Then you stand, breath hitching, anticipation threading through your veins as you wait. For him to move, to speak, to do. Each second stretches into eternity, making a protest wish to appear. A change of mind, a declaration of wishing to do something else, than this.
But, you don’t speak it. Instead, dancing your fingers against the tops of your thighs, waiting, not patiently, but not rushing.
“Relax.”
You snort to smother the shiver that darts down your spine at his voice.
Unsure how one does such a thing when you hear the ramp going down, subtly listening to the sound of water running. You feel lost, adrift in a sea of darkness—of nothingness—with every fibre of your being yearning for a familiar anchor, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you fight the urge to whisper his name into the void, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the engulfing uncertainty.
Din, you think.
Wondering if he can hear his name in your mind. If he’ll come to your calling, hold your hand; allow you to ask if this is necessary, if this—
“Breathe.”
And you do.
Chest filling, lungs flooding—his gloved fingers sliding between your bare ones, rooting you as he repeats it. Calmness spreads through you inch by inch, in the same way he makes pleasure surge through your muscles.
He gives you a minute, a moment. Likely waiting until your head turns in the direction you think he’s in, before he leads, offering stony orders to be careful—one that almost makes you grin until your steps take your soles to meet something softer than his ship.
The smell greets you first. It’s crisp and sweet—unlike anything you’ve encountered. Then the drizzle, how it forces your clothing to bind to your skin in a way that should feel suffocating, but instead feels freeing. Lips beginning to stretch, teeth showing as your cheeks ache with the intensity of your grin.
It’s then you feel him move behind you, the squelch of his boots signifying it. His chest meets your spine, the ghost of his touch along the side of his neck, before you feel the fabric over your eyes, loosen and light begins to seep in.
Then, it goes from nothing to everything. It being almost too much to take in all at once—the unveiled surprise, the thing he’d wanted you to see in its wonder and not in pieces as you descended.
And—
“It’s beautiful.”
It being the delicate blooms that stretch out before you. Each one a mysterious burst of colour against a backdrop of greenery. Vibrant splashes of colour, all wild and free, rising from the ground like the scenes from books you used to read. With each sway and ripple in the breeze, you spot more flowers. All of them stirred by the falling rain, watching each motion, all in awe; lost for words.
Distantly, you become aware that he’s moved to the side of you, but you’re unable to tear your eyes from the world. Not able to take your sight from the striking array of hues, every colour flower you think you could ever imagine swaying. Because there are iridescent blues and purples; there are some that glow with luminous gold and reds that look stained with blood. Shares you can’t even name, but are drawn to, reluctant to steal your gaze until you spot another.
Fingers reaching out, knee bending, you touch one, find it softer, more delicate than you ever thought. Tears springing to your eyes, chest swarmed with warmth as you admire the way the stems twist and spiral in graceful arcs, all beaded with the sparkling mist that continues to fall.
“What do you think?”
“It’s…”
Words fail you, a thing you’re not sure he could ever believe.
The only conscious thought is that you wish to live amongst them. No words exist that can describe how serene you feel; how as wild or as drenched as the petals you admire.
Because it’s then you really notice the rain, coming to sit amongst the living and the flowers. Ground soaked with it, it falling in torrents. Each droplet is a percussion against your skin, seeping through the layers and soaking you to the bone.
It's a different kind of loveliness. It’s all free, raw and unyielding, a mosaic of shades that aren't bowing or converting into a glistening canvas of liquid silver—even if the skies try to.
In truth, you thought you’d seen rain. But this is something different.
It is more akin to the sky having been ripped open, split in two, cracked, all but pouring its tears upon the land in a symphony of water and wind. Your fingers dig into the dirt, feeling his equally soaked thigh press against yours as he joins you, feeling him watching, studying, even if you can't see his eyes.
“My mom used to say that a flower sprouts when a person leaves us,” you say, soft, barely your normal volume. “I always wondered where they did—I guess I know now.”
Shifting, you peel your sight from the flowers to see his legs extended, his body so close to yours. So much so, it would be easy to lean into it. Into him. To press your drenched clothing against his equally drowned frame, seek warmth, and take what he will offer you in the brightness of the day.
“Din,” you continue, tuning in to the gruff noise he makes for you to continue, as you move your shoulder closer.
His head turns, the front of his helmet facing you.
Allowing you to see a bead slide gracefully down the silver, moving like a serene symphony—as others fall, and then another. All being left by the sky above, weaving paths you wish to trace with your fingers.
You shouldn’t, but you want to wipe each away with your touch, rest your palms against the places his cheeks should be and will your hands to remember the warmth you know they can be.
“Can you remember the last time you felt the rain on your bare skin?”
Silence. Rain slides against leaves before rolling down to the soil below. The sound increases and decreases in odd waves as the storm tries to square itself against the sun, against the blossoms which rise like an army unwilling to cower.
“No.”
His reply is rough, croaked out through the modulator—caked in openness you’re not sure he wishes to show.
And, it makes a memory resurface. Sharp and clear. The first time you’d felt him unmasked, the vulnerability etched into his features—frame tense, rigid. Nervousness flowed through him as easily as the blood that races. How you’d kissed him, felt his cracked lips gain confidence against yours as his muscles rippled under your palms.
In a different way than then, you reached out, offered comfort—providing something you’re not sure he easily is given.
“A person could get lost here,” you sigh, the words practically tumbling out.
A stillness follows, one only punctuated by the rain. That is, until he shifts, until you hear him exhale, before adding, “Not you.”
Dragging your eyes from the landscape, you watch as more droplets slide and skate down his helmet, against his armour. Desperate to cling. It’s nothing but mesmerising, making him appear like he’s made of the sky. Reflections of the flowers there, muted shades mirroring.
“No?”
He’s silent for a moment. Just one. “Wouldn’t let you. I’d find you.”
Smirking, you turn back to the view. “You’re good at that—practically a professional.”
He allows a beat, lets your shoulder settle against him—the heels of your boots digging into the ground of this place, hoping a little bit clings on and comes with you.
“I’d look for you.”
Breaking your gaze from the flowers and the falling rain, you rest them on his helmet. On him. On the space you think the brown eyes he’s told you about are currently watching you.
It’s slow to appear, taking its time to spread up into your cheek as the implication of his words ring out. Look, not find; search but not hunt.
“I wouldn’t run to begin with.”
You feel it, the shift, slight tilt of his head at your words.
And you swear you hear him breathe good, light almost airy—before gloved fingers find their way between yours again. Soaked, sodden. But neither moving as seconds become minutes.
“Cyar'ika?”
You hum, preening, almost blooming under the name he’s just begun using. Nestling further against him, watching the flowers sway and turn in the rain before his gloved hands come in front of you—a bunch of flowers held out to you, offered, given.
“My hair is brown too.”
You smile, taking the bunch, bringing them to your nose. “That’s nice to know.”
#din djarin x reader#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin fic#din djarin x you#mando x reader#mando x you#mando x f!reader#din djarin fanfic#din djarin#din djarin x reader smut#pedro pascal fic#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x f!reader#jettsflora&faunachallenge#the mandalorian x female reader#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin fanfiction
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Unnamed Rise AU
Edit: It has now been named The Prisoner and the Pretender AU. : D
AU where Leo stays in the Prison dimension longer, but is saved by the technodrome. He wakes up bandaged in one of the dark broken pieces and panicking but freezes when he hears Donnie hiss at him to be quiet unless he wants the Krang to find them.
Leo silently panics even more because why is Donnie here? He's supposed to be the only one trapped here! What did that stupid egghead do!?
Donnie helped talk him through it and calm him down. Leo then tries to look for Donnie in the darkened ship while asking what happened. The lights are extremely dim but he can still see, so why can't he find Donnie?
Leo stops when he hears Donnie say "Oh I'm not Donatello, not truly, not anymore. I was though. For a few glorious minutes, we were both Donatello. Both the technodrome."
Leo, becoming very aware that he no longer has his sword with him, decides to keep talking until he can find an exit.
"So if you're not Donnie, then what are you?"
Donnie's voice snipped back, "I'm not a what. I'm so much more than a simple object! I'm the technodrome, the perfect combination…"
Leo stops listening to its rant as he keeps searching the ship. He finds an exit and makes a break for it. Only to be stopped as it's blocked by tendrils and a strange replica of the top half of his brother's body coming out of the wall. In true Donnie fashion, it doesn't look happy about his recent decision.
"Where do you think you're going?" It quietly snarls. "Do you have any idea how injured you still are after your 'fight'? Not to mention the lack of food and other resources outside. If anything happened to you Donatello would be upset with me."
"What do you know about Donnie!?" Leo snaps back, only to be muffled by a tendril wrapping around his mouth.
"I know he would destroy the universe himself if it meant getting you back. He will come for you, it's only a matter of time, and I will not disappoint him.
#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt#rottmnt au#rise leo#rottmnt technodrome#rise donnie#ish#Unnamed rise AU#The prisoner and the pretender AU
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I Can Help With That
rockstar!Eddie x bestie!fem!virgin!reader
summary: Eddie catches you reading fanfiction about him and decides to let your experience the real thing
cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) fingering, oral (f receiving)
not proofread!
It wasn’t a secret that you had a huge crush on your best friend Eddie. You had been in love with him since you were kids and everyone knew. Well, everyone except Eddie, but he wasn’t exactly the most observant so you couldn’t blame him.
And you didn’t want him to know anyway. That was something you were going totally take to your grave. The whole thing was just so embarrassing for you and he definitely wasn’t the commitment kind of guy anyway. He usually just fucked women and let them leave, not wanting any attachment to them.
You supposed you couldn’t blame him since he was always traveling and didn’t have time for a relationship. And hey, the guy was only human. What was he supposed to do? Be surrounded by a bunch of beautiful women and not sleep with them when they offered?
You honestly weren’t sure how you came across it. You were just browsing the internet, looking to read about someone else when his name popped up. You were curious to say the least. You had no idea that people even wrote about Eddie in that way and thought it was hilarious, so obviously, you had to read it.
Then it got to the point where you were reading it every day, trying to find the best one to show him. What started out as a joke actually became not as much when you were actually enjoying what you were reading. You started imagining what it would have been like to actually be with him and it was getting out of hand.
You sat at your computer, another fanfiction pulled up and this one was different from the others. It wasn’t no longer soft and sweet. It was dirty. It was sexual with everything described on the page. You had read that kind of stuff before, but not about Eddie. Not about your best friend.
You were really getting into when you heard the door to your room open. You quickly minimized the page and turned to Eddie who looked almost unreal like always. With his leather jacket over his white t-shirt which was tucked into a pair of very ripped jeans that gave you a perfect view of his perfect thighs that you desperately wanted to get your hands on.
“What were you doing?” He asked, suspicious and you just put on a smile, trying to play it off.
“Nothing,” you shrugged, but Eddie just made a beeline for you. He spun your chair around and moved his hand to the mouse but you got there quicker, closing out the page completely.
“Oh, you silly girl,” he laughed. “You seemed to have forgotten that I can see your browser history.” He reached for the mouse and you grabbed it, holding it out of his reach as you rolled your chair away, the back of it eventually hitting the wall.
Eddie stepped over to you, resting his hands on the arm rests as he leaned so close to you that you could smell his breath. He looked like he was leaning in and you closed your eyes in anticipation only to open them and find Eddie at the computer, opening the last tab you had opened. You rolled your chair over, accepting defeat as you covered your face in embarrassment.
Eddie was a little shocked when he opened the page, but honestly wasn’t surprised. You read smut all the time. But wait a minute, was that his name? There it was again! You were reading smut about him? Since when?
“Why are you reading fanfiction about me?” The question wasn’t accusatory, more curious than anything.
“I was going to read about someone else, but then I saw your name and got curious. And then I was so determined to find one to read to you, but none of them seemed good enough.” Eddie knew he should’ve been weirded out, but he honestly just thought it was funny.
“So you’ve read these before?” He turned his face back towards the screen to read a little more.
“Yes,” you nodded. “But none like this, though.”
“Right,” he winked. “Of course not. But you like these though, huh?”
“I mean, I don’t know.” You did. Maybe a little too much.
“Do they get you hot?” His question caught you off guard, making you blush.
“What?”
“I bet they make you wet, huh?” How did he know that? It was as if he was psychic.
“Well-”
“Relax, babe. I’m just kidding.” You let out a sigh of relief. You’d die of embarrassment if he had actually been asking you that.
“Oh.”
“Unless they do actually make you wet.” You were so embarrassed that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
“Um, maybe a little.” He just chuckled and leaned forward so his lips were right by your ear.
“Sweetheart, if you wanted to do this kind of stuff with me, all you had to do was ask.” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of truth to his words.
“Really?” You didn’t quite believe him.
“Sure. Why read it when you have the real thing right here?”
“Eddie, this isn’t funny. If you’re going to make fun of me, I’d rather you just leave.”
“I’m not making fun of you. I’d love to give you the real thing if you’d let me.” He was being serious. He was actually offering to have sex with you and actually seemed enthusiastic about it. Was this all just some very real dream you had entered?
“You would?”
“If you want to.”
“I don’t know,” you shook your head. “I’ve just-I’ve never done anything before,” you reminded him and he just nodded.
“That’s okay. We don’t have to.” He stood up, but you grabbed his hand, preventing him from leaving.
“Please fuck me!” Your words came out much more needy than you intended and Eddie just looked at you with wide eyes before a smile broke out on his face.
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” you nodded.
“And you can back out at any point.”
“I know.” He bent over the chair, his hands gripping the arm rests again. His face was so close to yours that you could make out every single detail. God, he was beautiful.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispered and you nodded.
“Yes,” you responded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. Eddie reached up and pulled your lip from your teeth with his thumb and let it settle back into place before, leaning in, pressing a featherlight peck to your lips before pulling away.
“What was that?”
“Relax,” he laughed. “I’m just warming you up.” He leaned in again and pressed another peck to your lips. Another. Another until he slotted his lips between yours, capturing them in the softest, sweetest kiss.
Assuming that he was uncomfortable leaning over like that, you stood up from the chair and wrapped your arms around his neck before going in for another kiss. It was like none you had ever experienced before. It was like he put full thought into each one, trying to figure out what you liked and what you didn’t.
His arms wrapped around your waist as his tongue licked along the seam of your lips. You opened up and he slid his tongue inside, letting it swirl around yours. It felt so good and you were surprised that you were already aroused when he hadn’t even done anything.
A sound that was foreign to you escaped your mouth and you pulled away, bringing your hand up to your lips to cover them in embarrassment. Eddie just laughed and pulled your hand away.
“There’s not need to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he assured you. “Make as much noise as you want. In fact, I’d prefer it.” When you still looked unsure, he continued. “I’m serious,” he pecked your lips once more. “Be as loud as you want. There’s no such thing as being too loud.”
“So, you want me to make the noise again?”
“I’d actually prefer it.” With that, Eddie’s lips were on yours again and he took no time to stick his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours. You didn’t hold back that time, letting the moan fully escape your lips and felt Eddie’s boner against you as he pulled you closer.
His hands traveled down your back and slowly moved up your hoodie as he tested the waters to see if it was okay. Once you didn’t say anything, his hands moved up even more to your bra that he realized wasn’t there. The idea of you not wearing one made him even more hard and he decided that he needed to see your tits for himself.
He slowly lifted the bottom of your hoodie and you lifted your arms up so he had so trouble removing it. He let out a gasp as your hoodie hit the floor as he took in your naked upper half. He had really been missing out. God, you were so fucking perfect.
“Christ. You’ve been hiding these from me all this time?” He reached up to touch them, taking them in his hands before giving them a squeeze.
“Well, it’s not exactly normal to show your best friend your tits, is it?”
“And yet, here we are,” he smirked.
“Eddie, our friendship has never been normal.”
“That’s true. But seriously, you’re so fucking hot.”
“I know,” you nodded and it made him even more hard knowing that you were so confident in yourself. Soon, his lips were back on yours again, this time more rough as he took what he wanted from you.
His thumbs moved your nipples in a circular motion and you let out a moan at the foreign feeling.
“Feels so good, Eds,” you told him and he continued, wanting to hear more of those pretty sounds fall from your lips. His lips moved to your neck as he slowly laid you down on the bed, removing his jacket and shirt as he did so.
He attached his lips to yours once again, this kiss slow and sloven, as if he had all the time in the world, and you supposed he did. He brought your bottom lip between his and gave it a little suck, causing you to let out a whimper and you to get even more wet. Once he realized you liked it, he did it again, harder that time before taking it between his teeth and biting down gently.
“Fuck,” you moaned. “More.” He bit down even harder and you let out your loudest moan. As he bit and sucked your lip, his hand traveled down to your sweatpants. He slowly stuck his hand down the front of them, on the hunt for your pussy.
Once he found it, Eddie’s fingers lightly grazed it, warming you up for the main event. He slowly stuck two fingers inside of you and your back arched in pleasure, your eyes closing tight.
He pumped his fingers in and out of you, the only sounds that could be heard were your moans and the squelching of your slick as he moved his fingers in and out of your cunt. You were already experiencing more pleasure than you ever had and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.
“You like that, hon?” He asked as he pumped a little faster.
“So good, don’t stop.” He hooked his finger and found just the right spot, causing your legs to stretch out at the pleasure.
“Oh my god, Eddie, I think I’m gonna-”
Just as you said the words, you reached your first climax, screaming his name as you did so. Eddie removed his fingers from you and you sat up just in time to watch him slowly lick your slick from his fingers.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Taste so good, sweetheart.”
“You can have another,” you told him, your confidence building.
“You let me finger you and now you’re going to let me eat you out? Well, sugar. It must just be my lucky day.” Eddie lowered himself onto his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed and grabbed you by the ankles, pulling you with him.
With your permission, he pulled down your pants and let out a dramatic gasp at the wet patch on your underwear. He then removed those as well and spread your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your sopping wet cunt.
“You did all of this for me?” He gasped. “Sugar, you shouldn’t have.” He draped a leg over each shoulder and pressed open mouthed kisses to your thighs, not wanting them to feel left out before he inhaled your scent, desperate for a taste. “You look good enough to eat and I’m starving.”
Eddie let his nose brush your cunt as he dove in and you let out a gasp, gripping the comforter underneath you as you got used to the foreign feeling. He then slowly licked a stripe from your slit to your clit, eliciting a whine from you.
“Oh, my god,” you moaned and Eddie pulled away for a second, just so he could speak to you.
“Taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he groaned his voice all raspy, making you even more wet. “Swear I could do this all day.” He went in for more and licked and sucked as your back arched in pleasure, his fingers digging into your thighs as he lapped up every single bit of your slick.
His teeth grazed just the right spot and you swore that your vision went hazy at the pure euphoria you were experiencing. Was it always like that or was Eddie just that good? You were pretty sure it was the latter.
Your thighs pressed against his head as Eddie stuck his tongue fully inside you and your hands moved to his hair as you reached yet another orgasm, but he wasn’t done just yet.
His tongue swirled around your cunt and you yanked on his hair in reaction to the feeling. You hadn’t experienced anything like it and were sure that you definitely wanted him to do it again. It was too good to just pretend like it didn’t happen.
“Fuck,” you whined. “Right there.” He hit just the right spot to make a mewl fall from your lips and you fell back onto the mattress as you came down from your climax. Eddie gave your cunt one last lick before pulling his face away, the entire thing soaked in your slick, but he didn’t care. He’d be happy to lick it all up just to get another taste of you.
“God, could eat you for hours, baby. You taste heavenly.”
“Need your cock,” you said through labored breaths and Eddie was surprised. He thought you’d need a little break before you were ready.
“Baby, we just-”
“Eddie,” you said through grit teeth. “I need you now.”
“Alright, alright,” he pulled a condom from his wallet and quickly removed his jeans and underwear before rolling the thing onto his cock. He then lined himself up with your cunt and slowly inserted himself, both of you letting out moans at the sensation.
Eddie slowly thrusted into you since it was your first time and as good as it felt, you needed more. He wasn’t moving fast or harder enough.
“Harder,” you told him and he kept going slow, unsure of that was the right move for you. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially not on your first time.
“Are you sure?”
“Very fucking sure. Fuck me hard.” With that, Eddie pounded into you and you mewled in reaction.
“Oh,” you moaned. “Oh my god-fuck.”
“That’s it, honey,” Eddie responded. “Look at you, taking me so well. Look like a fucking princess underneath me.”
He continued to pound into you and the moans that left your mouth were enough to make him the hardest he had ever been. None of the other women he had fucked had been nearly as responsive to his moves as you had. You ate up every single thing and he loved that about you. That you took whatever he gave you and was nothing but grateful for it.
“Fuck, feel so good, princess,” he moaned, grabbing the onto your legs and wrapping them around his waist so he had more access to your pussy.
He thrusted and thrusted, eventually moving the fastest and hardest he could and that seemed to satisfy you. In return, Eddie was eating up all of your reactions, loving to hear your moans, desperate to have a recording of them because of how lovely they sounded.
Once you both reached your climaxes, Eddie pulled out of you and made you go pee while he disposed of the condom. He then joined you in the bathroom and the two of you got into the bed, not even bothering to put your clothes back on.
Eddie laid next to you and pulled you to him, bare skin to bare skin and pushed some your baby hairs off of your sweaty forehead. He then pressed a kiss to it and moved all the way down until he got to your lips, pulling you in for a sweet kiss.
He then pressed his forehead to yours, his brown eyes boring into yours. His hand moved leisurely up and down your arm and he licked his lips before he spoke.
“What if I told you that I wanted to do that more often?”
“I’d totally let you.” If it was anything like you had just experienced, you’d let do it anytime he wanted.
“Well, what if I told you that I wanted you to be the only person that I slept with?”
“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing?” What ever he was suggesting, you were down for.
“No, more like a boyfriend-girlfriend kind of thing.”
“I’d love that.” You rolled on top of Eddie and peppered his face in kisses while he let out numerous giggles. You then pulling him in for a kiss that left him breathless to solidify your relationship status. The first of many that night and for the rest of your lives.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#rockstar!eddie x you#rockstar!eddie x reader#rockstar!eddie smut#rockstar!eddie munson#virgin!reader#rockstar!eddie x virgin!reader
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it's been way too long since i last did wildly self-indulgent fanart, so of course i did it for an SVSSS AU that doesn't even have any actual fanfiction written of it yet. but what can i say! it's a compelling scenario! Just check the original post for details!
here's a workplace doodle for his mess of an outfit, too:
Xin Mo is floating behind his back, wrapped in talismans. the collars are meant to be vaguely inspired on a flower bud.
Some notes i came up with for this version, copied straight from a month-old discord convo:
he may have protagonist halo now, but he's for sure not a stallion protagonist. he literally exchanged fates with his favorite person in the world in order to spare them a hellish trial-- that's romantic as fuck!! damn!! this is old CLAMP shoujo and no mistake!!
binghe may no longer be the protag, but he's still a half-heavenly demon. power-wise, heavenly demons can't be topped, and all the remaining heavenly demons are accounted for. so, SQQ can't be a heavenly demon, even in part.
HOWEVER, as a protagonist, there's a factor more important than power! it's the CHUUNI FACTOR. what's more CHUUNI™️ than being part demon?
one option is being part demon and part angel.
how would that even fucking work??????? IDK man, you can either pull from chinese folklore for fairies or heavenly beings or spirits, or you can blame Airplane and go "he accidentally implied the existence of christian elements by means of importing unexamined anime tropes"
Shen Jiu conveniently has a big fat blank on his parentage. We as fans can and have put whatever the hell we wanted there.
SQQ would jump into the abyss still under the impression SJ was a shallow villain. If his trip through the abyss involves recovering SJ's memories somehow, that sure would be fun times, huh?
so he awakens a mysterious ancestry and survives the abyss and takes Xin Mo, but he probably takes longer than Binghe did due to being squishier.
but Xin Mo isn't ACTUALLY his! so he papers it over with sealing talismans, and to battle the temptation to wield it he takes to wearing these longass sleeves. they're probably covered in talismans as well.
guessing Xiu Ya stayed behind to be mooned over by the clown trio in Cang Qiong. let's go full sparkle-sue here and say he's now fighting almost entirely via musical cultivation. i like swan-necked konghou harps so let's go with that, it'll look dope.
why is he barefoot? why WOULDN'T he be, is the question. fragile!! suffering!! dainty!! he's a shrinking flower, tormented by the weight of the One Sword To Rule Them All!!
also for extra pathos, his constant mental struggle against Xin Mo means he can't spare energy to front. it takes constant focus! he's still a bit in his delusional shit, but even when he's going "oh no, binghe is only latched throat-deep onto my dick because he's a good boy who's concerned about me and the danger i could pose by losing control" he'd probably… well, he'd probably say that out loud to anyone who asked. he's in a half-trance, mentally battling the crazy-making sword. lying is too much work.
Wouldn’t resisting Xin Mo’s influence be the mental and spiritual equivalent to training under 400x gravity or something? his wife-beam is going to be off the charts when he puts it down.
also also: who the hell dressed him like that? fucking shang qinghua, of course, after SQQ showed up in the northern palace to punish MBJ for hurting binghe in the conference. did the system explain shit to SQH? on the one hand, extremely funny if it updates him on the role change out of nowhere mid-alliance. on the other hand, extremely funny if he only finds out because Binghe is crying safely in Qing Jing while the scum villain apparently jumped into the abyss.
Here's another link to the original AU post! I've had it open on a tab all this time just so i could point to it when I was done, so make sure to check it out!
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chan x reader. hurt and lots of comfort. description of an anxiety attack and its aftermath (based on my own experiences).
please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you
If you remain still long enough, breathe as quietly as you can muster, would the world forget you exist and pass your anxiety along to somebody else?
A selfish question, perhaps, but one that you can’t help but ask as you sit on your freezing bathroom floor, knees tightly hugged to your chest.
You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve sat in this position. Time suddenly seemed elusive to you, as if a concept too hard for your frantic heart to grasp. All you knew was the ache of your limbs and the feeling that doom was just around the corner.
It was one of those days where you woke up feeling anxious. As if your brain had made up its mind about you in your sleep, deciding to hold you hostage to your anxiety. The bed was cold, your boyfriend Chan long gone to his studio, his lingering cologne the only indication he was ever there. So, you tried to distract yourself throughout the day— going on a walk, listening to music, cleaning your house, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help you.
So here you were, hours later, sat on your bathroom floor, trying to calm yourself down, all alone. But you could tell that it wasn't working, that you were on a losing race against your own body. Soon, you wouldn't be able to control your anxiety, soon it would turn into a full blown attack.
You wanted to call Chan, you truly did, but he was busy, and you refused to be a burden. Especially since he told you through texts that he'd be home late, so that definitely meant that he was making a new track in his studio.
So, you settled on rocking yourself back and forth, your hands slowly moving up to your shoulders, patting yourself down. This is what you used to do before knowing Chan. When you didn't have anyone around you who understood. You’d trick your bruised mind into believing you were hugged, the warmth of your own touch easing your anxiety a little.
But tonight it had the opposite effect. Tonight, you broke down in sobs, your breathing more irregular than ever. You curled into a ball on the floor, your hand moving to your chest in a futile attempt to slow down your heart. You could no longer breathe, the air in your lungs morphing into unkind fingers, choking you from within. White dots started dancing in front of your eyes, as your entire being shook like a lone leaf, left to fend for itself before the unyielding winds.
It suddenly got too much— the sobs, the pain, the ache. You couldn't bare it anymore. So with trembling hands, you unlocked your phone, calling the only person who would be able to calm you down. Chan. You put the phone on speaker, before tossing it on the ground next to you. You couldn't even muster the energy to hold it to your ear.
“Hi my love, I'm a bit busy right now can I call you later?” Chan's rushed words ring through the bathroom, your anxiety intensifying before the possible antidote. “Honey?” he asks again when he doesn’t hear your reply.
“Chan—“ you sob, the only word your weighted tongue allows you to speak of.
“I’m here, I'm here baby. I'm coming right now,” his panicked voice rings through your ears, following the frantic rush of your boiling blood. The sound of shuffling indicates that he’s getting up and leaving the studio, the confused ‘what’s going on?’ Han shouts confirms it.
The only reply you give him is your sobs, and his heart constricts, twists and turns at the sound of your cries. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe for me, okay? Take a deep breath with me, please—” his voice breaks, “please baby.”
You try, with all your will, to force a steady breath to rise from your stomach to the tip of your tongue. It escapes faintly, but Chan catches it. “You’re doing well, baby. Fuck—” he turns on his car’s engine. “Um… Minho bit my ass today.”
His words catch you off guard, the gears in your mind stopping for a split second. You remember a faint conversation under your covers, months ago, when you told him that distractions help you when you’re anxious. Force you to redirect your thinking somewhere else.
He remembered.
“Was it tasty?” you breathe out, and he chuckles, a sweet sound intermingled with a sigh of relief. “I don’t know, I need to ask him baby.”
You nod though he can’t see you, willing yourself to breathe again. In, out, in, out, Chan’s own breathing guiding you. “Should I bite him in return?” he asks. Tears pool in your eyes once again. “I’m close, so close,” he reassures.
“Okay.”
“To the biting?”
“Mm,” you manage to hum, as you hear the door of your apartment open, Chan's hurried steps echoing in your home. You knew he was looking for you but you couldn't call out to him. After painfully long seconds, stretching out as if to torture you even more, he finally opens the bathroom floor.
He finally finds you.
“It's okay, I'm here. I'm here,” he wastes no time before scooping you into his arms and hugging you. He knows that the pressure eases your anxiety so he tightens his hold without you having to say so, pulling you as close as two pages of the same book.
With you on his lap, he starts rocking back and forth, his words coming out a jumble mess. He can’t settle on what to say to you, switching between stupid jokes his friends told him, and words of reassurance he repeats like a promise.
His words break, his tongue faltering each time your sob gets louder, but he speaks. He speaks and speaks for twenty minutes, all to distract you, all to keep you grounded, and safe.
After a long while, the storm finally passes, leaving behind an excruciating exhaustion. You turn into a puddle in his hold, softening like malleable clay. He holds you as gently as a porcelain vase.
His warm palms settle atop your cheeks, his eyes gazing into yours for the first time since he got here. A sheen glaze taints them, one you know is mirrored in your own. His thumbs gently swipe away your remaining tears, grazing your face with a tenderness that makes your being ache. Your lips press a faint kiss onto his palm, his find their way to your forehead, and you feel it all, through his kiss. His fear, his relief, his love, soft and gentle, for you.
“Thank you,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse as you kiss his forehead back.
“I’ve got you my love. Always,” he smiles at you softly, his dimples appearing like the sun after a cold day.
“Did Minho really bite you?” you giggle faintly, and he scratches his ear sheepishly. “No, but I don’t put it past him to do it.”
“Is that something you’re into?” You cock a teasing eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Only if it’s you,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist, picking you up swiftly.
“I’ll consider,” you yawn, wrapping your arms around his neck, your face finding a refuge in the crook of his neck.
“Why thank you,” he smiles as he leads you to your bedroom, settling you gently atop the bed. He quickly climbs in with you, bringing you so close to him, his warmth ends up spreading through your entire being, filling up every nook and cranny of your soul.
“I think as long as you’re near, I’ll always be okay,” you say, as your eyes close slowly, you miss the tender smile that blooms in his face at your words.
“Good thing I exist to be near you, then.”
please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you
#this was actually the first thing ive ever written for skz#though i never posted it// i just tweaked it a bit today#im posting it mainly to reach more ppl in stayblr for the donations but please enjoy regardless!#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz x you#stray kids x you#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz imagines#skz reactions#stray kids reactions#skz fluff#skz angst#stray kids fanfic#stray kids angst#chan x reader#chan x you#chan fluff#chan angst#skz hurt/comfort#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios
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Pretty
spencer reid/gn!reader
i realised i’ve done a lot of introspective narratives about Feelings™️ but not a whole lot of interaction so pls have some as a treat ilu🧡
word count: 1.9k // warnings: there is so much pining in here it could be a forest
You can’t sleep.
Sheep have been counted over, and over, and over again and still, it evades you. For a day where you’d been looking forward to nothing more than collapsing into bed at the end of it; you’re not best pleased. It’s a rough case as it is, you don’t want to be sleep deprived on top of everything else. But it just isn’t happening.
You count seventy three individual little swirly panels on the ceiling before you decide to get up. A walk might go a fair way to unravel your nerves enough to get a couple of hours, at least you hope it will.
With your jacket thrown over your old college hoodie, you don’t bother changing your sweatpants for jeans, and just slip your feet into your boots. Garcia would be outraged at the clashing colours. The look won’t win any best dressed awards, but at this time of night you’re more concerned with clipping your holster in place. You’re not taking any chances. Especially not with the victimology of this case - although you do have the advantage of knowing the Unsub is out there somewhere. It’s still not an overly comforting thought. But you’re out of options, it’s this or counting the rest of the ceiling panels and, frankly, you’re sure you’ll go blind if you have to stare at plaster swirls for much longer. So you tuck your phone and room key into your coat pockets, and leave the dingy little room behind for a while.
The hotel is, thankfully, almost completely dead, save for the night manager dozing at the front desk. Faded carpet plush under your feet, you’re quiet as you descend the stairs to the lobby and its dimmed lights. The world is dark outside the front doors and you hesitate. Is it really the best idea? To walk around in a city that’s home to a serial killer whose victims bear a striking resemblance to yourself? No, no it’s not. Especially not at, you tug your phone out of your pocket to check the time - jesus, two o’clock in the morning.
“Hey, you.”
It would honestly be wrong to say you’re not expecting his voice - if you were to guess which of the team would still be up and about at this time of night, you’d pick Spencer. It’s a no-brainer.
“Hey, me. Couldn’t sleep either?” Your smile is more strained than you mean for it to be when you turn it to him in response, he must have just come back, snuck in unnoticed while you were glaring at the time on your phone. He’s similarly dressed, coat huddled around mismatched pyjamas, another victim of case-induced insomnia then. His eyes are tired, they are more often than not these days. Yours aren’t all that better.
There’s a comfortable moment of silence where you just exist together, in the hushed quiet of the hotel lobby. Breathing in the calm of the night. It almost makes up for the chaos you know awaits the team in the morning.
“Is it nice out?” You ask, toeing the carpet with your scuffed boot.
“You’re not going for a walk, are you?”
“I’m armed, genius, and I’m twice as scary as anything out there.”
Spencer just huffs your name through an exasperated sigh and looks at you as you waltz past him with your hands in your pockets, turning at the waist to watch you go.
“So come with me.” There’s the vaguest hint of a teasing smile on your lips as you walk backwards towards to the front doors. He’s still not moved when you spin on your heel to push them open and walk off into the night - but you could live a hundred lives and still know the footsteps that follow you down the concrete steps anywhere.
He’s not exactly intimidating, but having him by your side in the small hours makes you feel safer than the weight of the gun at your hip ever could. You try not to think too hard about what that means.
“How many ceiling panels are in your room?” Your breath puffs out in a cloud, words winding around each other in the chill of the just about morning.
“A hundred and nine, if you count the ones that are cut in half.”
“Damn, I gave up at seventy three.”
“I’m not sure how much I believe that, I’ve never seen you give up on anything.” Spencer kicks a pebble into the road at the same moment your feet stop working.
To think he’s paid enough attention to you to notice a thing like that. Maybe you should expect it, especially being part of the team that studies human behaviour, but it still takes you by surprise. The idea that he could, would want to, notice things about you. It’s borderline dangerous. Stubbornness isn’t cute - you’ve been accused of being like a dog with a bone when it comes to your theories more than once. But the way he says it so casually yet so reverently, like it’s something to be proud of, like it’s something he admires. You just about manage to get your legs to cooperate before he can realise you’ve fallen a step behind.
He offers his elbow to you, an uncharacteristic first move, and you almost don’t know what to make of it. Spencer doesn’t initiate contact, ever. Or at least, you’ve never known him to unless it’s to check your tac-vest, and yet here he is. Hands in his pockets, sticking his arm out for you to take. You’re sliding your own arm through his before you even really realise it. Well, it would be rude not to wouldn’t it? When he’s offered so kindly?
In the name of safety, presumably. When there’s a killer on the loose and you just so happen to fit the victimology. Keeping you close is a precaution. You steer the conversation towards the case, if neither of you are resting then you might as well be trying to unravel the latest psycho’s motivations. Another precaution, although a little selfish this time around, to save your heart from falling even further for the man beside you.
“Statistically, people who are attractive are targeted more often that those who aren’t. This Unsub isn’t exactly going against the grain, he’s picking pretty victims.” He rattles off the thought as though it doesn’t threaten to stop your heart in your chest.
It was Spencer who’d pointed out the striking similarities between you and the victims in the first place.
“Doctor Reid, do you think I’m pretty?” Your scandalised gasp matches the hands you press against your chest in faux-shock. And, for once in his life, he doesn’t seem to have any words. He just stands there beside you, gulping like a fish. You like him too much to leave him squirming any longer than he already has.
“I, uh-“ He scrambles for a response.
“Because you’d be right, I am pretty.”
The answering chuckle you get is enough to encourage you to link your arm back through his.
“What you’re saying is,” You press on, shaking off the moment, giving him the time to recover, “There’s no shock factor. Single bullet to the head, dumped unceremoniously with the trash. There’s nothing that says ‘hey look at me’ about this guy.”
Spencer hums in agreement, suddenly very interested in his shoes as they traipse along the drizzle dampened pavement beside yours, and the conversation lulls. But you don’t mind. It’s never an uncomfortable silence with him, it never has been. You’re both more than content to just exist in the same space together - his is a calming presence, for all his nervous energy. There’s never any expectation to be anyone but yourself when you’re around him, no judgement, no pressure.
You’re more than happy to trundle along beside him between the streetlights, dodging puddles, the weight of your linked arms nestled comfortably between you. Except, you’re a profiler. So, for all his valiant efforts to keep your suspicions to a minimum, they’re just not quite effective enough. One glance at his face confirms that he’s thinking far too hard about something. You let your shoulder knock into his, your elbow in his side jolting him out of his thoughts.
“You’re doing it again.” It almost feels blasphemous to disturb the peace that’s settled over you.
Spencer releases his lip from between his teeth.
“There’s something we’re missing.”
“We’ll find it. With fresh eyes in the morning, I bet it smacks us right in the face.”
He doesn’t look like he believes you, and you’d have to agree with him there, but the furrow of his brow relaxes at your gentle reassurance. That’s enough for the moment.
A car door slams up the street and makes you both jump. For all the security the gun at your hip awards you, you’re still a little on edge. It’s just you, Spencer, and the door-slammer on the street - though the stranger seems to be so absorbed in his own world that he barely registers the pair of you. While you’re both fairly confident that the man walking towards you isn’t the Unsub, Spencer tugs you closer into his side by your linked arms all the same. He makes sure he’s solid where he stands between you and the passing stranger, even though you both know he wouldn’t stand a chance in that fight with his lanky frame. There isn’t a bit of you that minds the protection. Something catches in your chest, blooming, warming you from the inside out. It’s dangerous.
You’re not sure when you looped back onto yourselves, but the shadow of the hotel looms and suddenly there’s plush carpet under your feet again. Part of you is glad that your chances to embarrass yourself tonight are numbered. He’d be kind enough not to point it out if you did, though.
The elevator is too close to the front doors, there aren’t enough storeys to pass to get to the floor commandeered by the team, and your rooms are the first in the hallway. Doors opposite each other, the irony of the parallel isn’t lost on you. But it’s so rare that you get to spend time with him without any external pressures of a case or the prying eyes of more than a few colleagues. It feels a little unfair that the time has gone so quickly - an hour, your phone confirms when the screen lights up as you fish around in your pocket for your room key. There’s that pang in your chest again, the one that makes you feel like an impatient child. You know you can’t have him the way you want, you know why you can’t, you know it would probably end in heartbreak for everyone. But god, do you want him. It’d be worth every painful second.
Spencer’s voice across the hall stops your hand, room card outstretched halfway to the scanner in your fingers.
“For the record, I do.”
He’s chewing his lip again.
“You do what?”
You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. But neither of you will admit to it out loud. So it just hangs there, in the air between you, as you stand in front of your respective hotel room doors for a moment longer. And then he’s in his room, and you’re swiping your own keycard through the slot, and you’re shut away again. No less wired than you were when you left - but it’s hard to find it in yourself to worry about the sleep you definitely won’t be getting tonight, there’s no doubt about that.
Because Spencer Reid thinks you’re pretty.
if you’re reading this then thank you i love you i owe you my life i can’t wait to put these guys in more situations 🧡🧡🧡
#i rly thought i was gonna get this posted on friday and then decided i hated half of it huh#i still don’t know if i like chunks of this BUT we move#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#lou writes#the canyouniverse
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how about ransom and “i mean, i got what i wanted, didn’t i?” 👀🫶🏼
can't resist a dare
pairing: best friend!ransom drysdale x female reader
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, oral sex (m receiving), cock worship, taking nude photos/sending nude photos, filming/recording/taking photos during sex, little bit of exhibitionism, come marking, come facial, light bdsm, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names (baby), aftercare, friends to lovers, revenge on a mean/rude ex
word count: 4,300ish
a/n: whoops, this ended up being longer than i anticipated 😬 but i loved the premise i came up with too much to scrap it and try to write something shorter so here we go!! i just loved the idea of best friend!ransom being a petty perv and reader being just as much of a petty perv 🤭 anyway i hope you enjoy!!! ♡♡♡
You never could resist a dare from Ransom Drysdale.
The devastatingly handsome grandson of Harlan Thrombey had been your best friend since you were children running around his grandfather’s spooky old house while your families spent time together. Even though you were both grown adults, Ransom still knew how to push all your buttons, and he knew that if he dared you to do something, you’d do it.
Which was how you’d ended up in the cramped bathroom on the first floor of the Thrombey mansion during Harlan’s May Day party, your body bent over at the waist and your arm contorted behind your back to take a photo of the tiny little thong you’d worn beneath your sundress.
Ransom had dared you to take a photo of your ass and send it to your ex. You, of course, had risen to the challenge and accepted the dare.
You hadn’t had nearly enough champagne to make you so reckless, but there was something about your oldest friend that brought out your competitive spirit. Ransom was the only one who could get you to do such things, but you enjoyed being pushed outside of your comfort zone. Plus, you knew your best friend wouldn’t make you do anything that would actually hurt you.
In fact, if you were honest with yourself, there was a part of you that was perversely pleased to be taking such an obscene photo of yourself while some of the richest families in Massachusetts milled around just outside the door. The thought of getting caught taking naughty pictures turned you on more than you wanted to admit, so you hurried up and took the photos.
When you were done, you picked one you liked and sent it to your ex with a smirk on your face, thinking he should be so lucky as to see your ass one last time.
Leaving the bathroom, you strutted through the party looking for Ransom, feeling smug about completing the dare. You caught his eye when you entered the library, and even across the room, you could see the amusement dancing in his crystal blue eyes. You made your way through the crowd with a pep in your step, but halfway through, your phone vibrated with a response from your ex.
You opened the text and wished you hadn’t.
Didn’t know you were such a desperate slut, but if you really need dick so bad, I guess I’ll let you ride mine, baby. I know you loved bouncing on it like a whore.
Your expression twisted into a scowl, and you looked up at your best friend, who was suddenly in front of you. Hurt wrapped around your heart, a part of you feeling—perhaps unfairly—that Ransom should’ve known your ex would text something vile back to you.
“I did your dare, are you happy now?” you hissed at your best friend, taking out all your hurt and anger on Ransom. You knew you were much more angry at yourself, and your ex, for his hurtful response, but your best friend was the safest target at the moment.
Annoyingly, Ransom looked unaffected by your fury, the satisfied smirk on his face never wavering even as you continued to glare at him. When he responded, his voice was a lazy drawl that reminded you he couldn’t have known the effect of his dare.
“I mean, I got what I wanted, didn’t I?”
Before you could stop yourself, you let out a frustrated huff and opened your phone to the text message you’d gotten from your ex, turning the screen to your best friend so he could read it. “Is this what you wanted?” you sneered, knowing full well your best friend wouldn’t react kindly to what your ex had said.
You were so determined to show Ransom what he’d done, you didn’t even consider the fact that you were also showing him the photo you’d sent. At least, not until his blue eyes went a little hazy and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin.
“The dare didn’t include you showing me the photo,” Ransom drawled, his gaze flicking to yours, the look in his eyes making something hot squirm deep in your core. “But I can’t say I mind—you’ve got a gorgeous ass.”
Heat rose in your face, and your expression twisted into one of impatient annoyance. “Look at the response, Ran,” you gritted out, trying not to let his compliment get to you. He was your best friend—he was probably just messing with you. But you were soon distracted from what Ransom had said when he finally looked at what your ex had replied.
A storm cloud settled over Ransom’s handsome features, his eyes narrowing into two slits and his mouth twisting into a furious scowl. You even thought you heard a low rumble, like a growl, emanate from your best friend’s chest beneath the din of the party around you.
“Who does this little shit think he is?” Ransom fumed, grabbing your phone and clicking on the contact info. “Does this motherfucker think he can talk to you like this?” Your best friend’s gaze flicked to yours and something inside you warmed when you saw the righteous anger simmering in his eyes. “And where the fuck does he get off calling you baby?”
Your mouth opened to answer him, but Ransom just shook his head in a way that quelled you. Instead, he grabbed your hand with his free one and began leading you through the party toward the back of the house. Your feet moved quickly to keep up with his longer strides, and he slowed a little so he didn’t hurt your arm as he tugged you into the backyard. Ransom walked briskly through the gate in the fence that separated the lawn from the forest.
You knew the forest around the Thrombey mansion just as well as the house itself, with its trees and the occasional statues representing Harlan’s various mystery novels. You and Ransom had played in the forest plenty when you were children, and partied amongst the statues when you were in your teens and early twenties. It was the only place the two of you could have any privacy, and you had to assume that Ransom wanted seclusion to discuss what your ex had said.
At your favorite of the statues in the forest, Ransom pulled to a stop and rounded on you, mischief gleaming in his blue eyes. You could tell he had a plan.
“Do you wanna show your shithead ex what he’s missing?”
Ransom’s smile was sharp as a knife and you couldn’t help but be distracted by your best friend’s handsomeness, just for a moment. His slicked-back brown hair gleamed in the spring sunshine that trickled down through the leafy trees above, and his broad shoulders filled out his henley so deliciously, you almost forgot the question he asked.
But then his words broke through your distracted mind and the grin that spread across your face was practically devilish in your delight. “What do you have in mind?” you asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stared up at your best friend with nothing but trust.
Ransom’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your mouth for just a second before he met yours again. “Get on your knees,” he said, his voice low and gruff in a way you’d never heard before. It made heat pool deep in your core and you squirmed a little but didn’t hesitate to follow the order.
The forest floor was blanketed in a soft carpet of dying leaves, even as new growth flourished around you, the sweet scent of spring filling your senses as you lowered yourself to your knees. Your eyes remained fixed on Ransom’s as your knees hit the soft ground, and though you knew the two of you were alone in the woods, it truly felt as though you were the only two people in the whole world.
You weren’t naive. You knew whatever your best friend had in mind to get back at your ex would be crossing one or two lines you’d never crossed with him before. But you trusted Ransom. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. And, truthfully, a part of you that you kept hidden and locked away so much of the time wanted to cross a line or two with your best friend.
So you sat on your knees on the ground at Ransom’s feet and stared up at him with all the trust you had in him no doubt written all over your face. You watched as his eyes softened and his mouth curved at the edges into a gentle smile, his expression filled with affection. It was so different to the hard or smarmy mask he wore in public—and even around his family—that you relaxed even further, knowing he’d take care of you even as you got revenge on your ex.
“Stick your tongue out,” Ransom murmured, his voice low and soft and nearly blending in with the breeze rustling the trees above you. His hand reached out and his fingers stroked your cheek, his smile deepening when you nuzzled into his palm before doing as he said. “Good girl, now look at me like you wanna suck my cock.”
A bolt of heat shot through you, nearly making you shiver as warmth bloomed, feral and unbidden, within your body. Ransom’s command was certainly crossing a line, but it felt like permission, too. For the first time in a very long time, you let the feelings you’d hidden away come rushing to the surface. The force of them surprised you, and you found yourself leaning into the arousal that swirled through your body.
With your tongue already sticking out, you let yourself sink into the desire you felt to suck Ransom’s cock and let it show in the way you were posed. You arched your back to stick out your ass and push up your chest, giving your best friend a good view of your tits in your dress. Letting your eyes go heavy-lidded with arousal, you stared eagerly up at your best friend.
You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide and his lips parting as he let out a heavy breath. He looked transfixed by you, and if you weren’t sticking your tongue out, you would’ve smirked at his reaction to you.
For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. Then, Ransom shook himself lightly and he held up your phone, swiping it open to the camera. You watched as he angled it the way he wanted, and waited patiently while he took a few pictures of you on your knees in front of him.
When his eyes returned to your face, you relaxed your pose a little, expecting him to give you your phone so you could pick out a photo to send to your ex. Instead, Ransom gave you a considering look.
“Do you really wanna piss off your ex?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made butterflies stir in your belly even as more warmth trickled down between your thighs. A slow, evil grin spread across his handsome face that made your stomach flutter and your core clench. “Do you wanna show him what he’s missing?’
“Yes.” Your answer slipped from your lips before you really had a chance to think about it, but once it was out, you wouldn’t take it back. You trusted Ransom, you really wanted to get back at your ex, and, even more than that, you were desperately curious to see how far your best friend would take things. So you doubled down, giving him an evil smile of your own. “Yes, I do.”
Ransom’s grin turned a little smug as he looked at you with mischievous delight dancing in his eyes. The dappled light of the sunny spring day shifted across his face, and you sucked in a silent breath at just how handsome your best friend was. Your heart thumped in your chest, but you pushed the meaning behind that feeling aside and focused on the moment.
“Unzip my pants and pull my cock out,” Ransom murmured, his tone low and rough as gravel, sending a shiver down your spine.
Immediately, your eyes dropped to the front of your best friend’s slacks and you couldn’t help but notice the bulge there. A delighted smile curled the edges of your mouth. Ransom was just as turned on by you as you were by him. That knowledge gave you the courage you needed to do as he said.
Your fingers fumbled excitedly with Ransom’s clothes as you pushed up his henley and undid the button and fly of his pants. You pushed them and his boxer briefs down over his hips, revealing the long length of his cock. It bounced free from his briefs and you sucked in a sharp gasp. He was so thick and long, your body clenched with the need to be filled just at the sight of your best friend’s cock.
Eagerly, you leaned forward, pressing your face to the underside of Ransom’s cock and inhaling the clean, musky scent of him. He smelled so good, you could feel your body react to your best friend’s cock, your pussy soaking your thong and making a mess of your thighs. Tilting your head back, you turned your heavy-lidded eyes up to Ransom, staring up at him while you nuzzled into his hard length.
“Yeah, just like that,” Ransom rasped, giving you an encouraging nod while his thumb tapped the screen of your phone, taking photos of you. “Look so pretty with my cock on your face, baby.”
A pleased smile curved your lips and your eyes closed as you savored the wonderful feeling of Ransom’s praise. It made your body warm even further, and you conveyed how happy it made you by pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Ransom’s cock. He rumbled an appreciative sound and when you looked up at him again, his eyes were the darkest you’d ever seen, his entire attention focused entirely on you.
You liked having Ransom’s attention and you didn’t wait for him to give you more instructions. Trailing your lips up the length of his cock, you pressed wet, suckling kisses to the velvety soft skin wrapped around the hardness beneath. You didn’t know which of you enjoyed it more—Ransom, with his face twisted into a look of pleasure and his chest heaving, or you, with your pussy dripping between your thighs.
It seemed to take Ransom a moment to remember what he was supposed to be doing, that the point of you being on your knees was to record what you were doing to get back at your ex. He tapped the screen of your phone once, and when he spoke, there was something in his voice that made you think he was recording a video—a tenor of encouragement that made you want to perform.
“How d’you like my cock, baby?” he asked, a smirk clear on his face and in his tone. “Am I bigger than your ex?”
You wanted to grin and laugh—Ransom’s cock was much bigger than your ex’s. Instead, you curved your lips into your most vixenish smile and nuzzled into your best friend’s hardness like it was your most cherished stuffed animal.
“I looove your cock, Ran,” you purred in a sultry voice, not having to try hard to show your appreciation for him. You pressed a kiss to his hard length and licked the underside of the head, wringing a grunt from your best friend. “You have such a big cock, daddy, way bigger than my ex—I don’t know how I’m gonna fit you in my tight little throat.” You batted your lashes up at the camera while you swirled your tongue around the tip, licking up your best friend’s precum.
Ransom tapped your phone and moved it out of the way so he could look straight at you, raising one of his eyebrows in amusement. “‘Daddy’?” he asked, a delighted smirk curving his lips.
You stroked Ransom’s cock while you pulled back to answer. “My ex always wanted me to call him that, but it never felt right,” you said, making a face before you leaned forward again, wrapping your lips around the tip of your best friend’s cock and sucking on him lightly. Ransom grunted in pleasure.
“Keep going, baby, we’ll show that shithead what he’s never gonna have,” Ransom rasped, lifting your phone up again and tapping the screen while you took his cock deeper into your mouth. “Suck daddy’s cock, baby, be a good girl and show me how much you love my dick.”
You wanted to smile at Ransom’s filthy words, but instead you focused your attention entirely on his cock, bobbing your head on his hard length until the tip of him was pressing against the back of your throat. You’d never taken anyone as big as him, but you were determined to deep throat your best friend, so you relaxed your throat and pushed yourself. After a few tries, you took him all the way in, until his cock was bulging in your throat and your nose was pressed flat to his stomach.
“Oh fuck, jesus christ, baby,” Ransom shouted when you swallowed around him, your throat squeezing his hardness as you fought to keep him buried to the root in your mouth. Tears streamed down your face, and drool trickled down your chin, but you paid it no mind, focusing entirely on your best friend’s cock.
His big hand settled on the crown of your head, fingers flexing like he wanted to grab you and hold you down on his cock. Your pussy clenched at the thought, but Ransom seemed not to want to hurt you, so he simply bucked his hips a little, fucking your throat in short thrusts.
“Shit, ‘m gonna come,” he rasped, his voice rough and strained in a way you’d never heard before. It made you squeeze your thighs together as more wetness flooded your already messy slit. “Baby, ‘m gonna come, holy fuck, your throat feels so fucking good, oh fuck.”
When his cock started to twitch, you pulled off and smiled sweetly up at your best friend. “Come on my face, Ran,” you panted, your voice breathy as you stared directly into Ransom’s darkened eyes.
It took you a moment to realize Ransom’s hand holding your phone had dropped to his side, and the entirety of his focus was on you—just you. A pleased smile curled your lips while you pumped your best friend’s cock in your fist, squeezing the tip while he tossed his head back and let out a loud, pleasured groan.
Ransom came, muttering, “Baby, baby, baby,” under his breath, ropes of his come landing all over your face, joining the tears, spit and drool already coating your cheeks and chin. You opened your mouth, catching some of his spend on your tongue and humming happily at the musky taste of him.
When Ransom tipped his head back up and opened his eyes to look at you, his mouth fell open in a helpless moan when he took in the state of you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes roving over your face hungrily, like he couldn’t get enough of seeing you with his come on your cheeks. “You look so pretty covered in my come, baby,” he murmured, warmth and affection in his tone as he stroked your jaw, one of the few places on your face that wasn’t messy.
You grinned up at your best friend, pleased at his praise, though that didn’t stop you from teasing him. “Why don’t you take a picture, daddy, it’ll last longer,” you sassed. But once the words were out, you realized how serious you were about the suggestion. When Ransom raised his eyebrows in question, you whispered, “Use your phone—if you want.”
Ransom didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants and angled it above your face. “Smile for me, baby,” he murmured softly, and you couldn’t help but follow the gentle command. He took a few photos of you, sitting on your knees in the forest, covered in his come.
Once he was done, he stowed both your phones in his pocket and pulled his henley off over his head, leaving him in a simple white t-shirt. You weren’t sure what he was doing until he started using the soft cotton garment to clean your face. He was gentle, wiping the come from your face and then clearing away your ruined makeup.
Somehow, it felt so much more intimate than sucking your best friend’s cock and all you could do was sit there, your heart pounding in your chest while you let Ransom take care of you. His gaze caught yours, and you saw his crystal blue eyes were swirling with just as much emotion as was filling your heart, and something seemed to pass between the two of you—an understanding that something had changed between you.
When he’d cleaned your face to the best of his ability, Ransom tucked his cock away then helped you to stand, supporting your weight while he brushed the dirt and leaves off your knees. You leaned heavily against his chest when he stood up, his arms looping easily around you and you shared another silent moment, both of you smiling and staring into each other’s eyes.
It was you who ended up breaking the moment, asking the question that was making you burn with curiosity. “Are we really going to send those pictures and videos to my ex?” you asked, watching your best friend’s face for his reaction. Truth be told, you still wanted to get back at your ex for what he’d said, but since Ransom’s cock was in them, he had a right to a say in it.
He seemed to be watching you just as carefully as you were watching him. “Do you want to?” he asked, his voice toneless. He was leaving it up to you.
An evil smile spread across your face, Ransom’s lips curving into a smirk in response. “Yeah,” you said brashly. “Let him see what he could’ve had.”
“Just as long as you tell him who’s dick you’re sucking,” Ransom murmured, kissing your temple and pulling your phone from his pocket to hand to you. “I want him to know you’re my girl now.”
At those possessive words, you looked up at your best friend in surprise, but Ransom only gave you a look like you should know better.
Ducking your head, you hid an exceptionally pleased smile as you turned in Ransom’s arms and leaned back against his broad chest so he could watch over your shoulder. Together, you picked out the best photos and videos to send to your ex.
Sorry! Sent that to the wrong person. These are just for you. Oh and Ransom says hi.
You couldn’t help but giggle when your ex immediately started blowing up your phone, taking great pleasure in blocking him. When you were done, you handed your phone back to Ransom to hold for you, since your dress didn’t have pockets, and you turned in his arms again. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you looked up at your best friend with a smile.
“So I’m your girl now, huh?” you asked, unable to let him get away with just a look for confirmation.
Ransom’s strong arms wound around your waist, holding you tight to his chest. “As if I’d be such a fool as to let anyone else have you,” he said, snorting to himself. “I’m not as stupid as your ex.”
“Clearly,” you said dryly, laughing at the unamused look he shot you.
But then Ransom silenced your laughter with a kiss, his mouth slanting to yours perfectly. All at once, you let the emotions you’d bottled up for so long flow free, and you clung to Ransom as you both deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth like he was staking a claim, and you answered him back with just as much fervor.
It was less a first kiss and more a devouring of souls as the two of you made out in the woods of the Thrombey estate.
Finally, Ransom pulled away with a groan. “OK, here’s the plan,” he said with a huff, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest was heaving as he caught his breath, but he soldiered on. “We go back, tell everyone you have a headache and I’m gonna drive you home,” he said, pausing briefly to kiss you. “Then I take you back to my place and we don’t leave my bed for two days—maybe three.”
Laughing and nodding you pushed up on your tiptoes and kissed Ransom again. “Three, definitely three,” you agreed.
“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing you again.
Before he pulled away entirely, though, Ransom caught your eye and you knew from the mischief sparkling in the depths of his gaze that he had another dare for you. You grinned eagerly.
“I dare you to take off your thong and go back to the party with your needy little cunt dripping down your thighs for me,” Ransom rumbled, his voice deliciously low and deep and making you want to jump him right there in the woods.
When Ransom raised an eyebrow in a challenging look, your pussy clenched at the filthy dare, your whole body warming as arousal flooded through you again. You didn’t know what expression your face was making, but it made Ransom grin and press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“If you’re a good girl, daddy will give you a reward when we get to my place,” he murmured.
But Ransom hadn’t needed to offer you an incentive.
After all, you never could resist a dare from Ransom Drysdale.
#witchywithwhiskey's springtime fun#ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale fanfiction#ransom drysdale smut#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x you#chris evans#chris evans characters#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans smut#witchywithwhiskeywork#itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare
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I need more of ur narilamb developments IMMEDIATELY that shit is AMAZING I love a Narinder who can out-crazy the lamb.
(is anyone going to inform lamb that u don't need to marry someone to torment them or-)
ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. more narilamb shit under da cut <333 (aka MORE DOODLES!!!)
nari's crush on the lamb started at their first meeting. there was just something that hit a TINY bit different about the lamb. he won't admit it but even now thinking about how the lamb was back when he was in chains makes his heart skip a beat. ruthless, violent, full of pure hatred... its just kinda sexy, isnt it? (that's only you, narinder.)
the lamb absolutely HATES all of narinders hobbies, too. especially his plays. they think its beyond pathetic that he would want to prance around on stage in silly costumes and play pretend with others. that was not a hobby fit for the ex-god of death, why couldn't he just do something better like making shit with bones or drawing with ashes?! something edgy like that....
..... which is why it was so shocking to him that the lamb is his #1 supporter. they helped him find a play to host the plays, assigned people to specifically work on costumes and props for him, crusade like it's going out of style to make sure he has more than enough materials. it doesn't make any sense to him, but he appreciates the help! (they are madly in love with him and even though they don't like his hobbies they will be DAMNED if he can't enjoy them.)
of course, making sure narinder is cared for isn't the end of the lamb loving narinder. they also have been snuggling and petting and loving on him randomly too. (and testing out his statue abilities) mostly when they THINK he's asleep, but once in a full moon they might come give him a smooch when he's up and moving.
narinder doesn't get much luck returning the favor though. most of it ends with the lamb beating the hell out of him. (out of love <3) not that narinder can't take it, and even if he can't, isnt that what resurrection rituals are for?
even while in chains, i can't say who out-crazied who. the lamb has also done some pretty fucking vile shit because of their own little crush. both of these motherfuckers are absolutely NOT ok and they make it each others problem. narinder HAS cooled down a decent bit now that he has hobbies to focus on besides of thinking about the lamb and revenge all day. the lamb no longer has a goal to think about and just tries to focus on running the cult now.
... anyway!! more narilamb nonsense. i hope it fed you well? ^^"
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WIP 📓 — RANK ONE (IN MY HEART)
SYNOPSIS ! You had everything everyone wished they had — the smarts, parents who looked out for you, amazing & supportive friends, the wealth — you couldn't wish for anything more. But, there was only one thing your heart desired — to get number one rank. No one had ever beaten you in getting first rank — that was until Yang Jungwon came in the picture...
THE LOVERS RIVALS academic rival! jungwon x academic rival! fem reader
GENRE 🎬 e2l highschool! au rich! au (they go to a private school lmao) geek vs geek to geek with geek fluff romance comedy(?)
CURRENT WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC) 1.1k & counting...
WARNINGS (IN THIS PREVIEW) none! more will be stated in the official post of this fic
YOU WERE TOP STUDENT AT YOUR SCHOOL... everyone called you the ace. You had everything everyone wanted — amazing friends, wealth, parents who looked out for you, being top of the class — you couldn't wish for anything more. But, you didn't care about those things. Not as much, at least. The only thing you had in sight was your grades — that 4.0 GPA, to push yourself to your limit, reach the stars and make an impact on the world before you passed.
You needed your grades to make a good impression on yourself. You needed to attend the top school. You studied countless hours, reviewing each and every topic that could possibly be on your test. It was all or nothing for you.
No one was able to achieve the grades you had. You were the top student — always landing number one on the school bulletin — you were everyone's role model. Everyone wanted to be you. No one dared to disrespect your name. It wasn’t possible for anyone to be on your level — or to even be higher than your level.
That was until a new student was admitted into the academy. His name? Yang Jungwon.
“Y/n! Have you seen the bulletin? Your name has dropped down to second rank!” Danielle says. You look at her in disbelief.
“Pfft. First place taken by someone else other than me? Yeah, right.” You scoff. “Dani, no one has ever taken my spot for the last 3 years — no way some rando is going to ruin my repu-” Just then Hanni enters the room, interrupting you mid way of your sentence.
“Y/n! You have got to look at this right now!” She exclaims breathlessly. She grabs your arm and pulls you up from your chair. “Come!”
“You too, Dani!”
Suddenly the three of you are running through the hallways, past all the mingling students. There was a crowd around the board.
“Hey! Get out of the way! We’re trying to see here!” Hanni yells, shoving through the crowd to make your way to the front. You spot Minji with her hand on her mouth. She was shocked.
You spot the other two girls with Minji — Haerin and Hyein — they looked horrified.
“Oh my god — move!” Danielle is pissed. No one would make way for the three of you. Suddenly the crowd parts and you hear students whisper.
“It’s Y/n…I wonder how she’s gonna react…”
“She’ll probably lose her shit, I don’t blame her though.” You hear from a student. Your heart beats faster and faster as you make your way to the old school board.
RANK ONE: YANG JUNGWON
RANK TWO: KANG Y/N
Your spot was indeed taken — and it was no longer your name. You gasped in horror. You couldn’t believe your eyes, you can’t. It’s just not possible — how could someone just take it in a blink of an eye?
You thought it was some sort of sick joke — a prank, even — to have a student, nonetheless a new one — to have higher marks than you. Your system was broken, destroyed by some random guy. Your grades started to falter while his only seemed to thrive on the number one spot you once owned…
INTERESTED IN READING THE REST? CLICK HERE TO VIEW THE FULL STORY!
#— 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 🐈#k-labels#— 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 : 𝐥𝐢𝐳 ୨ৎ 💋#𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 📚 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭)#yang jungwon#jungwon x reader#enhypen x reader#jungwon enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen au#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enha#enha x reader#jungwon x you#jungwon smau#enhypen smau#enhablr#enha imagines#enha fluff#yang jungwon x reader#yang jungwon imagines#yang jungwon scenarios#yang jungwon fluff#jungwon fluff
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I have been having this thought for days now and want to know what you think.
This is before ptm Jade and Yuu are together, it's Also before Riddle and Floyd are together.
Mama and Papa Leach are coming to visit there boys at school and of course they know all about Yuu and Riddle who know nothing about them. I imagine shenanigans would insuu. Like Mama and Papa Leach trying to set up there boys and just embarrassing them in general.
Their parents are very perceptive, and they know their own sons quite well. Despite their best efforts to hide it, and thanks to the twins' proclivity to embarrassing the other whenever possible, they both know specifically who their sons are fond of.
Mama Leech loves picking fun at Jade for his shyness with his crush. Granted, he's much more like her when it comes to interacting with the subject of his affections: coy, quiet, and sly. Waiting for the right moment to strike. In her case, it was a strike of jealousy that spurred her to claim her husband by kidnapping him and dragging him home. Though, it can't really be called a kidnapping when he was so eager to let her take him hostage.
But she notices how shy Jade is around Yuu, something that no one but those closes to him would notice. To others, he's his same polite, maybe a bit mean, self. But to her, she can see how gentle he is with Yuu, how his gaze lingers on their form longer than considered polite, and how his lips quirk up every so often with them. It's cute, but boring! She's wondering why he doesn't just pick them up and toss them in the sea to take home like Chinese take out. Just, swoop them up! Mama Leech forgets that that's not necessarily a custom for humans (or a good chunk of merfolk to be honest).
Jade knows what his mother thinks of romance, and her habit of becoming jealous. So he's not keen to let her around Yuu, especially considering the numerous amount of friends and general attention they get from others at NRC. In her mind, Jade should make a statement in front of everyone that Yuu would appreciate. After all, he must have studied them like she did her husband, so he must know them very intimately and what they like! But if he refuses? Well, time to take things in her own hands and start making offhanded comments about how fond Jade is of them, how much she raised him to be a doting partner, and that their home under the sea can just be soooo lonely! She wishes that he'd bring home a sweet partner to fill up the space, just like them :).
On the other side, it shouldn't come as a surprise then that Papa Leech is much more like Floyd: outspoken, attached, teasing, but ultimately won't make the first move. As much as he liked to chase after his wife and take over her attention, Papa Leech wouldn't make the move to make her his. Instead, he wanted her to chase after him, and was very excited when she kidnapped him for herself. It was practically a dream come true! Floyd is very similar, in that he likes Riddle's attention and reactions on him as often as possible. He's always been fond of excitable and expressive things, and Riddle (though not a thing) is one of the most expressive and eye-catching people he's ever met. Plus, he's so red! Floyd never knew how brilliant the color red could be, the color muted under the sea. Riddle has him quite enamored, though he's quite unaware.
Papa Leech thinks it's funny that Floyd can be so outspoken and social, and yet his crush have no clue that he's in love. Even more so after her got beat up by Riddle! You're telling him that the tiny classmate of yours that tossed you across the room on orientation was not only this tiny thing, but that he did that and didn't immediately claim Floyd as his mate? Humans are so strange in their courting customs. Papa Leech is just as “tactful” as his wife, funny enough, making small comments to Riddle about how much Floyd talks about him, how he's so impressed how determined he is, how strong he is, etc. Ironically, Papa Leech is Floyd's best bet in getting Riddle to fall for him, as Riddle tends to just assume the worst intentions from Floyd. But hearing how…sincere Floyd is, and the embarrassed look and pink cheeks on his face as he tries to get his father to stop, Riddle might be inclined to think more of Floyd's actions.
#mochi asks#a-small-tyrant#twst#twisted wonderland#jade leech#floyd leech#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd x riddle#leech parents#fun fact papa leech is bruno and mama leech is narissa#i came up with their names a while ago tehehe
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