#ALSO also should be noted that when it comes to a difference of morals he always feels he's in the right and therefore will get combative | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 1 year ago

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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)

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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ecoterrorist-katara · 1 year ago

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Zutara, romance novels, and the female gaze

Okay so I’ve been thinking about the female gaze a LOT so I checked out a subreddit about romance novels, despite never having read one. I came across this meme (which was initially a Tumblr post and then got posted to Instagram and then to Reddit and I’m now bringing back to Tumblr — Internet telephone, pls never change):

And…what is The Southern Raiders, if not a platonic grovel? Katara’s pain is central to the episode. It’s central to Zuko. Zuko asks Katara what he can do to make up for his betrayal; she demands the impossible. He reads between the lines, cockblocks her brother to get the necessary information, and then waits outside her door overnight (which he also did for Iroh, the one person we know for sure he loves). He basically makes himself a receptacle for her rage, and he holds space for her by coming with her on her revenge quest and carrying their bags and not saying a damn thing about what she should and should not do beyond like…asking her to rest. And obviously the grovel works! She forgives him and then they’re thick as thieves, bantering and fighting and saving each other’s lives, etc.

On a different note, I’ve been told that enemies to lovers is one of the biggest tropes in romance novels, similar to YA lit and fanfic. Here’s something else I found in the romance novel discourse:

And…yeah. In TSR, Katara really does show Zuko her worst self, because she doesn’t feel the need to perform for him. She doesn’t feel the need to perform moral perfection OR cold blooded vengeance. She bloodbends in front of him and he just goes with it. She doesn’t kill Yon Rha and he just goes with it. He doesn’t treat her any differently afterwards. Maybe they talk about it off screen, but I kind of like the idea that they don’t, because Katara doesn’t need to explain anything. And it’s so interesting, because some people in the ATLA fandom have a totally different read on TSR. They think Zuko was encouraging Katara to get revenge (by what, keeping his mouth shut?), and that Aang is the one who acts as her moral compass. I believe that either Bryan or Mike said in the DVD commentary that Aang is the angel on her shoulder the entire time. And this interpretation does make sense if you see it from the male gaze, where Katara as an object of affection is acting in an angry, irrational, threatening way. But if you see it from the female gaze, you recognize that actually it’s probably the most emotionally taxing experience Katara has to go through, and she doesn’t owe it to be nice or perfect to anybody. Katara’s formative trauma literally comes to a head, and she has to make a decision — no, a discovery — about who she is in relation to the tragedy that defines her life and even her identity (as a waterbender, as a parentified child who becomes the mom friend, as a genocide victim), and she’s accompanied by someone who trusts her judgement and validates her feelings.

I’m not saying TSR is explicitly romantically coded, but when it conforms so well to romance novel tropes…is it any wonder that so many people thought “yes this is her man?” And then he takes lightning in the heart for her and reaches for her when he’s literally dying, I will never be normal about that either

#Zutara #Katara #Zuko #the southern raiders #Pro zutara #anti Bryke #I guess #I swear I’m not a Bryke anti but I feel like they just don’t get #The female gaze #and the fact that Zutara is so female gaze is kind of an accident and I find that fascinating #atla fandom critical #The southern raiders turned me into a Zutara shipper #one ep away from the finale #Zutara meta #My meta

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hannie-dul-set · 5 months ago

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the ethics of belief — [p.sh].

SYNOPSIS. you’ve been noticing some signs that park sunghoon seems to have a problem with you, and you’re resolute to getting a straight confirmation or denial from him rather than taking the signs as they are and believing in the worst. it’s less troublesome that way. you’d much rather believe what he’d say than spend the remaining two and half-years mulling over something that doesn’t even matter.

meanwhile, park sunghoon also harbors his own unvoiced beliefs about you and your person. the issue arises when that belief starts to fester under the seams of certainty and doubt— a firm credence denied from the opportunity of validation.

and that’s when the belief of oneself usually starts to fall apart.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, classmates! au, strangers to one-sided enemies/academic rivals to friends to lovers to exes to [redacted], romance, angst, hurt/comfort, humor, drama, inspired by my nth reread of the manhwa “cheese in the trap.” WARNINGS. swearing, an initial unhealthy dynamic that gets better with time, misogyny, daddy issues LMAO, dishonesty, ulterior motives HUAHA, self-sabotage, talks of insecurities, so much academic dumps and word vomits, the mc’s are political science students that enough deserves a warning, more tba. WORD COUNT. est. 15-20k. preview 2.5k.

TAGLIST. i will be completely transparent and say that i may or may not even get to finish this HAHAHAH nevertheless, if you’re interested, just shoot an ask/dm/reply!

NOTE. i am.....up to something yet again HHAHAHHAHA. was really inspired to write something like this after rereading cheese in the trap!!! it took me while to decide which kpop boy i should subject to my whims this time, and idk why i even bothered mulling it over when hoon was literally the perfect fit for this perfectionist, passionate, paranoid male lead 😔😔. quite different tone than the fics i usually write (quarter life crisis time). anyhow, i hope this piques your interest! enjoy!

preview under the cut.

“YOU’RE SITTING ON THE COUCH, WHEN YOU HEAR A KNOCK. The police have arrived to arrest your spouse— for murder. This accusation comes as a total shock, but their fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. Your spouse insists they’re innocent. Should you believe your spouse, even though the evidence against them looks damning? This, class, is a classic example of an ethical dilemma.”

There is a guy from your major that you’ve recently come to notice.

“Discussed by Alex Worsnip, this question covers the ethics of belief through various lenses, including evidentialism and pragmatism—”

Well. It’s not as if you’ve never noticed him before.

“It was W.K. Clifford who coined the term the ethics of belief in his 1876 book under the same name. He forwarded the evidentialist view of belief in determining the correct, or moral, way of viewing a situation or problem— that is, by believing things based on the evidence at hand. However, this is not the only perspective we can use to anchor our respective belief systems.”

It’s just that for the past two months you’ve known him, you’ve noticed that his behavior around you has been quite…odd, in comparison to the rest of your peers.

“Now, let us go back to the problem I’ve presented earlier. Hmm. Let’s see the attendance list—”

He was the first person you were introduced to during the pre-academic-year-get-together when you came back after spending the previous semester in a government sponsored exchange program to the U.S. In fact, it was very hard not to notice him, considering that the moment you arrived at the event— late, because you had to spend the entire day unpacking your studio the hours prior— he was a new face surrounded by a notable amount of people from your year.

And your first impression of him was simple.

“—is Park Sunghoon present?

(“This is Sunghoon! Park Sunghoon! C’mon, say hi!”

A tall, good-looking, well-off, popular guy who apparently also has a great personality. Sim Jaehyun’s introduction of Park Sunghoon seems to have maxed out on adjectives. He apparently also transferred to this program— Bachelor of Arts in Political Science— at the same time you left for your exchange program. He, after one once-over amidst the crowded scene, is someone you’ve concluded that you’re better off simply retaining as an acquaintance and a classmate because of the very adjectives Jaeyun described him with.

Popular, after only a semester of being here. Carries with him a crowd of people. That’s far too troublesome for you to voluntarily deal with.

So, for your own benefit, the smart decision is simply to never go further beyond being on polite terms with Park Sunghoon.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Ah. Yes, hi.”

“Now, don’t be awkward! Everyone already knows each other except for the both of you. You two should put in the effort to get closer.”

There’s a slight lag to Park Sunghoon’s smile. You smile back, scanning the rented venue for Kim Yeondu— closest friend since first semester and is trying to recruit you into the Strava cult— else you’d be a few minutes, few tequila shots too late from saving her from embarrassing herself on the first unofficial day of the semester. Nam Deokhwan seems to have already gotten the ball rolling and passing around drinks. Choi Nari is yelling at you three to come join for a group photo.

An exhale from you, you tighten your smile and flicker your gaze back to your new acquaintance, who looks like he’s also ready to get this awkward introduction over with. Jaeyun is the only soul in this three-person liminal space that’s even somewhat enthusiastic.

At last, Park Sunghoon extends out a hand for a shake. “Let’s get along,” he says.

“Sure,” you politely reply.)

“Present, sir.”

Your eyes trail off from your notes, all the way to the other side of the lecture hall, several seats away from you to look at the only individual standing amidst the sea of seated students. “Your spouse has been accused of murder with damning evidence.” Prof Yoon flickers the slide back to the previous one, the question printed on the projector screen. “Should you believe them or not?”

There’s a polite smile on his face— an easygoing yet comfortable air. His posture is as straight as it can get. His profile is something artists would want to transfer onto canvas. “I would believe the evidence presented against my spouse’s testimony, Professor Yoon.”

You click the end of your pen, pointing the inked tip towards the paper with a hum.

“Care to expound?”

Sitting next to you in the hall is Yeondu, who has her eyes locked straight onto Park Sunghoon as he begins his answer. “The phrasing of ‘should you believe’ them rather than would implies a moral obligation of belief. In this scenario, what I’d want to believe does not matter. Even if my spouse had been, for example, loving and kind throughout the course of our relationship, the existence of police-discovered evidence that they had committed the crime of murder would overpower any emotionally-driven feelings of belief that I’d have.” You hear her sigh a little. Dreamily even, with her elbows propped up on the table and palms cupping her cheeks. “Evidence points us towards the direction of the truth, therefore there is no question but to believe in it.”

“Jesus, I have not registered a single word he said, but fuck, he sure sounds hot as hell when he talks smart.”

You laugh a little. You’re not one to deny that Park Sunghoon is indeed smart, handsome, and has the voice of an angel. But none of those are the sources of his difference in his behavior towards you. At least, you don’t think it is.

“Very good, Sunghoon. Your take is a clear evidentialist perspective towards the dilemma.”

A prompt from your professor, Park Sunghoon nods and returns to his seat, eliciting some murmurs from everyone else around. You set down your pen. You straighten your back.

“I’d like to hear if anyone has a different answer.”

You raise a hand.

“Yes?”

All eyes are on you—

“Thank you, sir. While the evidentialist point of view might seem the most rational, I’d like to argue otherwise.”

—including Park Sunghoon’s

“I do not disagree with the moral burden of who I should believe. And in this case, I should believe my spouse. Not because of love or the fact that we are in a relationship. Regardless of the individual, the principle that everyone is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty beyond rest still stands.” You begin. You direct your attention towards Professor Yoon as you continue speaking. However, your peripheral notices something interesting. “Given that the situation is provided that the evidence is simply presented in testimony by a police officer outside the court, it is still yet to be verified and judged by the court of law. The same goes with my spouse. Therefore, until the law declares them guilty or otherwise for the crime of murder, I would choose to believe my spouse over anything.”

Park Sunghoon had been preparing to raise his hand. And he does. “May I ask her a question?” he asks. Professor Yoon nods at him to go ahead, and— when Park Sunghoon turns his head to direct his attention towards you— it fails to slip under your notice.

That annoyed look in his eyes. Bothered. Discomforted.

“Do you argue that we have the ability to choose what we believe?”

That’s the very reason why you can’t help but notice him more than you’d like.

“We have no control over the beliefs we carry. If we have that ability, then the concept of doubt would not exist, and this dilemma would not exist, either.”

Another round of murmurs arise. You nod and smile. “That’s a good point. However, I still stand with my argument.” What is up with that look of irritation? What is his problem? “We may not be able to control our beliefs at will, but our belief systems are shaped by our principles, morals, and experiences, are they not? My principles of justice alongside the experiences of a healthy and loving relationship would lead me towards believing him above anything else. This is not an argument based on emotion. Upon marriage, a moral obligation towards your spouse is conceived.”

You see him flinch. His brows furrow, a counter-argument already brewing in his mind.

“Should the time come that your spouse is indeed proven innocent, and your belief stood against them, then I’d say that you have failed your moral obligation.”

Unfortunately, the opportunity to fire it is stripped away the moment he opens his mouth. “That is a very good argument. I believe Mr Park Sunghoon has more to say, but unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to discuss things further. You two may take your seats.”

It seems like both you and Park Sunghoon get the similar idea to give each other one last glance before sitting back down. You, offering a smile and a nod of acknowledgement after sharing a fruitful discussion. Him, masking that previous expression of annoyance by mirroring yours, followed by an immediate turn around— head snapping back in front as if he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer.

Seriously. What’s up with him?

Yeondu scratches something onto your abandoned sheet of paper the moment you release a breath and sink back into your seat. Whoa, that was an intense exchange, she wrote. Pay attention, you scribble back with a soft hum. Though, you’re not exactly one to talk because although you’re looking at Professor Yoon and trying your best to listen to her talk, the recently concluded exchange with the man in front has gotten your mind wandering.

“As much as I’d like to hear discussions of other common ethical dilemmas such as the trolley problem, it seems like we only have around five minutes left for today’s class. However, this isn’t our only opportunity for discourse.”

All evidence points towards the idea that Park Sunghoon has a problem with you.

“Next week is the College Field Day, so we won’t be meeting. The week after that, we will be having a debate.”

But you’re not one to jump to conclusions. So until you get a confirmation from Park Sunghoon personally—

“Please see the screen for your groups. I will be posting the guidelines and propositions on our MIS immediately after this class, so please be guided. Once you’ve checked your groups, you may be dismissed. Thank you.”

—you’d much rather hold your suspicions at bay for the time being.

“Ah, fuck me, I’m with Deokhwan! What about you, where’s your— oh! There you are. You’re grouped with Jaeyun and—” It seems like there’s a magnet constantly pulling your vision towards one side of the lecture hall today. Park Sunghoon seems to have read the list at the same time as you did, registered the names listed, and looked over to you at the same time as you did. “Sunghoon! God damn, did Prof Yoon even randomize this? This is crazy. Thank god we’re not fighting against your group.”

At the same time as Professor Yoon takes her leave, the rest of your classmates also slowly trickle out of the lecture hall, while some have opted to remain inside. Park Sunghoon and the rest of the people surrounding him seem to have opted to leave. He already has his bag slung over his shoulder, chatting alongside Jaeyun and Nari and Jongseong and a few others.

You’re still unsure if you’re simply being sensitive, or if he does indeed have an issue with you. Quickly, you gather your things as well. Yeondu shoves her ethics book into her tote bag and locks arms with you. “Anyway, where should we eat? Jiyeon said there’s pork cutlet on the menu today.”

Uncertainties are troublesome. It gets your brain churning more often than you’d like, expending energy more inefficiently than you’d like.

“Do you mind waiting for a second?”

And you’re not very fond of troublesome things.

“I’ll go meet with my group mates first.”

So wouldn’t it make the most sense to just ask him directly?

Yeondu tells you to take it easy, but lets you off with a wave. You march up to the group moving towards the middle aisle dividing two sides of the lecture hall seating. They walk down the pitched flooring, on the way to the bottom of the hall. You cut off that opening. Park Sunghoon’s steps stutter mid-speech at your sudden appearance. Jaeyun releases a surprised whoa. “Park Sunghoon,” you greet. He blinks his widened eyes in response. “Jaeyun, too. Sorry for the interruption. Are you guys heading out for lunch? I was hoping to schedule a meeting time for us first so we could start researching for the debate.”

The initial surprise subsides in the air. Jaeyun breaks the awkward silence with a laugh. “Whoa. You’re way too diligent, dude! Prof Yoon hasn’t even posted the propositions yet.” He nudges his friend for some backup. However, Sunghoon— seeming to only have shaken off his stupor a few moments ago— agrees with you, instead.

“She’s right, Jake,” he says, nudging back his friend, and Park Sunghoon’s eyes trail away from his friend to you, a practiced, polite smile covering his face. “How about we meet later after class at the campus cafe? That way, we’d have more time to sit down for a discussion.”

“Hey, you guys can talk this out later! I’m starving!”

You notice Sunghoon’s smile stiffening for a second. Only for a brief second and you look over to the scene behind his shoulder— a group of evidently impatient and irritated friends, mostly emanating from Nari, who’s leering right at you. You ignore them. You respond to Sunghoon with an expression mirroring his own. “Sure, that’s fine with me,” you say. “My classes end at four.”

“We both finish by four-thirty!” Jayun shutters in, throwing an arm around Sunghoon’s neck, grinning widely with the conversation finally coming to an end. His gaze is already glued to the door. “Alright, we’ll see you later. C’mon, guys. Lunch, lunch, lunch!”

Jaeyun passes you by with a friendly pat on the shoulder. Jongseong nods at you and walks ahead. Among the rest of the group walking past you, you feel one of them bumping into your shoulder, by accident or otherwise, yet even that falls far under your notice in comparison to the first person that passed you by.

It was from the corner of your eye, but you’re sure that Park Sunghoon’s smile disappeared with the roll of his eyes the moment he took the step down and walked past your sight-line.

You caught that. Without a doubt.

“You done? C’mon, let’s go eat!”

Yeondu skips over to you after your mini-meeting, tugging you by the arm out the door, but your mind remains on the two levels of the lecture floor aisle. In spite of the evidence pointing towards Park Sunghoon’s masked distaste towards your person, your personality, your existence— whatever, it’s not the time to ask him about it yet.

Until then, you’ll have to table your judgements and how you intend on dealing with him.

the ethics of belief. © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

#park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon imagines #sunghoon imagines #enhypen sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fanfic #park sunghoon x you #sunghoon x you #park sunghoon angst #sunghoon angst #enhypen college au #sunghoon college au

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andorsdoll · 3 months ago

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All Grown Up || DBF!Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: Your father trusts Obi-Wan Kenobi—his oldest friend and confidant. A man bound by duty, by discipline, a man who should know better.

Word Count: 1k || Warnings: not rly smut(i wish) but nsfw; younger!reader, dad's bestfriend!obi wan, age gap, morally dubious i guess idfk

authors note: my first tumblr post! i had an epiphany the other day to start writing fanfiction. uhh, i am new to writing fanfiction especially for star wars so bare w me. er, i also would have made this smut but i currently have zero idea how to even begin with that.. but TRUST that once i can wrap my walnut brain around the concept/excecution of writing smut, it WILL happen (threat). last thing.. requests are open but like i said im NEW (yelling) so PLS... bare w me. thx everybody!! ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ || ao3: @andorsdoll 🩷

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

Your father trusts Obi-Wan Kenobi more than anyone. He’s known him longer than he can remember—long enough that he never questions it when Obi-Wan’s hands linger at your waist a second too long or when his gaze darkens as he watches you across the room. Long enough that he doesn’t see the way Obi-Wan looks at you.

Like a man who’s been starving for years.

While its true that there are other factors at play, your father's trust is what keeps Obi-Wan in check— what keeps him standing in your bedroom doorway everytime he visits you, with his arms folded instead of on his knees infront of you with his hands clutching at your hips, his mouth trailing sinful, forbidden kisses against your skin.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

“You shouldn’t be here,” Obi-Wan says, but he doesn’t make you leave. He’s still in his travel-worn robes, still carrying the dust of another distant planet, another mission that kept him away too long. And yet, somehow, he smells like home—like smoke and spice and something achingly familiar.

Your father is asleep downstairs, trusting, unknowing. And you’re here, in Obi-Wan's room.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” you say, stepping closer, your satin nightgown trailing behind you.

“I couldn’t.” His throat tries to work around the words, his jaw tight. His hands stay by his sides, itching, yearing, dying to touch you. “I shouldn’t be here at all.” He always says that. And yet, he's always here.

You lift a hand, pressing your palm to his chest, feeling the way his breath hitches just slightly and how he acts like it doesnt phase him, but when your fingers curl on the fabric of his tunic, just enough to make him exhale sharply through his nose.. he knows inside that its a lost cause.

“Then why are you?” you ask, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.

His restraint is exquisite—carved into every tense line of his body and every careful inhale. You can see it in his eyes, the battle in real-time between duty and desire. And then.. he finally loses.

His hand lifts, almost on instinct, to cradle your jaw. His thumb ghosts over your cheek with his calloused fingertips trembling.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His words sound like surrender. Like something he’s been holding back for so long that it tastes foreign on his tongue, that he cant even register if he actually said it outloud this time.

He’s spent years denying this. And maybe it should make you pause or hesitate. But it doesn’t because this moment with all its tension and need, the way his hands tremble as they hover near your skin—it’s familiar.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

You remember the first time you saw something different in his gaze.

It was your 19th birthday—nothing particularly grand, just a gathering at your father’s estate. You were still getting used to wearing dresses that fit a little differently, still adjusting to the way men were starting to look at you now.

And Obi-Wan had looked at you that night.

But not like the other boys who barely concealed their hunger and their corrupt intentions, staring at your legs and your pouty red lips like they were something to be won, conquered. No, Obi-Wan's gaze was something different, something dark, something restrained.

Later that night, when the festivities had died down, and the evening air had cooled, you found yourself on the veranda of your father's estate with Obi-Wan.

“You look…” He had trailed off, drink in hand, clearing his throat.

You had smiled, teasing. “All grown up?”

His gaze dropped to the curves of your body, to your cleavage, and to the way your dress clung in places it hadn't before. “Yes.”

You stepped closer, emboldened by his answer and the flicker of something forbidden in his expression. “Do you like that?”

And it was there, when he tried to think of an appropiate answer and the air was palpable, you had felt the weight of his restraint.

His jaw had clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He hadn't answered but he hadn’t looked away either. He left shortly after, excusing himself before your father could notice. But that night you knew.

And it had stayed in your mind for years after.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

But now, standing in his room, Obi-Wan had finally admitted that you were all he thought of every waking second, the words barely a whisper as his forehead presses against yours. His hands are shaking, once again at his sides, like he’s one breath away from losing it completely. He had finally admitted that you were all he thought of every waking second.

With his breath hot against your lips,you say the words you shouldn’t: "Stop fighting it.” you whisper, pressing your body flush against his, feeling the way his breath shudders at the contact.

His restraint fractures.

And with that, he's on you with his mouth crushing against yours like the starved man he was, dying for this.

"I’ve tried—I swear I’ve tried—” he groans against your lips, his voice rough, desperate, pleading.

You silence him with another kiss, threading your fingers through his auburn hair tugging enough to make him groan again.

You gasp and his hands find your waist, dragging you even closer, pulling you in against his chest as it rises and falls in ragged uneven breaths

“Don’t stop,” your soft sultry words pierce through him and then he snaps.

He lifts you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, pinning you against the nearest wall, his mouth hungry: kissing, bruising, sucking, claiming you like he’s waited his whole fucking life for this.

His hands grip your thighs, your hips, your waist—possessive, frantic, like he’s memorizing the feel of you to burn into his mind for the rest of time.

“Say it,” he demands against your neck, his breath ragged, his teeth just barely scraping against your skin.

“Say what?” you tease him like you always do, even now, breathless and euphorically dizzy from the way his hands are everywhere, the way his body cages yours, his leg seperating your legs, his thigh resting underneath your core, sending hot traces all throughout your body.

His grip tightens. “Say you’re mine, darling"

You shiver—because fuck, you are. You always have been.

“Yours,” you whisper.

#obi wan kenobi x female reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x oc #star wars #general kenobi #master kenobi #x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi smut #starwars fanfic #obi wan fanfiction

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majimaisms · 4 months ago

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@ccile03 has very kindly invited me to give my two (million) cents on this and i wanted to explain, as best i could, how i interpreted majima's character arc in pirate yakuza. however. this post definitely got away from me, so be prepared, this is going to be a LONG one, and it's the most comprehensive analysis i've done of majima as a character to date. i think i just wanted an excuse to talk about the game, honestly

introduction

i think i should start by saying that i think what we see in this game is not an arc for majima in its entirety, but the culmination of one that we had been observing (glimpsing, really) from the sidelines for years. so the question of "what arc did majima have in this game?" is really a question of "what arc did majima have in this series?" and to answer that, we have to start at the beginning.

from the moment he's introduced in the first game, majima is shown to be cynical and nihilistic.

scott strichart, who was in charge of majima's english localization throughout y0-k2 and y6-y7, had this to say about this scene, which i completely agree with:

First, you need to understand Majima's primary motivation - Saejima. Ever since he missed participating in that hit, Majima's singular, driving goal is to give Saejima the opportunity to confront him and exact whatever punishment he feels is appropriate. So Majima sets out from square -1 to get back into the Tojo Clan and gain enough power and position to do that. But as you know, in Y0, he discovers that some costs are too great, which throws his entire life's purpose into question: How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima? That answer comes in the shape of three different dudes who give him three different answers to how one is "tenacious" - Lee, who would go to ANY length to protect the ones he loves, Nishitani, who throws his entire self into his pursuit of pleasure, and even Sagawa, who as Majima tells him, is "practically immortal." But what happens to his three paragons of tenacity? Well, you know that answer if you've played Y0. What happens when Majima attempts to take the moral high ground? What happens when he dares to show some modicum of emotion? [...] And the evidence of Majima's mindset in Kiwami is right in the first few lines when you meet him: What's the point of doing the right thing? "Doing things that way is going to break you." But no… that's just a projection. Majima is the one who got broken. And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

note the parts i highlighted in bold. we will get back to these later.

i think to understand majima and what this game does for him as a character, you have to understand both his problem and how he has tried to solve that problem. you have to understand his tragedy. and for that, you have to understand the psychological consequences of being part of an organization like the yakuza. the emotional impact it has on your life, on your relationship with yourself, and why. this context informs most of my analysis because i think its inextricable from majima as a character. i will also be heavily quoting simone weil to talk about these ideas, so please bear with me.

1. understanding the problem (and what it isn't)

the thing is, it's not easy to do awful things to other people. it's not easy to extort money from people, it's not easy to threaten them, it's not easy to attack someone when it's not in self defense. it's not easy to be mean. it's not easy to lie, cheat, steal. all of these things have an emotional toll: guilt. now, guilt goes away if you let it, but that has a spiritual toll. but where does that guilt come from in the first place?

simone weil says:

There exists an obligation towards every human being for the sole reason that he or she is a human being, without any other condition requiring to be fulfilled, and even without any recognition of such obligation on the part of the individual concerned.

All human beings are bound by identical obligations [...]. No human being, whoever he may be, under whatever circumstances, can escape them without being guilty of crime; save where there are two genuine obligations which are in fact incompatible, and a man is forced to sacrifice one of them. The imperfections of a social order can be measured by the number of situations of this kind it harbours within itself. But even in such a case, a crime is committed if the obligation so sacrificed is not merely sacrificed in fact, but its existence denied into the bargain.

majima is torn between two incompatible obligations. his obligation towards every human being in the world, and his obligation towards saejima. whether or not his obligation to saejima is a genuine one is a matter of interpretation (as in, whether or not he was really responsible for failing saejima. i think there is merit to his sense of responsibility regarding this, but that's another post) and an important distinction to make, but the fact remains that it registers to majima as a genuine one.

weil also says:

There is a reality outside the world, that is to say, outside space and time, outside man's mental universe, outside any sphere whatsoever that is accessible to human faculties. Corresponding to this reality, at the centre of the human heart, is the longing for an absolute good, a longing which is always there and is never appeased by any object in this world. That reality is the unique source of all the good that can exist in this world: that is to say, all beauty, all truth, all justice, all legitimacy, all order, and all human behaviour that is mindful of obligations. Those minds whose attention and love are turned towards that reality are the sole intermediary through which good can descend from there and come among men. Although it is beyond the reach of any human faculties, man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. It is a power which is only real in this world in so far as it is exercised. The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

now, you don't have to agree with any of this, but i will be using this framework and language to make my points because i find it useful.

what this all comes down to is that "moral behavior" is not something done only for the sake of others, and that in fact there is no distinction between the sake of oneself and others. you cannot hurt others without also hurting yourself in some way. my analysis rests on this key point.

weil says that corresponding to these human obligations, we can identify a number of human needs, some of which have to do with the physical side of life (like food, shelter, security) and some of which have to do with the moral side.

They form, like our physical needs, a necessary condition of our life on this earth. Which means to say that if they are not satisfied, we fall little by little into a state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence.

she says that human collectivities (family, country, organization, etc.) fulfill these needs. the collectivity that majima is part of is the tojo clan and in a broader sense, the yakuza. they are not part of civil society, but as weil notes, their obligations towards people outside of the yakuza are not lessened by this fact, and anyone whose attention and love is turned towards "good" is aware of this. so they feel the full weight of these obligations. majima feels this weight.

we can see here that majima is being driven by a need, a need that corresponds to his obligations to other people. he calls it "being a man", weil calls it "being mindful of obligations."

weil has identified some of these needs, which she calls "the needs of the soul", as follows:

HONOUR is a vital need of the human soul. [...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings. This need is fully satisfied where each of the social organisms to which a human being belongs allows him to share in a noble tradition enshrined in its past history and given public acknowledgment. For example, for the need of honour to be satisfied in professional life, every profession requires to have some association really capable of keeping alive the memory of all the store of nobility, heroism, probity, generosity and genius spent in the exercise of that profession.

PUNISHMENT is a vital need of the human soul. [...] The most indispensable punishment for the soul is that inflicted for crime. By committing crime, a man places himself, of his own accord, outside the chain of eternal obligations which bind every human being to every other one. Punishment alone can weld him back again; fully so, if accompanied by consent on his part; otherwise only partially so.

Initiative and RESPONSIBILITY, to feel one is useful and even indispensable, are vital needs of the human soul. [...] For this need to be satisfied it is necessary that a man should often have to take decisions in matters great or small affecting interests that are distinct from his own, but in regard to which he feels a personal concern. He also requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts.

i find this language and framework for talking about the concepts of virtue, guilt, redemption and how those things tie into one's professional and social life very useful when exploring the relationship rgg characters have to the yakuza and to themselves.

i will be focusing on these three needs for now because i think they are where the crux of majima's struggle lies. not only majima, but every yakuza who feels the weight of human obligations. because the work they do as yakuza does not fulfill their need for honor, and the crimes they commit by not fulfilling their obligations (as they are exploiting and profiting off innocent people, depriving them of their vital needs) creates the need for punishment. this is part of why we see these characters go to prison so willingly.

being yakuza means effectively denying one's own need for honor. this compels these characters to remedy this by clinging to whatever amount or kind of honor they can maintain. it's this cycle that keeps them going, that pushes these characters to commit the extraordinary acts of heroism we admire them for. it's because they are driven by the need to make up for something. for being yakuza.

weil says:

[...] a collectivity has its roots in the past. It constitutes the sole agency for preserving the spiritual treasures accumulated by the dead, the sole transmitting agency by means of which the dead can speak to the living.

she says that the need to be rooted is the most important need of the soul, and that being part of a collectivity, a "social organism" as she calls it, and having active participation in it is the only means of fulfilling this need. yakuza are no exception. RGG's consistent theme of carrying on the dreams of others is a form of "the dead speaking to the living", that is to say, a form of fulfilling the need for roots – which by the way is the name of the book these excerpts are from.

Every social organism, of whatever kind it may be, which does not provide its members with these satisfactions, is diseased and must be restored to health.

There are collectivities which, instead of serving as food, do just the opposite: they devour souls. In such cases, the social body is diseased, and the first duty is to attempt a cure; in certain circumstances, it may be necessary to have recourse to surgical methods. With regard to this matter, too, the obligation for those inside as for those outside the collectivity is an identical one. [...] Finally, there are dead collectivities which, without devouring souls, don’t nourish them either. If it is absolutely certain that they are well and truly dead, that it isn’t just a question of a temporary lethargy, then and only then should they be destroyed.

the yakuza, by measure of the number of situations it creates where incompatible obligations have to compete against each other, is a deeply imperfect social order. but as weil notes, sacrificing obligations and denying their existence are distinct compromises. "guilt goes away if you let it" – this is where that distinction lies. to free yourself of guilt, you have to deny the existence of these obligations, and so deny your own need for punishment. and the spiritual toll of that exchange is pragmatism, which weil describes as "spiritually crossing a boundary equivalent to death."

she says this about denying the existence of obligations:

Actually, such a negation is impossible. It amounts to spiritual suicide. And Man is so made that in him spiritual death is accompanied by psychological diseases in themselves fatal. So that, in fact, the instinct of self-preservation prevents the soul from doing more than draw closer to such a state [...]. Almost always, he who denies all obligations lies to others and to himself; in actual fact, he recognizes some amongst them. There isn’t a man on earth who doesn’t at times pronounce an opinion on good and evil, even if it be only to find fault with somebody else.

many yakuza try to avoid guilt (and the need for punishment) by denying the existence of human obligations. simply put, it's a way of running from accountability.

but guilt is not the reason for majima's struggle with this. majima has already decided that he is not going to cross that spiritual boundary to avoid guilt, because he understands that the consequences would be nothing more than a self-betrayal. he has too much respect for the truth to lie to himself like that. his "longing for an absolute good" compels him to accept his need for punishment. and he is not confused about what he thinks is right or wrong.

yakuza 0 was not about majima trying to decide whether or not killing an innocent girl was wrong. he knew it was wrong. it was about whether or not it was worth it to kill an innocent person. if he had been grappling with whether or not murder was wrong, it would've been equivalent to "spiritual suicide" as weil calls it. but he never denies the existence of such an obligation on his part – he never pretends it wasn't wrong to kill a defenseless civilian.

and his takeaway was that it was not worth it. it was not worth it to kill makoto to fulfill his obligation to saejima. he sacrificed his obligation to saejima, but no "crime" was committed in this process because he did not deny the existence of his obligations towards anyone. his need for honor was not sacrificed, and thus no self-betrayal took place. once again, denying human obligations is synonymous with self betrayal in this framework.

majima simply will not do something that he knows he will regret later out of guilt, and he takes care to predict what he will feel guilty about so as to avoid this outcome. his judgment regarding this remained solid throughout y0, even if it wavered at times.

another example of majima being torn between two genuine obligations was in y5.

this scene is remarkable to me because it's the only other time, aside from y0, we see the consequences of majima "daring to show a modicum of emotion." his obligations are being used against him. the "longing for an absolute good" in his heart is being used against him. because in order to fulfill his obligation to saejima here (to not put him to the same impossible choice), he would have to sacrifice a much more universal one, as well as a personal one to kiryu. and then how could he "call himself a man"?

saejima tells him that if he was the kind of person who would let haruka die, he would've killed him anyway. but this doesn't stop majima from still being apologetic in this scene – he still feels the weight of his responsibility to saejima, even if they are in agreement that it should be sacrificed. the existence of both obligations are acknowledged, thus no "crime" takes place, just like in y0. once again, we see that majima's problem is not in denying the existence of obligations.

majima's struggle here has to do with how to prevent things from coming to a point where he has to sacrifice obligations in the first place. this was his takeaway from y0. the obvious answer to this is to quit the clan, but it's too late for that. he already did that and just ended up going back. his obligations to the people in his life (saejima, kiryu) and his need for roots keep him tied to the clan.

so, what does he do instead?

2. understanding the "solution"

this is where we return to scott strichart's comment.

"How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima?"

it's misleading to think of his obligation towards saejima as something to be balanced against his sense of right and wrong, as strichart puts it – in reality they are one and the same. the fact that he has to be tenacious is merely an extension of his obligation towards saejima.

more importantly, this is not a question of what moral philosophy to subscribe to, or anything that has to do with speculative reasoning. the singular question majima is struggling with the most in his life is a question of "how" – it's a question of methods.

majima has always been primarily concerned with methods. he is someone who locks onto ends and produces means to achieve them. this is what makes him resourceful. he gets his way, because he finds and makes a way. he is all about getting results.

but strichart's question is only half of majima's problem. the other half comes from his answer to the first one: "by preventing situations in which i will find myself having to choose between obligations."

majima, like strichart, has identified correctly that these situations arise only when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion." thus, the goal should be to simply stop doing that. but how is he going to do that? what method should he choose for that?

his answer to that question is mad dog. this is an answer equivalent to "whichever method works." because the factors that he takes into consideration when trying to formulate an answer for that "should" are concerned entirely with the effectiveness of the method. in other words, majima's mistake is that he doesn't think what he thinks is right or wrong should be the most important deciding factor in determining his methods for preventing situations where he has to sacrifice obligations.

it is, ironically, his dedication to solving this problem without sacrificing either obligation that makes him cross that spiritual boundary. because you see, this too is a form of pragmatism. he's essentially trading one form of spiritual death for another, and so he is still stuck in the cycle of honor and punishment. because methods are not exempt from human obligations either, yet he is denying the existence of those obligations. their existence is "denied into the bargain." pragmatism is the justification for this denial. "the world doesn't give two shits if there's a point or not, so it's better if i don't either."

weil understood the crucial role methods played:

Everything in creation is dependent on method, including the points of intersection between this world and the next.

"the next world" she is referring to is the one she says is the source of all "good" in the world. she is concerned with how to align her methods with her obligations, which is itself a problem of methods.

to majima as well, the most valuable resources in the world are methods that are effective and align with his obligations. why betray himself like this if he can avoid it? and he learns methods from observing people. this was why he ended up following shimano. this is what his "men i respect" thing is about. he means, "people i can learn something from."

but despite being already disillusioned with shimano's methods by the time he dies, he's never been able to successfully replace them with anything else. unable to find anyone around he could learn from, he has resorted to compromise. he decided he couldn't afford to commit to aligning his methods with his obligations. he has prioritized his continued survival and success in the yakuza because of his obligation to saejima, at the cost of his soul. mad dog is the product of that exchange. mad dog is the solution, the justification, the lie.

this is a sacrifice he has had to make because of the social order he exists in. this is why the yakuza is a "diseased" social organism, as weil calls it. this aspect of the yakuza and majima's views on it were explored in majima saga in k2.

let's take a look at majima's methods:

you might note, at this point, that all of these things are things kiryu would never do.

this was what fascinated him about kiryu. because kiryu is suggesting there is a right and wrong method, and not only that, he's saying it's a factor that should be considered, that deserves our attention and love, and we should be mindful of it. he's the embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations. this is what he admires kiryu so much for – that he is not betraying himself in the way majima has. he has things to learn from kiryu, and that is what majima respects most above all else.

kiryu represented a solution to his self-imposed spiritual exile. however, this solution was not as straightforward as you would think.

fighting has always been a form of communication, of debate, in RGG. when majima and kiryu are fighting, these are the conflicting ideas that are being tested against each other. and he wants kiryu to prove his methods wrong. because he hates his methods. he realizes he's fighting for the wrong side, and he wants everything he represents to be defeated. to be able to be defeated. and he trains and mentors kiryu specifically for this purpose. he has made himself into a mascot of this spiritually vacant philosophy, but at least he can offer its enemies (which includes himself) something that would effectively function as a training dummy. he is giving kiryu the opportunity to know his enemy. this is a noble goal. it justifies the continued existence of mad dog.

this was a method he thought would work. it's pretty clever, you have to give him that. but in fact, it's only another instance of the two incompatible obligations problem. he's fulfilling his need for honor and punishment, but he's failing to fulfill his need for responsibility towards kiryu.

he needs to make up for this ongoing failure, so the series is full of examples of him going out of his way to help kiryu (y2, y3, y5, iw and now pirate yakuza). as weil said, majima "requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts" for his need for responsibility to be fulfilled. he's glad for the opportunity to help kiryu. he needs kiryu to need his support. in simpler terms, he wants to be useful. he feels this need as it corresponds to his obligations towards kiryu, which are identical to his obligations towards anyone, but which he feels more keenly with kiryu because he's stuck in this cycle of honor, punishment and responsibility, trying to make up for the lack of one through fulfilling the other. and it's specifically tied to kiryu because he can only fulfill his need for honor/punishment through kiryu, because kiryu is the only one strong enough to defeat him in a fight. and yet he is failing his other obligations to him in the process BECAUSE of his method.

it would not be too much of an exaggeration to say that the integrity of majima's soul rests in the balance that is the conflict between himself and kiryu. this is why this conflict cannot end. it will remain self-perpetuating so long as they both remain mindful of obligations. they are yin and yang.

let's go back to scott strichart's comment again.

And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

while i agree with this, it should be noted that even though majima's facade slowly fades, nothing substantial takes its place. he literally dies in yakuza 5, and he is reborn as nothing more than a mascot, a symbol, a boss fight as far as the games are concerned. just as he was in kiwami. his methods do not change, because he still can't afford to change them. because he is still yakuza.

but he is feeling the emotional and spiritual toll of continuing those methods.

he doesn't have it in him anymore to keep up the act, to prop up mad dog to act as an interface between himself and the world around him.

note here that majima is the perfect visual representation of a dead thing – he's literally wearing the skin of dead animals, and "majima goro" is the first among them. the fact that he is narratively dead in y5, a game about dreams where everyone has an honest job is really, really on the nose when you consider things in these terms.

but y5 does a spectacular job of reminding majima why he needs to stay dead, why he chose to avoid emotional attachments and obfuscate the ones he does have in the first place. if it weren't for an impossibly unlikely chain of events, either haruka would've died or saejima would've had to kill majima. majima doesn't want to risk anyone being put to that choice again. kurosawa's whole plan hinged on the fact that he identified this as a weakness in majima that he planned to use against him – and it almost worked.

this is what he risks happening every time he has conflicting obligations. every time he "shows a modicum of emotion." he has enemies who will use it against him to hurt his loved ones. so even if he is disillusioned with mad dog, as long as he cannot think of a better method of preventing this, he needs to keep up the act. his "solution" has become another cage he finds himself in, because he can't escape the bigger cage he's in: the yakuza.

this is not a problem unique to majima. any yakuza mindful of their obligations struggles with similar problems, because it's the yakuza as an organization imposes this problem on them. it devours souls. this was why it needed to be destroyed.

3. the dissolution, and pirate yakuza

you would think that being out of the yakuza would finally solve a bunch of these problems for majima (and saejima and daigo.) instead, this is the state they're in.

because they understand that they were not the only ones who gave their souls to the clan. there were thousands of others, and those thousands joined the clan because of them. because of the promises they made. it is their responsibility to honor their men's sacrifices and their own promises by taking care of them after the dissolution, but they have no way of fulfilling their need for responsibility, honor or punishment as it concerns their obligations to these people.

the shame, guilt and helplessness is really setting in as they are forced to face their failure. and the sacrifices they made along the way? they have nothing to show for any of it. all the justifications, all the self-betrayals, all the compromises. the obligations they sacrificed. the people they've hurt. this is where it all culminates.

this is how lost they are, how lost majima is – he seems to be doing the worst out of the three of them – in the absence of any methods to reconnect to and do right by the social organism he's part of, his roots. they are cut off from any means of helping the people they used to lead and feel responsible for. they are uprooted.

weil says:

Uprootedness is by far the most dangerous malady to which human societies are exposed, for it is a self-propagating one. For people who are really uprooted there remain only two possible sorts of behaviour: either to fall into a spiritual lethargy resembling death [...] or to hurl themselves into some form of activity necessarily designed to uproot, often by the most violent methods, those who are not yet uprooted, or only partly so.

Whoever is uprooted himself uproots others. Whoever is rooted himself doesn’t uproot others.

majima, saejima and daigo fell into the former category. it is a testament to how mindful they are of obligations that they did not fall into the latter.

kiryu tried to break them out of that spiritual lethargy in infinite wealth, reminding them of their obligations. remember what i said earlier about kiryu being the "embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations"? this is him doing it again, as always. and this was the single most life-affirming thing he could do for them.

on the growing of roots, weil had this to say:

The problem of a method for breathing an inspiration into a people is quite a new one. [...] It is unfortunate for us that this problem, in regard to which, unless I am wrong, we have nothing we can look to for guidance, should be precisely the one that requires today the most urgent solution on our part.

she identified the problem of growing roots as a problem of methods of inspiring people. on this, she wrote:

It sometimes happens that a thought, either formulated to oneself or not formulated at all, works secretly on the mind and yet has but little direct influence over it. If one hears this thought expressed publicly by some other person, and especially by someone whose words are listened to with respect, its force is increased an hundredfold and can sometimes bring about an inner transformation. It can also happen that one needs, whether one realizes it or not, to hear certain words, which, if they are effectively pronounced, and in a quarter whence one would normally expect good to come from, infuse comfort, energy and as it were a food.

just as this was the case with kiryu in infinite wealth, it is the case with noah in pirate yakuza.

violence is a tool. majima has always viewed it as such, but here noah is telling him that not only is it a tool, he doesn't think it's an inherently bad one. he thinks it's cool. he is radically accepting of majima in a way he has never experienced before.

we know that majima has had a complicated history with violence. he hit his wife and left her. he's been using it as a method to keep his subordinates in line for years – something he ideologically does not agree with, but has accepted as a necessary sacrifice. it's not a coincidence that the first thing majima remembers about himself is his guilt surrounding his violence – guilt enabled to become manifest in the absence of his justification, in the absence of mad dog, which had acted not only as an interface between majima and the world, but between himself and his own needs. everything was filtered through mad dog.

but instead of condoning violence via majima's philosophy of pragmatism, which majima has used as a justification (a lie), noah is offering him a way out of the dilemma he's been stuck in for decades. he suggests that as long as you're fighting for the right thing (which majima is in this case), violence is a perfectly acceptable method that does not constitute a crime, and thus, should not create a need for punishment. it's reassuring to majima in exactly the way he needs. it's also something no one else in his life could reassure him about, because they're too busy feeling guilty about their own violence. only someone who is truly "innocent" could absolve majima of this guilt.

majima's face in that last shot is all the evidence you need for its impact. this is what he's needed to hear his whole life, and it would not have had the same impact coming from anyone other than a child. and it had to be this specific child, because:

To no matter whom the question may be put in general terms, nobody is of the opinion that any man is innocent if, possessing food himself in abundance and finding someone on his doorstep three parts dead from hunger, he brushes past without giving him anything. So it is an eternal obligation towards the human being not to let him suffer from hunger when one has the chance of coming to his assistance.

this was the model on which weil based her theory of human needs and obligations, because it was "the most obvious obligation of all." it also happens to be the opening scene of pirate yakuza.

noah's attention and love is demonstrably turned towards human obligations. he is also notably the only person around who has fulfilled this most obvious of obligations. majima himself acknowledges this, saying he "never thought hawaii would be so cold."

noah represents an ideal for majima that he has aspired to his whole life: innocence. this is why he is inspired by noah. the "method" of inspiration in question that majima had been lacking comes to him in the form of a person. and it had to be a person, because majima has always been inspired by individuals. and not only majima, either. RGG as a series is full of examples of this.

It is only through things and individual beings on this earth that human love can penetrate to that which lies beyond.

it's our connections to individuals that remind us of our obligations towards every human being. love becomes universal through the particular. weil understood the important part love plays in motivating people to change. it was her answer to how to grow roots again – her answer to the question of how to inspire people.

it is precisely this form of inspiration that majima had been deprived of for decades, especially after the dissolution as he'd sunk into depression. and this was always the solution, but there were several obstacles to it prior to this game:

he could not afford to have personal human connections in his life, even after the dissolution. he'd learned the hard way what happens when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion," as scott strichart put it.

as long as he was still relying the same tools, he could not effectively change his methods. this game forced him to do that by taking away his favorite tool: mad dog.

even if he wanted to use his violence only for the right things, he had obligations to the clan that would have him using that tool for less-than-noble ends.

because of this, even after the dissolution, he was stuck in the cycle between honor and punishment which obfuscated the truth and confused him. and there can be no inspiration without access to truth.

all of these problems were imposed on him by the social order he was part of – namely, the yakuza. this is why its dissolution was a necessary prerequisite to majima's "growth", but it was still not enough on its own. the amnesia was the second prerequisite.

he needed to face his past, but for that to help him in any way, he first needed to be inspired, so that he could look back on events with a new perspective. and the amnesia was the prerequisite for the inspiration, because it reduced the weight of his guilt and thus his need for punishment, breaking the honor-punishment cycle.

what this game is for majima is an exit. it's an exit from the emotional and spiritual exile he's imposed on himself, that the yakuza has imposed on him, and the self-alienation he's suffered because of it. amnesia is what it takes for him to be reunited with himself. he had to forget who he is so he could be who he is. such was the extent of his self-betrayal.

within the space provided him by this exit, there is room for change. transformation. for majima, that means changing his methods. this game is addressing a problem he's been aware of for decades but could not do anything about.

some examples of him facing his past with this new perspective:

he's realizing what he was to these people, who looked up to him, who he allowed to look up to him, who he took upon himself to lead – and he's hating what he sees. he doesn't like his methods. and he's running from the responsibility of doing right by them, refusing saejima when he asks him to go back.

he's afraid of facing how much he's failed his subordinates by his own standards – a reality he'd lived with for decades before his amnesia. the fact that we actually see how much it bothers him in this game is invaluable, because it means he's letting himself acknowledge that. he can no longer rely on the lie (justification) he had been telling himself to sustain this self betrayal. he is disillusioned with his own pragmatism. noah has exposed the lie, and he allowed it to be exposed. he is now ready to take right and wrong into consideration when deciding his methods – all because noah has reminded him of his obligations in a way that commands his attention, in a way he can't turn away from, and because he no longer has to sacrifice his soul to the clan. this game is, effectively, undoing the spiritual death he had undergone.

he's outright calling his old self, his old ideas, his old methods, "dumb as shit." majima is reinventing his identity, his reputation, his presence in the world and his connection to it. he's been given a chance to become someone he can be proud of again – this is why he likes the way noah looks at him, why he doesn't want to give up on it. it motivates him to commit to his transformation instead of wallowing in guilt like he was in infinite wealth.

he's getting to do it all over again with noah in a way he himself actually approves of, with a clear conscience. not just because noah is a kid, not just because he's lost his memory, not just because he's not yakuza anymore, but because of all those things in combination. that is to say, none of these factors are arbitrary. they were each necessary for achieving this state for majima – a state where change is possible, and he is inspired to change.

"captain majima" is someone he can be proud of.

he rejects his legacy as a yakuza completely. this goes as far as rejecting his bond with saejima. he doesn't want to be called "kyoudai" by him, he'll only answer to "captain." as he's coming to terms with how much it went against his nature to be yakuza, he's trying to distance himself from it as much as possible.

but he's running. he's not trying to run from his responsibilities to the yakuza like saejima thinks – he's running from owning up to his legacy. this is why he pretends to still not have his memories back when shigaki confronts him.

but it's not just the yakuza: the nebulous entity that told them that. it's what majima told them. it's what majima built his legend around.

yakuza 0 was not a game of positive character development for majima. it was the story of how and why he learned to betray himself. it was the origin story of his justification, his nihilism. it was the birth of mad dog. and this game is the counterpart to that – the death of mad dog.

One of the indispensable foods of the human soul is LIBERTY. Liberty, taking the word in its concrete sense, consists in the ability to choose.

the mad dog legend wasn't something that majima stumbled upon against his will like kiryu's dragon of the dojima legend. majima built this. he wanted this. he was trying to rise in the ranks (for saejima), and his legend is what it is because he was so, so wary of being taken advantage of. not only out of his own need for liberty, but out of the obligation he feels towards everyone else. this is the price of turning yourself into a weapon: you have to be very, very careful who you allow to wield you, and towards what end. that becomes your responsibility.

this was why majima was apologetic in that y5 scene – he had failed to prevent kurosawa from using him, and he understands that it is his responsibility to prevent that. this is why the mad dog legend is what it is. he had to find a way to "tear his leash" so that no one could wield him.

but his own preoccupation with freedom, his fear of being used by others, this fight he's been fighting against himself for decades has made him a bad role model. he's finally facing that, and not only that, but he is remedying it, too.

his own unhealthy treatment of himself, his own betrayal of himself, has done actual harm to others. his own misjudgment has led people who looked up to him astray. and he should've known better. done better, been more.

he should've been the one inspiring his subordinates, he should've been the one reminding them of their obligations. instead he has created a legend that has done just the opposite. a legend that has given people another excuse to deny their obligations. because that legend was born out of majima's own excuse for denying his own obligations. THAT is majima's failure. he has failed others in the exact same way he has failed himself. it could not have turned out any other way.

he has failed as a leader, as a patriarch and he's acknowledging that. but that on its own doesn't do much in the way of helping him. this game is about majima stepping up to not only hold himself accountable, which he already HAS been doing, but to do something about it. holding yourself accountable for mistakes you just continue to make or cannot begin to make up for is the very definition of being stagnant. this is the "state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence" he was in for pretty much the entirety of the series, reaching its peak in infinite wealth when he had been cut off from all means of effectively taking responsibility.

and he is finally being given the opportunity to take responsibility – a vital need. he is being given the opportunity to undo the damage, to guide them towards a better path, to remind them of their obligations. just like kiryu.

majima, in true kiryu fashion, is telling these people exactly what he himself needs to hear – needed to hear, and that noah made him realize the moment they met. he is being given a second chance. an opportunity to redeem himself, to START redeeming himself. start over. and he's paying the same kindness forward. if it's not too late to for him to start doing the right thing, then it isn't too late for shigaki either, and vice versa.

[...] man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. [...] The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

majima understands this, and he understands that applying this principle to shigaki necessitates that he apply it to himself also. a person can always, always choose to do good – not only that, they are compelled to at all times. it takes energy to resist it. this was what caused his burnout in y5 and arguably y4 before that.

this game is about majima taking responsibility for his legacy as a yakuza, much like kiryu did in infinite wealth. this is what they're using his amnesia for. a story about him wallowing in guilt or trying to fulfill his need for punishment would have been the opposite of growth for majima, because the whole problem was that his method of trying to achieve personal growth through honor and punishment had not been working for him. a radically new approach was required. you can't fix something with the same tools that broke it.

just as his own neglect of his needs had caused the problem, the solution also comes from fulfilling those needs for himself. he has to stop betraying himself in order to make things right with the people he's failed. to take responsibility, he has to give up mad dog.

this does not necessarily mean giving up violence, but it does mean using it as a tool for ends that do not conflict his needs. a good example of this is the scene where he threatens to cut fingers.

it's his last resort, not his first one. he is being given room for that now. it's important to note here that he is not threatening to cut fingers to punish someone for insubordination as he has done his entire life – instead it's in the name of ensuring cooperation between others (a noble goal), for something he has no personal stake in. he doesn't want any of the money, he refuses to take a cut of it. he is not playing the antagonist here, and he is very open about his intentions unlike the "old" majima goro who obscured his intentions at every turn for the sake of playing the antagonist.

y0 was the last time we saw majima so earnest, because it was y0 that taught him not to be earnest. this game is undoing the damage.

[...] complete, unlimited freedom of expression for every sort of opinion, without the least restriction or reserve, is an absolute need on the part of the intelligence. It follows from this that it is a need of the soul, for when the intelligence is ill-at-ease the whole soul is sick.

sure, he didn't hold his tongue against his superiors, we've seen him do it countless times throughout the series. but to be able to openly express his goals, his intentions, his own judgment and act accordingly is a previously unthinkable mode of living for majima.

once again, it's about methods, and this game IS the difference between methods, especially as it concerns communication.

it's the difference between "if adults like us are good for anything, it should be nurturing that hope" and "keep that up, and it'll break you." him establishing himself as an ally, instead of an antagonist. he has played the antagonist his entire life, because it was the only way he could think to fulfill his obligations, but the world doesn't need more antagonists. and he's been failing not only his subordinates or himself, but kiryu and everyone else he loves as well.

this is what this scene in infinite wealth was about. majima's methods are destructive, not only to everyone he cares about, but also to himself – because there is no difference between those things. such is the nature of love.

majima finally, finally gets to play the hero after a lifetime of playing the antagonist. he's taking the leaf out of kiryu's book that he couldn't until this point, that he so admired kiryu for. it's a dream come true for him – maybe the oldest one he had.

and in some ways, this is also majima carrying on kiryu's dream, by applying the lessons he learned from him. by emulating him, he's honoring kiryu's principles. he'd told him, all the way back in 1995, that he'd "see those ideals of his to the end." well, this is what that looks like in its most effective form.

this ending really says it all, in my opinion, because it's majima looking at the journey and finding joy in that instead of the end goal. for ONCE in his life. maybe for the first time in his life. because for the first time he is ABLE to do that. for the first time there is something to enjoy about the journey. he is so unconcerned with results here that he doesn't even take the money.

he has been so, so preoccupied with reaching his goals that he has sacrificed the journey, the "methods" and betrayed himself in the process his whole life. this is where it stops.

[...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings.

i think it's fair to say that his new methods and outlook on life are here to stay.

conclusion

this game is no joke. it's the most beautiful and profound thing they've done with majima... ever.

to be honest, whether or not most of this should be called "growth" is debatable – i think it can be said instead, more accurately, that growth was not the point of this game. the point of this game and how significant the things it does for majima lie beyond "growth". its value comes from the fact that it fulfills needs for majima that he had not been able to for decades.

majima's problem was not that he needed growing. his problem was that he had been in spiritual exile for 40 years. pirate yakuza was not just "upbeat", it was a celebration of majima being reunited with his soul. and as any celebration ought to be, it was joyful and inspiring. the light tone of the game is not because it is lacking in depth, but because the nature of the subject matter lends itself to hope more than anything else.

a game that was conceptualized as an infinite wealth gaiden had to deal with these themes. to tie the loose end that is majima, so to speak – to give a satisfying conclusion to his arc we'd been observing for years. just as infinite wealth was about kiryu's relationship to the yakuza, this game is about majima's relationship to the yakuza and the yakuza's relationship to him. it cannot be thought of separately from infinite wealth and what it was for kiryu. pirate yakuza and infinite wealth are the yin and yang to each other, just as majima and kiryu are to each other. majima has always been, before and above all else, a narrative foil to kiryu. this game is no exception, they're just changing how they're exploring that in the narrative. it's almost like an inversion of what the series has done with the two of them so far, but still united in one theme above all else: hope for the future.

whether or not these themes have been done justice in execution is entirely up to you to decide, so you can still be disappointed with how the game dealt with them – after all, a method still has to be effective to be a good one – but i hope i have been able to give you some perspective on what this game accomplishes with majima as a character.

thanks for reading <3

#i want to note also that the 'got a reputation to protect' line is 'who do you think i am?' in japanese #pirate yakuza in hawaii #majima goro #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #if anyones made it this far: you are so so brave for reading all of this and i love you #tldr: if youve ever been like 'majima needs to go to therapy'. this game is it #they fixed majima. they did it #my analysis #majeem #majima gaiden #dont ask me the word count of this post btw. i checked. its. not good

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vamphorica · 4 months ago

Text

Bear with me on this one, but I think the parallels between Mello and Light need to be discussed.

Due to the very nature of Mello being L's successor, and L being as much of a foil to Light as one can be in fiction, there are obviously going to be various overlaps in that regard (as is the case with Near and Light, too). However, I do think that in Mello, we see several discrepancies from L and Near in how he navigates the Kira case, which are far more confrontational to Light because there's an understanding of Light, the human, rather than Kira, the omniscient God. I think that kind of awareness can be interpreted as a familiarity with Light's personality. With Mello being more socially adept than L and Near, there are several similarities between himself and Light that make his attacks more effective.

We can start with the very simple comparison between them: they are both criminals who commit their crimes with the intent to seek justice. Granted, I think it can be generally agreed that the manner of their crimes contrast, with Mello more prone to kidnapping and traumatising victims for an instant response, whereas Light grants instantaneous heart attacks to his victims in pursuit of humanity's eventual utopia coming to fruition (incredibly noble of him). Yet the fact still remains that they both have blood on their hands as a means to achieve their shared ambition of righting the world's wrongs, even if what that looks like differs between the two of them.

It should also be noted that Mello's victims tend to be individuals with a personal connection to the case in some capacity. This isn't a justification for his kidnap of Sayu, or holding Halle at gunpoint, but I think it is interesting that while Light will kill anyone and everyone he deems as 'rotten', in a very methodical and distant capacity, Mello very much takes advantage of the relationships people have with one another when choosing his victims. He realises very quickly that Takimura was not a good enough candidate to obtain the Death Note, hence why he ends up abducting Sayu. It is implied Light kills Takimura, and it serves as yet another example that his intent to rid the world of criminals extends to an intent to rid anyone who gets in his way, regardless of whether he agrees with their morality.

Returning to similarities between them, I think Mello and Light's histories are interesting to analyse in comparison to one another. Both men were highly intelligent children who grew up in environments where they faced a significant amount of pressure as a direct result. Mello's childhood is simple to analyse here — he was raised in an orphanage where he fought to become L's successor. Light requires a little more nuance. There is speculation as to whether Light suffered from the expectations placed upon him by his parents, and while I certainly don't believe he had to deal with the same intensity instilled at Wammy's, I do think there is a strong sense of reputation in the Yagami household that both Soichiro and Light frequently embody throughout the series, which is a pressure in of itself. You can tell even from Light's disdain towards Misa that the idea of someone else adopting the persona of the 'authentic' Kira means he is very conscious about his own image. While I personally don't see much merit to the idea that Light grew up in an abusive household, and Mello was certainly the one who dealt with higher expectations from a younger age, the environments in which they were raised both defined their ambitions to be as extreme as they became.

If we are going to delve into trauma, they actually share one, which revolves around Soichiro. Regardless of your feelings on the man and the motivations he had for each instance, Soichiro threatened to kill both Light and Mello at certain points in the series. I could (and probably will eventually) write a whole essay on the scene in which Soichiro holds Light at gunpoint, because I genuinely think it is one of the most horrifying, yet underrated, events in the whole manga. Even though the entire ordeal was conducted under L's directive, I think it goes without saying that the effect this would have had on Light was incredibly damaging, even more so because he had forfeited his memories at this time.

Mello is more mentally resillient to the possibility of losing his life by the time he is confronted by Soichiro, but his reaction to hearing his name spelt out aloud indicates a certain disturbance, even if just in response to the reality that Soichiro has the Shinigami Eyes. Needless to say, Mello has to contend with the fact that Soichiro can kill him, and undoubtedly expects he will. Light also expected his father to kill him in the car years before. The difference, of course, is that Soichiro cannot convince Mello in his act for as long as he did with Light.

This is extremely tenous, I admit, but a small voice in the back of my head does wonder if Soichiro's apparent reluctance to kill Mello could be traced back to a guilt in putting on the performance of executing his son. After all, Mello is at this point roughly the same age as Light was, and maybe Soichiro saw a brief resemblance between the two that caused him to falter. There are many interpretations of this scene, so I am not supposing this is the fundamental reason behind his hesitancy, but I wanted to mention it because it could be another possible connection between Light and Mello recognised within the series.

I also think Light's death is not reflected in anyone else to quite the same extent as Mello's. By this I mean to say that Light's conviction that he is the only one who could have "done it" and "come this far" is true to some extent in regard to being Kira, but not so much in chasing his goal to his dying breath. Even L at times is shown to be utterly depressed by the state of the case and while a lot of that was an act to provike Light, I get the impression that L's relationship with Light (and I am talking about the canonical relationship here) ended up serving as a detriment in arresting Light as quickly as he ought to have done after Higuichi. Even if L ultimately sacrificed himself while working on the case, L's death, as shocking as it was, was relatively quiet and anticlimatic all things considered.

So if we consider Mello and Light's respective deaths, a few days apart from one another, we can see that they both died as a direct result of their ambition. Additionally, you could say both their deaths were actually positive for the narrative as a whole - don't get me wrong, I wish Mello had survived, I really do, but without his death, the likelihood of Near successfully exposing Light as Kira would have diminished substantially, as Near himself admits. I don't think I really need to explain how Light's death was beneficial to the plot, do I?

Very quick tangent about Takada, but through her, we have a unique parallel of Light and Mello. From her perspective, Mello is the enemy who kidnapped seeks to endanger Takada, while Light is the hero who she can rely on as long as she does what he says and trusts in him. The reality suggests an opposition to this viewpoint. While yes, kidnapping people is bad, Mello shows no actual signs of seeking to harm Takada, and seems concerned with her dignity and agency, in spite of the fact that in doing so, it costs him his life. Light, meanwhile, immediately condemns Takada to the horrific death of setting herself alight, negating any possibility that he had her best interests in mind.

Finally, would this be a Certified Vamphorica Essay without me bringing up religious imagery? I think this adds a fascinating element of conflict to Mello and Light's relationship, if we are under the interpretation that Mello believes in God, but is actively going against a man who calls himself God. I've written more about religion in Death Note more broadly here if you're interested.

Ultimately, there are plenty of disimilarities between Mello and Light, and I'm not trying to assert the narrative that they are one and the same. However, I do particularly like the interpretation that they are more alike than either would be willing to admit, and it is this connection that perhaps contributes to how effective Mello's attacks are against Light, encouraging him to surrender the Death Note. I wish we had a little more interaction between the two, but that's where fandom can deliver, I'm sure.

#mello #mihael keehl #light yagami #soichiro yagami #sayu yagami #l lawliet #near #nate river #death note #analysis

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acexsmhking · 5 months ago

Note

TICCI TOBY WITH A THING FOR KNUCKLE RUBBING LORD I BEG THAT IS THE REQUEST

𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲

(𝗮𝗱𝘃.) 𝗜𝗻 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝘄𝗮𝘆

ׂ╰┈➤ Toby relationship knacks

note: i actually just got done with a full sobbing breakdown so this ask genuinely made me giggle i love you😭😂

Warning(s): GN!Reader, fluff nothing else<3 kinda..

No cause Anon you’re so right, like idk about anyone else but I LOVE knuckle rubs just in general and Toby 100% rubs your knuckles. All of them!!

Especially that little knuckle bone on your wrist tho I guess that’s a wrist bone.. what the difference..

But omg Toby LOVES hands; he loves holding your hand, kissing your fingers, your palms, EVERYTHING!

Toby is a very very touchy grabby feely person like 98.99% of the time. Of course he has his moments where that depression or anxiety hits all of us and he just,.. cannot handle any human interaction

But trust! He is holding your hands, thumb rubbing your knuckles, occasionally bringing your hand up to kiss.

And Toby is actually very open about PDA. Toby doesn’t really care about other people’s opinions or feelings if it isn’t you.. Tim.. Brian.. and Kate. So. Like. Ya know.

He keeps it more PG around them but 100% expect that if Toby ever does wiggle his way into town with you to go shopping he will slap your ass no care

So yeah no one is like shocked by just HOW often he kisses your knuckles. And it’s a lot

Toby pretty much is always with you, sure he heads off for house chores and maintenance and food but other that Toby is with you the whole 24HRS.

So he just… holds your hand. It’s really great actually. Toby doesn’t sweat, and he’s pretty chill not necessarily cold. So like it’s weirdly comfortable and satisfying to hold his hand

Sometimes he’ll hold your hand in his mouth if he’s doing something but still wants some body part of yours

We love the little cutie patootie

Toby 100% is the kinda guy that holds your hand when you guys have sex. I mean it, he loves it. He craves it. It’s just so.. close and intimate like those sappy old adult movies

*sobs*

Not to mention if YOU kiss his knuckles? Yeah he feels his heart tingle; back flipping, doing the tango. Toby is a very big emotion feeler. He feels rather intensely a majority of the time

Like he will break down crying holding your face telling you how much he loves you…

Me with my dog

But he is just a sucker for love. Don’t get me wrong, yes Toby has his moments, and his flaws, and lingering issues. But at the end of the day it genuinely is.. exhausting. And Toby isn’t just some emotionally stupid person he’s stupidly smart if anything lol

Especially canonically

And sometimes after eating a family of five, with your weird demon friend and masked adoptive mom you just wanna go home to your beloved and hold hands

Nothing wrong with that..

Omg going on dates Toby 100% holds your hand across the table. I don’t make the rules

(Ok sure your dates are always at home or the picnic table he built for you but it still counts)

He also LOVEEES how your hands feel, especially that soft skin one your knuckles. He had very very worked hands and just lovessss the differences in textures it itches something in his brain

Ride him, hold his hands as you bounce he will get you pregnant. Sucks if your a guy or mtf he don’t give a fuck. m!preg bitch take that

All in all. While Toby is 99.98% of the time a chaotic bundle of cannibalism, weird morals, demon possession and neurodivergence when he’s with you his only the neurodivergent and chaos LMAO

someone draw Toby kissing some hands<3

: ̗̀➛ Thank you again for this ask I have actually been so stupidly stressed today and this made me feel better. I promise Deer anon and other anon I am working on your requests too!! Just well tumblr decided not to save half the progress LMAO deer anon yours should come out tomorrow! — Ace

#creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby #creepypasta #ticci toby x you #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers

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quietplace26 · 17 days ago

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Furina!MC au: ...Is this a Pokemon crossover?!

Notes: This is what happens when you're playing 2 different Pokemon games and Genshin at the same time when I should be sleeping. Crack and chaos.

Warnings: OCness, cringe, Leviathan being Pre-Neuvillette's name, the usual. No pokemon were in hurt in making this.

Barely even a day into her new life, Furina!MC realizes immediately something was up when Focalors urges her to introduce herself as Fontaine's 'new' Hydro Archon.

She sees and hears people freaking out about new 'monsters' appearing after the Cataclysm, saying they were doom...

But all Furina!MC could focus on is the sight of a tiny Skitty slowly walking into view.

...Was that a Pokémon?!?! A real living one?!?!

Suddenly, all the fear Furina!MC felt being all so suddenly reborn as 'Furina' disappears as pure, childish excitement fills her as she crouches down, cooing as she scoops up the purring pink kitty.

And then she hears screaming coming from the shoreline as a fucking Gyarados bursts out of the water, roaring like the beast it was.

And Furina!MC only squeals excitedly as she scurries over, ignoring Focalors demands to kill it and the other humans' cries of fear, feeling so much like a kid in a toy store.

Why wouldn't she? She LOVED the Pokémon franchise, played all the games ever since she was tiny, collected cards and plushies, and if course, watched the show religiously.

And Gyarados was one of her favorites!!!!

So deep in her excitement, all survival skills leave her as she bounces excitedly in front of the now confused looking Gyarados, who now looks down at the odd not human that smelled of water itself.

So, he lowers his head, red eyes full of curiosity as Furina!MC pets his head, cooing how handsome he was.

Focalors was still screaming in her head, but at this point it was completely overshadowed by Furina!MC happiness.

Her childhood dream of petting a Gyarados was completed!

Though she is brought back to the growing crowd of nervous but curious humans.

Oh... Oh dear... She forgot about Fontaine!

Before Furina!MC could freak out more, one curious child pulls away from her mother and trots up to Furina!MC.

She innocently asks if she could pet the 'dragon' too.

And just like that... The ice was broken.

Seeing a little girl easily pet the once roaring sea 'dragon', who was now purring up a storm, they come closer, some of which timidly as Furina!MC who she was and if she knew what these creatures were.

"I... I'm your new Hydro Archon... My name is Furina!MC, and these creatures aren't monsters... they're called Pokémon."

...The next 100 years flew by smoothly, mostly because Furina!MC was BUSY. And not from being Focalors' puppet or anything to do with the theater.

No. She busy being Teyvat's equivalent to a Pokemon professor.

With her knowledge, she quickly helped Fontaine get back on its feet after the Cataclysm with the help of Pokemon being introduced.

From using the bigger, tougher Pokémon to help with rebuilding and helping fight off left over abyss monsters and ruin guards.

To bringing Chanseys, Blisseys, Audinos and other Pokemon that had healing properties to help overworked doctors and nurses.

To helping to set up special berry orchards once she found out it wasn't Pokémon who appeared in Teyvat, but also berries and apricorns

This also includes Miltank and Tauros farms, Vespiquen honey farms, and a special Tropius orchards.

Adding to this Furina!MC was quick to bring up morale with Pokemon battles and contests.

She carefully planned out Gym 'stops' all around Fontaine for up coming youngster trainers.

While contests were a bit more of a hassle, she took inspiration from the Pokemon XY & Z anime and used their style of contests.

Eventually all her efforts were noticed by other nations and soon both Archons and their citizens came flocking to Fontaine for Furina!MC's wisdom.

Nahida was sadly not included because of the Sages. And while Furina!MC couldn't do much to help... well, it doesn't mean she couldn't send a gift.

With the help with a psychic type, she had few pokemon delivered straight to Nahida as Furina!MC thought she would enjoy her new companions.

A Cottonee (with a sun stone and directions how to use), a Chikorita... and a Shaymin.

Furina!MC found the Shaymin by accident while out exploring some of Fontaine's wilderness and knew the little bugger would be perfect for Nahida.

When the Psychic type deliver came back, he had a letter. It just said thank you and had tear marks on it.

Besides that, Furina!MC herself acquired several of her own Pokémon over the coming years. Most of which were her dream Pokémon.

The first was the Skitty she met right when she woke up as 'Furina', which was now a graceful Delcatty. She was definitely one of Furina!MC's star pokemon in contests

Next was the Gyarados she met after Skitty. He was the biggest and strongest in all the waters. Or at least that's what Furina!MC likes to say to pump up his ego

Another was a Vaporeon, then Primarina, and a shiny Milotic.

Now that was a rather amusing memory to think about. She could still remember the look on her citizens faces when she came bouncing back into the court with the Ugliest fish anyone has ever seen.

Of course no one would know how Furina!MC's soul nearly left her body (for a second time) when she saw that different color Feebas.

And besides that, she also had a few dragon types laying around at home.

Key word. FEW.

The amount of Dratini and Dragonairs lying around like noodles in the Palais was getting ridiculous! Or at least some of the Palais workers would claim, but Furina!MC couldn't be stopped!

They were her babies! Which is probably why she has a large amount of baby water types running around the Palais too...

(Quick mention. Furina!MC, along with the other Archons and Neuvillette, all have familiar bonds with their Pokémon. So, they'll live as long as their trainers live.)

By now it's been almost 100 years now since Furina!MC became 'Furina', and she was living the life.

Yes, it was a tiring job being Hydro Archon, but the people AND Pokémon made it worth it.

She was Fontaine AND Teyvat's top Coordinator/Performer, and Fontaine's long standing 'Champion'. (Though every few decades she lets one of her citizens win before eventually reclaiming her title~)

...Strange. it felt like she was forgetting something... Ah! It was probably nothing.

...She was wrong. It was something.

"...Lady Furina!MC? A man is here claiming you summoned him to Fontaine."

Furina!MC glances up from the document she was reading, brow furrowing in confusion.

Man? Strange, she didn't recall summoning anyone to Fontaine...

Dropping her paperwork down, she stands up. "Right, where is he?"

"He should be in the main waiting room, my lady."

She nods, already walking to the door whistling for her Delcatty to follow and pets the pink scarf around her neck. "Let's go see who our guest is, eh Mitzi? Penelope?"

Mitzi the Delcatty purrs while the shiny Dratini huffs out a squeak before settling back down for a nap. Geez. Her newest Dratini was such an adorable pink noodle

Furina!MC sighs, opening the door to the waiting room to see-

...Oh. So that's what she forgot about...

The forgotten thing being the future Ludex of Fontaine, Neuvillette... but he wasn't Neuvillette, not yet.

Right now, this was the stoic and angry Hydro Sovereign standing before her. His expression that of annoyance and hate.

Was it really that time for him to arrive?! Actually, wait, how did he know to come?! Her assistant said he claimed she summoned him-

Focalors. It had to be her. The divinity side of Furina!MC had mostly been quiet since the Pokémon arrived, but she definitely had a hand in this.

So Furina!MC puts on her best winning smile and goes to introduce herself to her once favorite character of Genshin Impact when all he does is scoff and glare at her in disgust.

The word 'usurper' is thrown at her like a slur... And it hurts. It shouldn't upset as much as it did, but she feels tears prick at her eyes.

Hearing how much her favorite comfort character hates her hurts...

Penelope the shiny Dratini perks up from her nap when hearing Mitzi hiss at the Sovereign and sees her 'mama' was upset.

Angry pink noodle activated!

Leviathan barely has moment to blink when he sees tears immediately build up in the Hydro Usurper's eyes and the pink 'scarf' moves, shooting out a weak water gun at his face.

The Sovereign sputters, whipping water off his face as he gazes in disbelief at the now squeaking and hissing 'scarf'.

Was that a baby hatchling?!

Yes, with his rebirth, Leviathan had come to see new species wandering the lands called Pokémon, but this- a baby dragon?! Why was one with a Usurper?!

He goes to demand answers but stops when he sees the pink dragonet purring and rubbing her cheek against the Usurper's... Like a hatchling trying to comfort its mother.

And soon he finds how true that is as soon enough he's sitting before the Hydro Usurper and her... Hatchlings. She had dragons (Dratini, Dragonair, etc) curled all around the room, staring at him, daring him to hurt their 'mama'.

The 'mama' herself had calm down and was gently ordering the dragons, and her own Pokémon since both Mitzi and her Vaporeon were growling at her feet, to leave their guest alone.

And honestly, seeing her act so maternally with these dragonets did something to him...

Thankfully Furina!MC does calm down her protective entourage down enough for her to speak to the Sovereign.

In the end he reluctantly agrees to be her ludex, just as Focalors wanted, but before the Sovereign could leave to go get settled into his new room at the Palais, Furina!MC stops him.

"Come with me, Monsieur Neuvillette."

Is all she says before walking out the room and down the hall as Leviathan reluctantly follows, grimacing slightly at his newly given name... At least if the Hydro usurper said it, it didn't sound as bad.

He takes this moment to truly examine the Hydro Archon fully. Hm... He had to admit, the humans of this city were correct. She was a rather pretty female...

Small, but powerful. Even without his stolen powers at her hand, her ability to control, tame, and train these 'Pokémon' were no joke...

...He was beginning to think he should be more on guard, or she might just tame him

The baby pink dragon, a Dratini if he remembered correctly when the Archon was introducing him to her hoard, glares rather cutely from her position on Furina!MC's shoulders. It looked like it was this close to blasting another shot of water at him.

Silly hatchling. You're much too small and young to even think about going against a Sovereign.

"Here we are! Come in, come in!"

Leviathan- er, Neuvillette blinks as Furina!MC hustles him inside... and he's greeted by surprising sight.

Because right before him was Furina!MC's own personal Pokémon nursery. Baby Pokémon ran about, eggs were sitting in nests and incubators, waiting to hatch. It was baby heaven.

Neuvillette followed behind silently, looking at the small, innocent creatures in awe. The Hydro Usurper takes care of all these younglings? Really?

His gaze turns back to Furina!MC, who was now crouched in front a playpen, cooing at the occupants inside.

She... she really was like a mother...

And then, is possible, she shocks him again when she trots back over, a baby Pokémon in hand, and gently hands him the new creature.

"If you're going to be living in Fontaine and be my Ludex, then you're going to need a partner Pokémon. So, here you go. I think you and this little darling will get along just fine "

Furina!MC originally was going to give Neuvillette a dragon type, but it didn't feel right.

Then she noticed a Oshawott that had hatched recently, and thought, there it was.

And it's not because Oshawott is an otter Pokémon, and Fontaine's otters reminded Furina!MC of Neuvillette because of their coloring... no, of course not!

Neuvillette stares at Furina!MC as he carefully cradles the wiggly Oshawott, thinking,

'She gave me one of her babies... I-is she courting me?!'

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pokemon #crossover #neuvilette #neuvillette x reader #furina!mc #furina!mc au

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cloversnstrawberries · 3 months ago

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oc intro post ! ! alien!scientist & human teen!reader

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; Dehumanization(?), non-human doesn't have human morals, experimentation, very brief mention/implication of violence/death, possessive behavior, and i cannot think of anymore :( once i write it down, its gone from my brain </3

additional notes; i don't think i've ever spoken about it on here, but i am a SUCKER for retro futurism. i love it so much, it's so funny watching old movies (cough cough blade runner) and get suckerpunched by the fact it's meant to be set in 2019??!? HUH?? i love retro futurism sm,, this is based more on the 50s/60s idea of it, more than the 80s version (cassette futurism) :]

i also had to take a screenshot of the ask, to try and allow the 'keep reading' button to work, please lmk if i should keep doing that!!

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

In the grand scheme of things, humans are pretty much the outer-space equivalent of a deep sea creature, in a way. Earth was never on the radar for any other type of people-- it was a place just out of their reach, and the ones who could, in theory, reach it, had no interest in it.

Until the Humans started coming to them, and it was hard to ignore it. Loud, noisy things they were-- it held a certain amount of novelty at first, like you'd feel after hearing that a fish found thousands of meters down in the ocean had suddenly washed up on a Californian beach.

But at some point, when beaches start to become covered in them-- when you could seldom get a look at the sand anymore, covered with what was previously unknown (and now known too well), it's expected to get tired of it all.

There are, obviously, language barriers. Some planets utilize rudimentary vocalizations, their biology not made to facilitate any sorts of complex languages, while others used gestures and body language. Some were telepathic,

'Michael', as he's come to be known, was apart of a race that were highly independent-- spread across the cosmos, not having a specific, designated planet. Their biology is developed in a way where they can achieve all sorts of communication. As long as they learn it, of course.

When humans first started reaching out to other races, many races adapted human names. Michael didn't have a name before, that's not something that his race did. Didn't have a gender either, but arbitrarily picked one for the heck of it.

He didn't particularly like or dislike humans, but found them interesting in a detached kind of way. When given the opportunity to join about 20-or-so other researchers, he didn't hesitate.

It was aggravating, dealing with other people after being happily solitary for so long; having to learn a couple different dialects as well, so he could communicate with who was most necessary.

They were studying human young, children-- in a pool of about 14 subjects, all within the ages of 13-17, he doesn't know what made him chose to take you as his charge.

At first, you were like all the others. Scared stiff, not knowing what was happening-- All of you were snatched from various human colonies, launched by different countries. The higher ups tried to limit any possible overlap in language, to prevent any possible coups and what not.

It's not like you were the easiest, or the most challenging. Some chose their charges on the base that they'd be easy to deal with, or that it'd be a reward challenge to have the charge warm up to them.

You were just there-- at first, he thought there was nothing truly special about you. He hadn't even bothered to learn your language, since it was proving just fine to communicate with you via rudimentary hand gestures and what not.

Until he observed you more closely-- there were some tests they did, to test the intellect of their subjects. You refused to participate, even under the threat of violence, starvation, or even termination.

At first, he assumed you just being stubborn for the sake of it. Until he put two-and-two together-- you were trying to get punished, because you knew they took you into a different sector of the compound to do so.

You were trying a very roundabout way of escaping, or maybe trying to get access to the main console and contact some help. There was a large chance you wouldn't make it, and you seemed to know it.

He caught onto it faster than the others, and had to put into solitary under false pretenses. No one would interact with you but him, unless given express permission.

That same night, he started learning your language. Something about you intrigued him, beyond just scientific reasons. You were probably a dime-a-dozen, humans were known to be incredibly stubborn, driven by emotions and often willing to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others.

Something about you was just-- he doesn't know how to explain it. His kind don't raise their young, not like humans do, or even most other races did. He'd never understood the instincts other races had toward their young, because, again-- his kind is very solitary.

Something about you made him want to protect you, to hold you close. Maybe he was a defect-- maybe it was him who was different, while you were perfectly normal. Maybe it was just right place, right time (or wrong place, wrong time from your perspective), that it was you he latched onto.

Or maybe it was something deeper-- either way, you weren't a subject in his eyes. Not anymore, you weren't disposable; he hopes he could make that clear in the near future, both by verbal communication, and by his actions.

Your solitary cell was more like a bedroom-- he'd started to have things imported for you, making it look like an average human young's room. He got away with it, because he claimed you were going to be a control group. Have you in an environment most similar to the one you were in before, to see if you got on better or worse than the other subjects. Held in a compound, of the likes they'd never seen before most likely.

It was a lie, in a way. But he got away with it-- you seemed put off by it, but that was understandable. Your language was proving a little more difficult to learn than he'd expected, so he couldn't just tell you the change in plans. You had a right to be wary of it.

#oc: “michael”#yandere x reader #yandere oc #platonic yandere #platonic yandere oc #platonic yandere x reader #yandere #yandere horror #teen!reader #reqs open #my writing #requests open #my ocs <3 #oc intro !

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adonis-koo · 1 year ago

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wicked • 19

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 13k

Previous | Next | Masterlist

tags: vaginal fingering, tiddy sucking (jk is definitely a boobs man), semi public sex??, oral (f), so many petnames, dom!kook, brief masturbation (m), multiple orgasms, size kink, multiple positions, cowgirl, creampies, slight somnophilia? (they keep having sex when they're both extremely exhausted), spooning turned to doggy, some very filthy talk, corruption kink, semi degradation kink, the word seed is used once and I actually hate it, some sweet, sweet aftercare, pillow talk, grinding, cumplay, brief handjob (m), edging, cockwarming, they're so in love your honor

Note: people will be shocked at how fast this update has come out and honestly ?? so am I, but tbf half of it is smut so...iykyk ALSO if you haven't checked out the playlist for wicked, you totally should!!

After the first snowfall, winter had come rolling in with no sign of stopping and just as Jungkook had once said, Penumbra was now buried in snow.

There was something so captivating about the snow, its crisp frosty delicate nature, how despite the sun being covered in clouds, the snow reflected off the light and made everything so much brighter.

The land was so desolate and yet so full at the same time, it left a deep yearning in you for the warmth, but in an oddly fulfilling way, it let you rest deeper at night, taking in the great vastness of the land and its minimalism.

The morning had been busy just as each morning before had been so, Yule was only a week away and the court had many aristocrats staying at the castle making merry. It was such a celebratory time and yet you still felt like a ghost better left in the past.

Your days were not all horrible, but the constant numbness never fully went away, at one time you had wanted to go to Yule in Kimhae to reunite with your parents, but the idea of leaving somehow filled you with as much anxiety as staying.

“Well? What’s on your mind?” Jungkook finally spoke, not looking up from his work book, making sure the last of his bill signs, contracts carefully written out and correspondence dealt with so he wouldn’t be behind on his work when you both made your return.

You had been admittedly antsy, tidying up your bedroom, packing what few trinkets you thought you might want during the nights of your journey, fiddling with your own work and where to put what.

You simply couldn’t sit still.

You didn’t reply for a long moment causing Jungkook to look up from his desk, blue eyes appearing from those dark thick locks of hair.

Sighing you shifted as you set your book against the bed, “…You’ll be mad at me.”

“Well you don’t know until you tell me.” Jungkook didn’t seem worried.

You glanced away once more as Jungkook stood up, rounding his desk to walk over to you, “…What if I was having second thoughts…About going to Kimhae?”

Jungkook curved a brow, “The morning we depart for our trip?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You pouted with an usher.

“Is it really the trip? Or is it something else?” Jungkook replied, brushing off your pout.

Your pout however only furthered because you didn’t have an answer, “I don’t know…I just…this is the first time we’ll be making a public appearance outside of Penumbra since our wedding.”

“And what about it?” Jungkook shifted, crossing his arms, still not understanding what your problem was and truth be told you wish you had a better answer for him.

“Does that not make you anxious? It makes me incredibly anxious.” You frowned, wringing your hands together, you were anxious about everything truthfully, but the idea of making your first appearance in nearly a year, well…You didn’t know what to expect.

But then again, Penumbra had prepared you for pretty much everything at this point, there weren't too many boxes left to check off on life events at this point.

“Why would I be?” Jungkook cocked his head to the side, “I’ve nothing to hide nor prove to anyone…If you’re anxious simply because, then it’s understandable,” Jungkook reached out to you, brushing his palm over your cheek before it crept down to your neck, “A lot has happened, I think it’s only natural. But I also know you’ve been looking forward to seeing your parents for the majority of your stay here, it would be imprudent of me to let you cancel our trip at the last minute.”

Your lips quivered a little, “Even if I’m terrified? What if something happens?”

Jungkook’s lips curled into a little smile, his fingers curling around your neck, not squeezing, but in a loving hold you had grown so acquainted too, “Then I will be there to stop it from happening,” Jungkook’s forehead pressed down against yours, “I know you’ll regret not going more then if you do.”

Your eyes fluttered shut before you leaned over to bury your face into the crook of his neck, Jungkook’s arms wrapping around you tight as you murmured, “I hope you’re right.” curling your arms around his waist as you let yourself become engulfed in his warmth and letting it swallow all of your consuming thoughts.

It stayed like this for a long minute before Jungkook slowly pulled away, looking down at you as he spoke, “I have something I wanted to give you.”

You pulled away from him more to get a better look at him, tilting your head in curiosity, “A gift…?”

Jungkook snorted, “Something like that. I wasn’t sure if it would be finished in time, but Jimin managed to get it to me last night.” He let go of you before walking over to the bed, leaning down as he pulled down out from underneath.

You tilted your head at the thick cloth cover as Jungkook stood up, holding it out to you. It was long and thin but held a considerable weight to it, not too heavy, but just enough to let you know it was of incredible quality.

He nodded at you as a gesture to pull whatever was inside out, opening the draw strings. The first thing you saw was the bright silver crest of a pommel, pulling it out further was a soft leather hand and pulling it all the way out revealed a shortsword around twenty three inches.

You couldn’t help but let your lips part at just how beautiful it was though, the metal was reflective and the detailing along the fuller, the blade was double edged and as your eyes traveled back to the handle you noticed a sort of…language? Written down the grip.

“It’s the first of its kind,” Jungkook finally spoke, “Noxtria melted with Quicksilver for a lightweight balanced sword but sharp enough to cut through thick metal. Godslayer is it’s name.”

“Godslayer?” You looked up at him.

“The idea behind this blade was that it would be lighter than air, but have the strength to kill a god. I couldn’t think of a better person to hold the first blade of its kind than my own wife. We’ve been working on your swordsmanship for a long time now and I think it’s time you carry your own sword.” Jungkook nodded, a sort of pride in his eyes as he watched you weigh it, giving it a whirl in your hand.

The training you had done had definitely made you physically stronger, as while the blade had weight, it wasn’t taxing to hold, “I want you to never feel defenseless by my side, we’re partners and equals and while I hope it never again comes to you needing to use this, I want you to have it if the occasion were to ever arise.”

You were speechless as you stared at the blade, a reflection of yourself in its metal staring back at you, lowering it you whispered, “Thank you, Jungkook.”

A small smile pulled on his lips, “Anything for my little sun.” His fingers traced down your cheek, “The case for it is still in the cover, here I’ll help you with putting on the harness.”

Jungkook took the cloth covering off it to reveal the heavy black sheath and the harness that it attached too, Jungkook had carefully pulled it around your hip, adjusting it until it was snug against your skin, it felt weird having such a thing attached to your body now.

But there was something oddly…safe about it, as Jungkook said, this was a safety measure and it made you feel as such, you could only hope you would never have to take another soul but….Your fingers unconsciously lifted, rubbing over the spot on your chest, now scarred from where Di Jin had attempted to kill you.

Jungkook as if knowing what you were thinking tenderly grabbed your hand pulling it away, “It’s difficult to see it now but…” He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts, “I think…if I could go back and change things I would, in a heartbeat. But I do think it happened for a reason.”

Your lips trembled softly, “How could killing someone happen for a reason?”

“It made a spectacle for one,” Jungkook replied, a certain soft note in his voice was his hand found its way back to your neck, “Those who doubted your ability to hold your own in the court will never question it again. Your words have always had bite, but now you have proof behind them.”

You shook your head, “I don’t see eye to eye with you on this Jungkook.”

“I know you don’t,” Jungkook replied, his thumb soothingly rubbing into your skin, “And I wouldn’t expect anything less, but your respect in the court is much more now than it ever was before. Not only this but…”

Jungkook paused for a long moment gathering his thoughts, “Knowing you have the capability to defend yourself…there will be times when we will have no choice but to be apart,” He sighed, “I will eventually have to lead projects that take me away from Penumbra, knowing you have the means to take care of yourself puts me at ease.”

“I don’t want you to be apart from me.” You mumbled, anxiety at the thought immediately quelling.

Jungkook let out an amused breath, “That’s not something to worry about now, one thing at a time. If you have the rest of your things settled, we should head down, the sooner we get on the road the sooner we’ll arrive, and the sooner you’ll feel better.”

“...I suppose.” You mumbled, but Jungkook was not feeding into your pouty expression, no matter how much it was his weakness, he grabbed your thick cloak which had laid abandoned on the bed, wrapping it over your shoulders as he buckled it up, grabbing his own to carry as he held out his arm for you.

Letting him guide you down you ignored the stares of a group of court ladies staring you down, perhaps in wariness, perhaps because the court had easily taken notice of how close you and Jungkook had become in the last few weeks.

The consummation of your marriage hadn’t actually changed anything, but Jungkook’s confession of love had really done a number on you both, and every time those sweet words left his lips you had the intention of saying it back.

And yet every time it felt like the word got stuck in your throat unable to escape, perhaps it was because you were still scared, still in disbelief that Jungkook loved you, but all of his actions, his words, even the way he looked at you, it all screamed love.

Being met with snow on the ground, crunching beneath your feet you let out a breath that you could visibly see, a sensation you still weren’t quite used to, it was freezing cold and the journey would be very long.

Jungkook had spared no expense to keep you wrapped in very thick layers in hopes that it would keep you warm, but it seemed no matter the amount, you were always cold.

“Wheein is doing her last rounds of gathering items, she should be out shortly,” Taehyun called out, finishing fixing up your horse’s saddle, Jungkook walked up with you before helping you on and making sure you were situated before saddling his own horse.

“Snow isn’t too deep yet, we should make a timely arrival,” Yoongi called out, trotting on his own horse up the path ahead before stopping next to Jungkook, “If we make it with not much snowfall, it should only take four days.”

Your lip curled a little at the estimate, you knew Kimhae was further away then Eunoia, but you had been used to only a day’s travel when you were in Eunoia, they lived further West then Eunoia and a little further south.

The climate in the West however made it incredibly dry, the further you traveled the less snow there would be, hopefully at least.

Once Wheein had finished her last round of gathering any last minute packing she had come out with a few guards help and finished loading the pack horses and then mounted her own. It wasn't too big of an entourage of servants, but you had two of Yoongi’s men, himself and of course your two personal servants to attend you both.

You were nervous for many reasons, showing your face to the outside world, you weren’t sure what reaction you would gain, knowing how the truth of Penumbra had been twisted beyond recognition, you could distinctly remember all the dread you had for two years of being engaged to Jungkook.

Words that he had abused women in many ways, that he starved all of his servants and that he’d beat them if they disobeyed, rumors swirling that he already had multiple wives and you would be another trophy in his collection, some rumors even going as far as to say he had his dead enemies taken to the castle so he could bath in their blood.

The list went on and on and every single one was just a rumor, nothing more than foolish lies spread to cause more fear, Jungkook was not a single thing he had ever been stated as, wicked least of all.

But you were now nervous because you had seen both sides, the truth and lies both, and you couldn’t help but wonder what rumors had escaped Penumbra about you? Dread filled you once more, what twisted way could the world turn your murder of Di Jin even worse?

That you feasted on his corpse?

You could briefly taste the raw iron in your mouth that had you holding back a gag, Jungkook’s sharp gaze that had been looking ahead immediately on you, “What’s wrong?”

You held your hand on your mouth trying desperately hard to not let the memory suck you back into the past, flashes of blood in your mind, cartilage mixed with skin, the raw smell of blood, “Water, can I have some water.” You forced the words out.

Jungkook wordlessly pulled the water satchel from the side of his saddle, handing it to you, “You’re thinking.”

You took a large swallow and slowly the faint taste faded back into the nothingness it came from, you shook your head handing it back to him, “I’m trying not too.”

“You’re not doing a good job of it,” Jungkook replied, making you give him a look, he laughed a little though you spot the concern in his eyes, “Would talking about it make you feel better?”

You sighed as you shook your head, “I think i’d rather talk about something else,” Lingering on your thoughts would only serve to possibly bring memories even more vivid back, “You’ve been to Kimhae right Jungkook?”

Jungkook guided his horse a little closer to yours so you’d be able to converse better, “It’s been a long time. We visited when they hosted the War Council. I was…maybe seventeen? This was just in the beginning of negotiating,” Jungkook hummed as he thought about it, “Kimhae was dull in my opinion, they lacked conviction and were very obvious in the fact that they didn’t respect Penumbra or the Jeon name.”

You listened to him before you let out a laugh gaining his attention, “I remember this quite well, I was visiting Seokjin at the time. I remember spotting you and your father arriving out my window but you were too far for me to get a good look. I remember him complaining though. Telling me you had this haughty look about you, acting as if you were better than him.”

Jungkook scoffed, “I was better than him. I am still better than him. If you were present at the time though…Why had I not seen you?” He looked a bit confused, as obviously women weren’t allowed in the War Room but that didn’t mean they were prohibited anywhere else, he had stayed a full fortnite at Kimhae that trip and not once had he seen you.

“I made myself unknown on purpose,” You replied, a small frown tugging on your lips, “It was at Seokjin’s insistence of course, he didn’t want you near me with the potential to ‘corrupt me’, as he said.”

“Corrupt you?” Jungkook scoffed, almost offended, “If we had met properly before our engagement, I feel we could’ve been cordial. Come to think of it I do remember talk of the Eunoian Princess, being in court,” Jungkook’s gaze became pensive as his brows pinched together, “I remember Seokjin gloating about how the fairest princess warmed his bed at night and that he loved nothing more then his name screamed in pleasure.”

You blinked multiple times before your gaze shot to Jungkook, “This was in reference to me?”

You had known Jungkook long enough now to tell he was absolutely wrought with anger at just the idea, his knuckles tight on the reigns of his horse as he stared ahead, “Mhm. I once told you that we saw him differently, that’s one of the many reasons why. He loved to peacock around gloating about sleeping with you.”

“Sleeping with me!?” Your mouth parted in somewhat disbelief, “We…” You couldn’t help but let out a scoffed laugh, he had been pressuring you for some time, but you never realized just how desperate he was to go out of his way to lie to other men that you both had slept with one another in such a way.

And then the embarrassment began to flood in, was this why so many men in his court assumed you were loose, or that you were an easy woman?

“Well I can promise you he was nothing more than a liar,” You let out another laugh as you shook your head, “Screaming his name in pleasure…The only name that was ushered was my own and even then that was on a lucky day.”

“Your name!?” Jungkook sucked in a harsh breath of air.

You paused, suddenly realizing what you had just said, and then looking around, there was a good distance between Yoongi up ahead with his fellow guards and Wheein and Taehyun were conversing further behind, Fenrir having walked alongside you awhile now.

“So Seokjin has gotten to experience that sort of intimacy from you.” Jungkook pressed his tongue into his cheek as if this was the worst news he could ever receive.

“It’s not…” You sighed, trying to find the right words, you had never really planned on mentioning what little intimacy you shared with Seokjin, as it wasn’t relevant to your current relationship and truthfully, there wasn’t much to talk about, “I’ve…When we first started to explore an intimate relationship together, you remember me being frightened by it, yes?”

Jungkook tilted his head, a little confused as to where this was going but nodded regardless.

“The same could be said for back then- especially back then,” You explained as you lowered your voice a little, “I was nervous to lose my virginity, Seokjin already didn’t like my traditional Eunoian attire, but even moreso it had him acting out, trying to pressure me into giving myself to him. But I could never commit to it. The idea of him leaving me after I gave it too him made me too anxious…And..”

You sighed as you glanced down at the snowy earth, “I hated feeling like nothing more than a sexual fantasy for him. Looking back, it feels as if that was all I ever provided, some sort of exotic fantasy that he could escape to in Eunoia, never truly a person, a soul, just something to make him aroused and fulfilled. And so to keep him satiated but also withhold my own boundary, I offered to pleasure him,” You pressed your lips together, your nose wrinkling, “It wasn’t very often, nor was it very pleasant but well…It kept things from escalating beyond my control.”

Jungkook’s jaw only clenched, “How different things would’ve been if we had met that week. Perhaps you could have been saved from all that trouble.”

“Things happened the way they did though,” You offered a weak smile, “It’s not something I ever think about anymore, after all, it feels so long ago despite being so recent. And I’m very content now.”

You reached out to grab his hand as your smile brightened, “I’m happy I saved myself for the right person. I couldn’t imagine it with anyone else.”

This seemed to soothe Jungkook in the right way, “Well when you say it like that it makes me think you’ll want extra help to keep warm tonight.”

“Jungkook!” You smacked his shoulder, “What an indecent thing to suggest, in a tent? In the middle of a journey?”

Jungkook chuckled as he gripped his reins in contentment, “No better time than the present princess.”

You only shook your head, the hours seemed to go quick as you and Jungkook had talked about this and that, and then a content silence took over as the sky darkened and Yoongi had begun to look for a suitable spot to make camp.

They had managed to find a spot off road closer to the woods where the cold wind was blocked and snow wasn’t as deep, clearing off the snow before getting fresh cut wood to get a fire going, setting up tents didn’t take very long.

Soon dinner was cooking over the fire, granted you had already eaten an abundant mix of packed cabbage and vegetables tossed together and despite being tired and hungry Jungkook was still easily fending you off as metal clashed together.

“You’ll need to try harder than that princess,” Jungkook whirled the sword in his hand as you huffed a breath, stretching your aching arms, “If you were to fight an opponent far more skilled than you in battle what would your tactic be?”

“Run?” You raised your brows, Jungkook seemed to enjoy asking hypothetical questions that you were certain would never happen.

“Okay but in this scenario you do, what would you do?” He pressed, giving you a moment to regather yourself.

“Well it depends, if they’re aggressive, which I assume they would be, it’s not difficult to size my lack of experience up in comparison to someone like you, I’d have no choice but to defend until they burn down their energy and then once they tire out I’d make a chance to strike.” You sighed as you lifted your sword back up.

“Yes that would be the logical way to go about it,” Jungkook hummed, “Contextually speaking. But there are other ways, you can use your environment to assist you, you could also have another ally help or use your size to your advantage. Being smaller means being quicker. Again.”

You both tapped swords before sparring once more, Jungkook easily more aggressive this time causing you to back step until you back stepped right into the deeper snow causing you to yelp, whining out at the freezing damp sensation seeping through your dress into your skin.

“That’s not what I meant when I said use the environment.” Jungkook sighed as he rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder.

You managed to step out back onto the shallow end as you whined out, “I am perfectly aware of what you meant! I’m trying! I just can’t seem to get it…” You let out a defeated sigh as a tremor jolted through your body at catching the cold nip of breeze.

Jungkook only shook his head somewhat amused, “How about we rest for the evening and get you close to the fire once more.” His hand curling around your waist as you both walked back to camp, “You shouldn’t have such high expectations of yourself, I’ve been training since I was a child, you’ve come a long way for only training the last six months.”

“Sparring is also different then a real duel or battle,” Yoongi spoke, as he had been watching you both the last hour in amusement, “If you’re already doing this good in a spar, you’ll be able to hold your own perfectly fine in either.”

“This is also true,” Jungkook yawned as he sat down on the large mat, offering a hand to you to help you down, “The adrenaline is different, when it comes to life or death, you fight with more than your all, more than you could ever muster for a spar, even a duel.”

“I just hope it never comes to that.” You sighed with a shiver, scooting closer to the warmth of the fire.

“What matters is that you’ll be ready m’lady.” Wheein offered a kind smile as she continued, “And I agree with his Highness, you’ve improved significantly compared to when you first started, it’s something to take pride in, you’ll only improve with time.”

“The chances are slim but it never hurts to be prepared,” Yoongi chimed in once more, “Dinner is ready.”

The rest of the evening had passed with laughter and fellowship that you found yourself truly enjoying, and at some point you had tried to remember when the last time you had felt this at ease, this…at home?

Even in Eunoia, tragedy had always surrounded you during your youth, uncertainty of the war and the future as a growing lady and plunged into icy fear as a young woman, you wanted to say you had other moments of relaxation.

But you couldn’t think of a single time, except for this moment, you found yourself curling up against Jungkook, yawning as your eyes began to droop and your head resting on his shoulder.

When your eyes opened once more, you were uncertain of how much time had passed other than the indication that everyone else had departed to their tents.

Jungkook had been leaning on one hand, the other wrapped around you as he had stared thoughtfully in the fire before realizing you had awoke, “Are you ready to depart for bed?”

It was a quiet usher that made you nod with another yawn, letting him help you up as you walked over to your shared tent.

Due to the few people in your party, a circle of tents was formed, yours however just a little closer to the fire upon your request and how could you be blamed on a frigid night such as this? Even Fenrir was curled up right next to the fire, paying you both no mind as he continued to rest.

The tent wasn’t extremely spacious, but it gave you enough room to get what you needed done without being on top of one another, “Let’s get you out of this.”

“And into what?” You were more awake now than before, “Did Wheein leave me something?”

Jungkook looked down at you, a sort of boyish look on his face making you pinch him, “Don’t look at me like that,” He chuckled softly grabbing your hand away from his bicep, “We have plenty of furs, and i’ll let you sleep on the fireside, it’s making me hot being that close anyways.”

“It’s too cold!” You whined out quietly.

“You really want to sleep like that?” Jungkook was already stripping himself, “I’m burning up personally.”

Your lips parted multiple times at the sight of his chiseled muscles, biceps flexing as he pulled down his pants revealing the taunt thick muscles of his thighs, even more notably his undergarments.

“Come,” Jungkook had a small smirk on his face as if knowing your eyes roamed his body despite how hard you were trying to be discreet, “Let me undress you.”

You let out a discontented noise but it was difficult to say no when he looked like this and he was looking at you like that, shuffling over you sat on your knees in front of him, Jungkook leaned forward peeling off each layer with a sort of lethargy, as if in no big hurry.

Despite the chilled air you could still feel the lick of fire through the thick cloth tent, dropping the last layer down your shoulders you shuddered, a sort of shyness creeping over you as you felt your nipples immediately hardening at being exposed.

Jungkook helped you shuffled out of the last layer, in nothing more than your panties now, “It’s freezing,” You whispered, trying hard to not let yourself feel self conscious at being close to naked in the tinted firelight that your husband could easily see, “If you’re content let’s go to bed.”

“Ah,” Jungkook immediately stopped you, eyes staying on your soft perked tits, “The cold will help keep you healthy.” He had a stupid boyish look on his face again as he leaned in, warm breath fanning along your cheek before he leaned down unable to resist parting his lips to take your left tit into his mouth.

You let out a breath louder than you intended, but the you couldn’t help it, the sharp contrast between the cold air and his warm wet tongue had your body flush with arousal, and clearly you weren’t the only one as your eyes dropped down, a solid print formed showing your husband was also feeling the same.

“Jungkook, it's too cold for this…!” You whined out quietly despite your legs immediately parting for him to sit between as he moaned against your breast, other hand squeezing your left tit as he pinched your hardened bud between his thumb and finger while suckling on the other.

You forced the moan back into your throat.

Jungkook finally released your bud from his lips, looking up at you with dark eyes full of arousal, “Well then we’ll just have to warm you up then won’t we, my goddess?” His hand slithering down your waist as he parted his lips once more your left tit, sucking harshly making you jolt.

His fingers pushing beneath your panties as his fingers dragging against your puffy slit as you let out a breathy noise legs parting further for him as you leaned back on your hands, hips shifting to give him more access to your cunt.

Jungkook was delighted by the invitation you could tell by the way he harshly sucked your bud, middle finger suddenly pushing inside you, sliding in with a slight pinch of discomfort that didn’t last long as he pushed all the way until his knuckle met with your body.

“We can’t be too loud now,” Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, “So you’ll need to be a good girl for me and be quiet.”

You bit down on your lip as he pushed his index finger inside you the pinched discomfort returning the sensation of his fingers pushing in and out of your little hole had you relaxing into his touch with a soft moan, walls squeezing around his fingers with each thrust.

“Mmm that’s a good girl,” Jungkook grinned, pupils dilated in lust as he buried his fingers back inside your cunt, feeling your little walls clench around him once more before he brushed his thumb over your clit a higher pitch whine escaping you, “Ah, ah, remember,” Jungkook looked amused, “You need to be quiet if you want to cum all over my fingers princess.”

“Kook,” You whispered, eyes closed tight at the feeling of his thumb teasingly brushing over your clit, fingers buried deep inside you as your walls tightened around his digits, “Please…!”

The cold air was wrapping around your body, but the sharp contracts of his warm tongue and fingers burying inside you.

Jungkook laid you back against the fur before pulling your panties off, “You’ll get your pleasure, but you need to be a good girl and wait,” His voice was deep and soft taking off his own underwear to reveal his heavy, thick cock fully hardened, he parted your legs as you tensed cold air invading your cunt as he pushed his fingers back inside you, your clit extra sensitive from the cold with each little brush of his thumb, every little tease sent a sharp jolt of pleasure in your body.

Wet sticky arousal dripping from you little hole as you squeezed around his fingers, wiggling your hips a little with a whine, “Kook, need more..” You whispered out, not liking this slow teasing game.

“Patience,” Jungkook replied, fingers pulling out of you only a little just to thrust them back in, he did this once more, even rougher, his pace was just right, hitting that sweet little spot inside your body that your walls clenching each time as your legs twitched.

Jungkook’s free hand rubbed through your puffy wet slit before he gripped the base of his cock, a hissed grunt escaping him as he slowly pumped his base, watching the lewd act immediately made a soft moan escape you, just the idea of his fat cock inside you had you clenching hard around him as he began arithmetically thrusting his fingers into that sweet little spot.

“Fuuck you like watching me stroke my fat cock for you my love?” Jungkook let out a wicked look, his hand running all the way up his cock, thumb messily smearing his precum over his fat bulbous head before running it back down meanwhile his other hand began forcefully shoving inside your little hole greedily.

His thumb circling your clit as pleasure began shooting through your body, your eyes never leaving his cock that he squeezed tightly in his hand pumping it eagerly as his eyes flickered between your cunt sucking in his fingers needily and your face, entranced by his movements.

It made his shaft throb so bad in pleasure it hurt, he threw his head back with a low moan hips lifting as he thrusted his cock into his fist, feeling your little hole squeeze so tight around him it was difficult to move his fingers.

Jungkook locked eyes with you, that wicked look on his face, “What do you think that little ex lover of yours would say if he could see you right now?”

“Mmm! Right there…!” You whimpered out, struggling to keep your voice quiet as your legs turned limp at how rough he was thrusting his fingers into that sweet little spongy spot inside you, “Kook, right there…!”

Jungkook lifted his hips once more, fucking his fist at the way your legs lifted up, bringing them to your chest to obediently spread your cunt further for him, “Would he say I’m corrupting you right now?”

You had to bite down on your hand to fight back the whines and moans trying to escape you, “Please…! Please.” You kept muttering it, body twisting and building so fast your mind was completely blank aside from the filth Jungkook was whispering to you.

“That I’m tainting his pretty little Eunoian princess, filling her cunt up until she’s completely fucked out cumming all over my fingers?” Jungkook harshly squeezed the base of his cock, keeping his knuckles buried in your cunt as he rapidly hit into your g-spot.

Jungkook wanted to laugh at the strangled high pitched moan escaping you as you desperately tried to keep it quiet, feeling your warm little walls wrap tight around his fingers as you came, arms wrapping around your face to try and keep your cries of pleasure to yourself.

Jungkook eased you through your orgasm before pulling his fingers out of you, low breathes escaping you as your chest lifted and dropped before letting your arms drop from your face to the crude sight of Jungkook’s fingers in his mouth, eyes closed with soft moan as he licked your cum off them.

“This is the best way I could have ever relaxed.” Jungkook pulled his fingers from his mouth with a content look as he laid down next to you, your eyes however still on his hardened cock.

“But you…” You frowned.

Jungkook raised his brows before his eyes dropped to his cock before shrugging, “I don’t cum easily, a good and bad thing I guess. C’mere love.”

“How do you want me?” Jungkook’s eyes snapped back open as they met yours, as if trying to figure out if he heard you correct, “I want you to feel good too, how do you want me?”

Jungkook moaned softly closing his eyes once more, unable to look at those cute, eager little eyes of yours, basically asking to be filled up by him.

“Ride my cock.” Jungkook replied, admittedly getting difficult to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather kill himself then miss the opportunity to cum inside your pretty, puffy little cunt.

You knew what he meant, you had gathered as much the last time but you just… you awkwardly straddled him, his hands on your hips to help guide you, this wouldn’t be as difficult as last time right?

Grabbing his cock in your hand you heard a gritted hiss through his teeth, rubbing his bulbous head through your wet folds before lining him against your entrance, unlike last time you sank onto it.

Biting your lip as you squeezed your eyes shut, rather than a pinch the discomfort was still moderate, but not nearly as much as the first time.

“Mmm fuck,” Jungkook moaned softly, still unable to process that he was getting to feel your warm little walls wrapping around his thick head, “Does it still hurt?”

His hands soothingly rubbed up to your waist before back to your hips, “A little,” You whispered, settling your hands on his chest, “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jungkook opened his lidded eyes, trying his damn hardest to not fall asleep right now, “It’s not difficult, just a matter of practice. Sink a little lower…” Jungkook bit his lower lip a little at watching his cock sink further inside your warm cunt, “Now lift your hips like this.”

You let his hands guide your movements as you let out a soft whine, the pain subsiding as his cock began to slide inside you with ease, stuffing you so full it was difficult to believe you had something this big inside you.

Just the feeling of his heavy cock burying inside your cunt made your walls wrap tighter around him, slowly bouncing on his cock as Jungkook’s hands settled on your hips, “Fuck yeah love, just like that, riding my fuckin’ cock like you were made for it.”

His words of pleasure made you bounce a little faster, taking him a little deeper each time before his hands tightened on your hips, suddenly grabbing you and pulling you all the way down, you let out a tiny whine at being so full of cock with no warning, walls rapidly clenching around him as you moaned.

Jungkook’s eyes were closed as he let out a breathy deep moan, “Could fall asleep like this every night, use my pretty little wife as my personal cock warmer, mmm keep squeezing around me like that.” He had a sleepy smirk on his face as his hands wrapped around your ass, urging you to start riding him once more.

You quickly found you loved being full of cock though, cunt split open by something so thick and heavy, excitement trilled through your body making your walls wrap tight around him as you began bouncing on his cock.

Letting out quiet moans at the feeling of his shaft hitting all the right places inside you, “Mmm yeah, oh…fuck…” You whined out softly, sitting up right as you bounced all the down his cock as you grinded against his pubic bone.

Jungkook forced his tired eyes open to the amazing sight of you, his pretty wife completely naked bouncing on his cock, tits bouncing and face fucked out, clearly pleasuring yourself now, “Make me cum,” He moaned out softly, “Let me fill that pretty little cunt up.”

You kept trying to bite back your whines as your hips became more messy in bouncing, uneven and unsteady as pleasure quickly built inside you, sinking back on his cock as your walls tightened, moaning just a hair louder as you creamed all over his cock.

Jungkook was tired, sleep near taking him the same way you took his cum, letting it shoot deep inside you as you swiveled your hips, taking every lost drop he’d give as quiet breathes filled the tent, your own eyes closed with that same unmistakable tiredness.

Jungkook let out a tired smile, “What a good girl.” He pulled you onto his chest, shifting you both to be buried beneath the blankets and furs, being skin to skin made you realize just how cold you had been.

Jungkook’s skin was like fire, hot to the touch and your own personal little fire, curling up against him, your eyes immediately fell heavy, sleep had never felt so peaceful as being skin to skin with your husband.

The journey to Kimhae had been rather uneventful and what few encounters you had with wolves and even a bear, Fenrir had easily warded them off, your baby having grown so much in the last months now standing just a little taller than your horse.

Jungkook had been up ahead chatting with Yoongi for awhile now, something regarding plans on resuming the Eastern movement when you returned from Yule.

Wheein had been riding by you for awhile now in a comfortable silence aside from a few comments to Fenrir who had been running ahead in the snow and finding random branches to be thrown, the only problem being they were too heavy for you to toss.

“Something on your mind Wheein?” You finally asked, having noticed a faraway look in her eyes for a good while now.

Her eyes met yours before she gave a small, weak smile, “Nothing incredibly important I just…” She faltered a little, “I know the past cannot be changed but, I can’t help but feel like so many events could have been avoided if it weren’t for me.”

You straightened up, frowning immediately at her words, “What would make you say that?”

Wheein hesitated to speak, “...What happened, with my execution, you…” It looked as if it was physically difficult to attempt to finish her sentence, “I know how important keeping your culture intact is for you. You’ve done nothing but try to become a Penumbrian Princess, and for you to be put in a position where you had to compromise your own personal oath and belief…” Wheein let out a shaky breath, visibly puffing in the cold air as her eyes looked watery, “I feel as though I haven’t given you a proper apology M’lady.”

Your heart felt like it was twisted, “You have nothing to apologize over Wheein. I am still mourning many things but I…I don’t regret what I did. I said it once and I will say it again, I was willing to do anything to get you back. Di Jin was the assassin who attempted to kill me, which started this entire mess…I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the Estate…”

Wheein’s lips stayed in a frown, cheeks flush and rosy from the cold wind as she adjusted her shawl, shaking her head, “Only whispers of rumors to what happened, and my own assumptions when you intervened on my execution.”

You let out a shaky sigh, trying your best to detach yourself from the memory as you recalled the events that lead up to that fateful night, “They had lured Yoongi away and I foolishly sent him in good faith that nothing would happen but…Di Jin revealed himself that night revealing that he had come to finish what he started. He almost did,” Your hand trembled as you pressed it against your chest, “Then he got closer to me, trying to kiss my neck and…I don’t know.”

And that was the funniest part, you still had vivid clips of what happened in your head, but it was all so fast, so gorey, your mind had blotted out a lot of it, “One minute he was on top of me, and the next minute I was covered in blood.”

There it was, that distinct iron on your tongue, it made you sick to your stomach, “And I didn’t stop after he was dead,” Your lips trembled as you whispered, “That’s the part that scares me the most. He was dead and I kept going, I...it was like I was possessed, unable to stop. I felt…” It felt like bile was beginning to rise in your throat as you swallowed it back, “Good. Powerful, invincible in that moment, feeling his flesh in my mouth, the taste of his blood on my tongue-”

Your hand suddenly grabbed your lips, trying to swallow back the bile which risen much faster, immediately grabbing the water satchel that hung off the saddle of your horse, taking a long drink from it to try and wash what you had just admitted away.

It had been plaguing the back of your mind every moment it was quiet, the fact that something inside you liked it, even enjoyed the depraved act, showing someone who had disrespected you and your heritage, making a mockery of it for so long, a little devil inside you secretly wishing you had finished what you had started, to devoured him the way your ancestors would.

Even now a little voice in the back of your head was thrilled by it, it never ceased to make you sick, Weak in the stomach with shame every time it crossed your mind, it felt so heretical to think let alone voice aloud, the extent of how much a secret part of you enjoyed it.

“I am so sorry Princess,” Wheein whispered, clearly hurting for you as she held back her tears, inhaling sharply, “I still can’t believe what’s happened. I’m sure being away from Penumbra will be a good break for all of us.”

“If I had just…” You had to stop yourself from saying what you wanted, you had the ability to heal Wheein’s mother, maybe if you had listened to Baba Enàir more carefully, had been more dedicated to your studies as a child…perhaps this whole thing could have been prevented if you had been the one to heal Wheein’s mother, disputing any claims, “I’ll never send you away so often like that without company, I never want to put you in such a compromising position Wheein and for that I am sorry.”

“We all have our grievances about what happened.” Wheein smiled sadly, “But what counts is that we are both alive and well, but…Something else does plague me.”

You tilted your head, patiently waiting for her to continue as she gathered her thoughts, the wind blowing her black locks of hair back as she squinted her eyes, “We still never caught who sent the assassin. What if this happens once more?”

You frowned, you had thought this as well, “Something tells me, whoever did this will try a different tactic next. We must remain vigilant, perhaps moreso in Penumbra then even in Kimhae.” You nodded in thought, “I do agree though, this will be good for all of us.”

This had become routine at night it seemed, waiting for everyone else to depart to bed before being guided back yourself, undressed by your husband’s large, warm hands, and then taken whatever way he wanted, with his hands, his tongue, his cock, you weren’t picky.

You however were starting to become used to the sensation of his cock spliting you open, his cum dripping down your thighs, an unfamiliar soreness between your legs that had a sweet ache that made you crave more.

You had never understood the idea of physical intimacy in the past, it always made your skin crawl at the idea, but then again, you never had a partner you felt you could trust like this.

More than anything, you loved being close to him like this, loved that you could be so intimate with the person you trusted more than anyone, his arms wrapped around you, laying slightly on top of your back, keeping you warm just as he promised every night.

It was odd, the comfort it brought feeling his warm cum dribbling from your little hole as you yawned, eyes closing as you dozed off in his arms.

It was still late into the night when you awoke to his lips pressing on your neck, moaning softly as his hips rutted into you, cock hardened once more much to your sleepy surprise, “Mm, need you my love.” His voice was much deeper, telling you he was also half asleep, “Dreamt of your pretty little cunt, letting me fill it up.”

“Mmm Kook.” You mumbled out, eyes closing as you felt your leg being propped further up to give him better access to your little entrance, his arms tightened around your waist as he managed to line his cock up before pushing it in.

A soft sleepy moan escaped you, an entirely new position you were acquainted with but something about it made you feel so full, his cock pushing all the way inside you until his hips were flush with yours.

Each lazy thrust of his hips had soft noises escaping you, your eyes shutting in tired bliss at his cock pushing past your little walls, filling you to the brim each time, throbbing as the head of his cock kept hitting that spongy little spot.

Jungkook moaned as he buried his cock inside you once more, his movements having paused forcing your eyes back open, was he asleep? Your walls suddenly squeezed around his cock at being so split open by him.

This elicited a moan from his lips that sounded like pure sex, “Your cunt is heaven,” He mumbled in your skin, “Could keep my cock buried inside you forever.”

Not moving was stirring you further, making you more awake as you whined, “Jungkook, move…!” You wiggled your hips a little earning a small thrust from him.

“Think I’ll asleep like this,” He moaned once more into your skin, “Like the way your cunt wraps around me like this when I’m splitting your cunt open.”

Jungkook moaned at feeling your cunt squeeze around him once more at his words, just like he had hoped, “Just go back to sleep my love,” He mumbled in your ear, hand pulling around to cup your tit in his hand as he massaged it making you whine in frustration as your hips began to pull and lift, sliding his cock in and out of your cunt just a little.

“Mmm fuuck, sweetheart go to sleep.” Jungkook’s voice was a pitch higher than before, his free hand almost guiding your hips though as you fucked back against him, and your eyes were closed but sleep was not on your mind.

Your lips parted with a soft whine at the new sensation this position gave you with him behind, his cock slide inside you just the right way brushing that sweet little spot with each bounce of your hips, it had you rapidly clenching around his cock.

Muffling your moans into your blankets as you pushed all the way back against him wiggling your hips as pleasure throbbed throughout your cunt, feeling arousal dripping from your hole as his cock slid back inside you with ease as you let out a pathetic whine, walls wrapping harsh around him but it just wasn’t quite enough to get yourself to orgasm.

Jungkook let out a sleepy chuckle, “Working yourself up are you?”

It wasn’t fair…! He woke you up and you were somehow the one falling apart on his cock desperate to cum, “Koo, please.” You whimpered out quietly, shifting yourself a little to be better able to lift your hips up to his, giving his cock better access to slid in and out of your little hole with ease.

“Mmm shit, your acting like a bitch in heat,” He moaned softly, eyes dropping to your cunt that kept backing into his cock, “You want to be fucked?” He whispered deviously in your ear.

And Jungkook knew you did, could feel the way your walls wrapped so tight around his throbbing cock, wanting so desperately to reach your climax.

“Jungkook…” You whispered urgently.

“Say it.”

You let out a frustrated noise, pausing your movement but Jungkook wasn’t having it, his hand wrapping around your neck as he gave it a harsh squeeze, letting out a small gag as his voice deepened in your ear, “Beg for it little princess, beg for me. Beg for my cock.”

Jungkook suddenly thrusted inside you, harshly making your body jolt as you whined out, shaking your head, this only made him thrust rougher causing you to squeeze around him in excitement, “Mmm like this, feels…! Good.” You whimpered out quietly, your body twitching as pleasure blossomed in your cunt, you were so close…!

Jungkook buried back inside you, stopping once more causing a louder fussy whine to escape you, his hand squeezing around your neck once more, “If you like this then you’ll love what’s next. But you need to tell me, c’mon,” His hips lazily swiveled before giving short thrusts, edging your body as your hands curled into fists, “Tell me you want my cock, that you want your pretty little cunt destroyed by me, that you want to be filled with my cum.”

You could feel saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, his cock teasing your body with such short movements it had you whimpering, “Koo’, fuck me, please…! Need you’, need your cock, anything…!”

Jungkook moaned as your quiet frantic plea’s as he suddenly pulled out of you, a sharp whine escaping you as he swatted your ass to be quiet, manhandling you onto you stomach as he kneeled between your legs you felt confused before your hips were lewdly lifted, presenting your cunt to him.

You didn’t have any time to adjust or even think before his cock pushed back inside you, a moan much louder than you meant for it to escape your lips at an entirely new, better sensation, every movement of his cock had you cunt squeezing in pleasure.

“Mmm yeah, you like being made to take it from behind?” Jungkook moaned, keeping your hips up as he thrusted inside your little entrance, watching it split open for his cock before greedily sucking it in, “Maybe this is how your little dryad kin had children? Fucking like animals?” He whispered out, hearing a gurgled whine from you only made his thrusts that much more forceful, the sound of his balls smacking into your skin music to his ears, “Being made into nothing more than a bitch desperate for cock.”

The side of your face was planted into the ground, eyes shut in pleasure at just how good it felt, his cock hitting every little sensitive spot inside you, his demeaning words that would’ve sent flames of angry through your body once upon a time only filled you with excitement, enjoying how he manhandled you how rough he was starting to thrust, no regard for whether your cunt could take it or not.

Your mind was filled with all sorts of unholy things, not realizing how much you were beginning to moan, enjoying the way he had a hand pressed into your back forcing you down on the ground, his balls smacking your skin and his cock pushing past your tight walls.

“Koo’...! ‘m gonna..! Mmm!” Your moans were gurgled, desperate, cunt rapidly squeezing around his cock, a feeling he had quickly grown to love as you crumbled beneath him, at his mercy as he roughly thrusted, burying his cock deep inside you as he quickly leaned over you, chest flush with your back as his hips became faster.

Just as you let out the whinest, loudest cry his hand covered your mouth to muffle it, tears began to build in your eyes at how powerful the pleasure was building in your body, your legs uselessly twitching and your body convulsing.

But it was all useless as his cock kept sliding in and out of your small hole, “Go on sweetheart, mm know how bad you wanna cum. I see those pathetic little tears. Cum sweetheart, cream all over my fat cock, make it nice and messy for me.”

Your body was being jolted with every thrust of his hips, your clit aching to be touched as your cunt was full of his thick shaft, his dirty words whispered in your ear making you throw a whiny pathetic fit as your walls squeezed even tighter around him, so desperate to be obedient.

“C’mon princess,” Jungkook moaned tantalizingly in your ear, his hips pounding into you with nice lengthy thrusts, wet lewd sounds coming from how soaked you were, “Can feel it, feel how bad that pretty little cunt wants to cum, squeezing around me so tight, fuuck, that’s it, c’mon.” Jungkook wasn’t intentionally edging you but god did it feel good, you were moaning and crying into his hand, tears slowly beginning to trickle down your face at how good you felt.

Not a single thought in your head other than his cock stuffing you full, purposely dragging into the little spongy spot each time just edging you a little closer each time to your release.

“Does your little pussy feel good?” He teased you, a wicked grin on his face as his hips pushed fully inside you, giving short thrusts to keep you as full of cock as possible, “You like presenting this little hole to me? Letting me fuck my seed deep inside, my pretty wife who swore she’d never let me cuff her in bed? How does it feel knowing I’m going to fill your pretty little cunt up?”

Jungkook let out a low moan, feeling your muffled voice cry out against the skin of his palm as your cunt rapidly clenched around him cumming so hard it felt like your eyes were rolling to the back of your head.

And Jungkook wasn’t stopping, his hips slammed into you, wet lewd sounds filling the tent and his balls smacking into your skin as he kept his hand on your mouth to keep your moans and cries of pleasure quiet, unable to subdue them yourself anymore, as the pleasure kept going, his hips jostling you around before you felt it.

“Fuck!” Jungkook growled out, burying his cock inside you as he came, roughly pumping his cock inside you as he let out a shaky moan, letting your greedy cunt suck every drop from him as he moaned, perhaps louder then even he intended.

After a few more seconds he collapsed on top of you, making you whine, sniffling as you wiped your face as you felt his hand drag to your waist, stroking it tenderly as he pressed a kiss against your neck, “You’re so perfect.” He whispered, pressing another kiss against your skin, “Made for me. Only me.” His hand squeezed your waist, before he laid flat on his back shifting you around to lay against him, your body curling up as you set your head against his chest.

Your thighs were aching and your hand trembled if you looked close enough as you dragged it over his chest.

And for the first time, with the fire illuminating the inside of the tent, you took the time to drag it over the rough skin of his chest and upon closer inspection noticed all sorts of marks, curiously you shifted once more.

“Was twice not enough for my little sun?” Jungkook chuckled as you straddled his waist, his hands wrapping around your hips, “We’ll need to start retiring earlier if you want me to have more stamina.”

“I’m not…!” You felt your body flush, trying to remind yourself that you were in fact naked right now, “I’m just looking.”

“Mmm, so am I.” Jungkook’s eyes trailing down your exposed body to your cunt, watching the white substance dripping out onto his skin, “If I weren’t already exhausted I’d already have you bent over again.”

“Jungkook!” You whispered out, starting to feel embarrassed now, “Stop…please.”

He let out a tired, boyish smile and staring down at him you couldn’t help but mirror it, he looked much younger like this, more like his age, eyes lidded from tiredness as his hands wrapped further, fingers digging into your ass, “Is it a crime to admire my wife? You’re only sitting on top of me naked.”

“I’ve seen you shirtless many times now,” You decided to no longer entertain his dirty thoughts, slowly lowering yourself down his chest making his fingers squeeze tighter around your ass, “But i’ve never truly paid attention.”

“To my godly physique?”

This made you both quietly laugh as you shook your head, unable to not be endeared by this new playful side of him you had never seen, “How did you know?” You whispered back, a light tease in your voice as your hand traced over his sternum, “I meant the scars…How many battles did you fight in?”

Jungkook palmed your ass in his hands, massaging the flesh as he yawned, eyes closing as he hummed potentially trying to recall, “Too many to count honestly, I was drafted before the Five Year War started as to be properly prepared.”

Your fingers traced over each scar, some long and thin, others short and deeper, few discolored still having never properly healed, others faded and hardly visibly, “How’d you get this one?” Your finger’s stopped on his left right, a circular scar it was small, as if he had been pierced.

Jungkook’s eyes slowly lidded once more, following where your fingers pressed, “When we first rode to Rolon for war, an archer shot me right off my horse, my only saving grace from death was the wind otherwise it would’ve pierced my heart, y'know it’s said the Rolon Archer’s were trained since children, they could shoot a coin from over a hundred yards away.”

“You were injured before the battle had even begun?” You whispered out, perhaps a little amused at his story.

Jungkook’s hand trailed down the back of your thigh, pulling them apart just a little making your hips brush over his skin, the feeling of wet stickiness rubbing over his skin, “It was my first endeavor by myself, my men were counting on me to lead them, you can imagine it was a pretty pathetic sight.”

“So how did you manage to siege them if you could not get close?” You tilted your head, resting your elbows down his chest, your hips appeasing him as you softly grinded down on his pubic bone.

“We had all camped outside their outer districts, preparing ourselves,” Jungkook let out a pleasured hum, eyes closed once more and fingers trailing back to your ass before settling at your steady, soft movement, “We could not get close to their borders without them shooting us down by the tens if not hundreds. And so we would have to make ourselves unknown, invisible.”

A quiet moan escaped him at the feeling of your hips pulling just a little further down just above where his cock was beginning to stir despite his own lethargy.

“Invisible?” Tiredness was beginning to pull at your lids but you enjoyed this too much, the conversation, the feeling of your puffy, cum covered slit grinding against him, making him break focus, “Surely that wouldn’t be possible?”

“Invisible to the faraway eye that is,” Jungkook’s brows pinched, fingers gripping your ass a little tighter as your hips dragged just along the base of his hardening cock, weepy and sensitive from having already came inside you twice this night, “Mmm, I didn’t think you’d be such a little lust driven succubus once we consummated.”

It made you grind him just a little harder, the feeling of his cock bobbing before it smacked against your cunt, fully hardened and precum smearing against your asscheek.

“I’m trying to have a conversation,” You teased, hands traveling over the expanse of his chest before your fingers found his dark nipples, curiously you pinched them a little, “You’re the one that’s making it sexual.”

A restrained moan escaped him as his eyes cracked open, you couldn’t help your curiosity, fascinated at his different reactions to different things, after all, you were learning his body just as much as he was learning of yours.

“Sex is dripping off of you,” Jungkook sighed, feeling your hips tease his cock once more, puffy slit rubbing down it’s base before back to his pubic bone, “I can’t help the way my body reacts to it, climbing on top of me naked isn’t a productive way to have a conversation.”

You couldn’t help but close your eyes briefly, relishing in the feeling of his heady, heavy cock dragging through your puffy slit, coating it in a mixture of your wetness and cum.

Feeling his shaft rubbing into your sensitive clit was you let out a soft moan, “You didn’t continue your story. How were you invisible.” Your hips dragged back to his pubic bone, pausing your movement to try and refocus your conversation.

Jungkook let out a displeased sound, fingers digging against your ass once more, “If you want to hear my stories, keep entertaining me.”

“Can you stay focused?” You gave him a mischievous smile, slowly pulling back up to your elbows, his eyes immediately on your tits.

“As long as you don’t make me cum,” Jungkook retorted right back, a cocky grin on his face, “Well?” You tried not to shy away from his expression as your hips slowly began rubbing on him once more, teasing the base of his cock as he let out a soft pleasured moan, eyes slowly closing once more to enjoy the feeling as he recalled, “I proposed to my men that we would camouflage ourselves with the terrain, we covered ourselves in mud and moss, whatever greenery we could and crawled on the earth to evade their eyes.”

His fingers dragged down to the back of your thighs once more as your hips dragged a little lower down his shaft as your clit throbbed making a soft moan escape you, “That’s how you managed to siege their capitol Montclair?”

His fingers pulled your thighs apart, opening your slit a little more as it rubbed along is shaft back to his base, “Mmhm, like that,” He whispered out at feeling your hips pause at the base of his cock, wiggling a little to push it further between the lips of your cunt.

Silence had suddenly taken over as your eyes shut, enjoying being able to pleasure your husband as your hips slowly rode the base of his cock, letting it slip against your lips and rub along your clit.

This type of pleasure was slow, tantalizing, making his hips rut a little, gliding with ease against your soaked cunt, “What about this one.” Your fingers briefly brushed along his left breast, a long wicked line crossing it as you slowed your hips back down.

“Training accident when I was younger,” Jungkook murmured out, sounding half asleep, “I had assumed Hoseok was going for a lower strike but he tricked me, he got too close and accidentally sliced me right across the chest, it was a larger wound when it had first happened.”

Jungkook had a faint smile on his lips as his hands dragged to your waist, keeping a firm grip to encourage your hips, his eyes pulled open only a little, “He wouldn’t stop crying while profusely apologizing to me, saying he’d do anything to keep the wrath from my father at bay.”

“Did he hear about it?” Your moan was mixed with your soft laugh, grinding down as your clit dragged against his skin.

Jungkook’s breath hitched, “No, it only went as far as my aunt. She merely laughed it off, saying it was good practice for the real deal.”

You paused your movement, hands tracing down his particularly slim waist, just at the bottom of his ribcage, “And this?”

You lifted yourself up as Jungkook opened his eyes, “No looking.” You whispered out.

This made him confused before he let out a quiet laugh, closing his eyes once more, “I’ve seen it already princess, you can’t hide anything from me at this point.”

“I’m…testing…it’s lewd.” You tried not to be embarrassed as you sat down on his taunt, thick muscular thighs, legs still parted as you situated your cunt against his base once more, “How did you get that scar?” You prompted him once more.

Jungkook seemed to be having an increasingly harder time focusing as he felt it, your cunt making contact with the sensitive underside of his cock, your hips lifting to drag against his shaft, “It was when we attempted war with Kyoto, I was in the frontlines with the other underlings and an assassin of Kyoto had made his way into the trenches.”

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched as he felt your hand wrap around the head of his cock, giving short as he let out a breathy moan, hand running through his hair, “He was a full grown man and we were nothing more than boys pretending to be men. His sword longer than us all,” He bit down on his lip at your hand squeezing his cock, your cunt sliding against his base, “He cut two of the other underlings in half with just one swing, I was almost the third, I had barely managed to jump back in time but the tip of his blade still cut through me, blood was everywhere.”

“How did you live?” You whispered out, sadness somewhere deep inside you filled your heart through the haze of lust.

“Jimin had managed to jump on his back,” Jungkook let out another breath moan at feeling your hand drag down his cock, “Stabbed him in the neck, he choked on his own blood as they all rushed to get first aid for me. I almost bled out that night but by some miracle they had managed to stop the bleeding and get me stitches.”

Jungkook groaned as his hands curled into fists, pleasure becoming much stronger than it was supposed to, “Enough please.”

The movements ceased, “Does it not feel good?”

“It feels too good, I told you to not make me cum.” Jungkook sighed softly in relief as he felt you change positions back to your original, the weight of your body situated once more fully on top of him, “Mmm warm my cock.”

“I don’t understand how that works.” You whispered out, a bit embarrassed, you were a fast learner but you still didn’t know all the ends and outs of how all of this worked.

This made Jungkook laugh softly, endeared at your words as he forced his tired eyes back open, “It’s simple honestly, sit on my cock, let it stay warm inside you. I’ll be able to focus and recall events more better that way.”

“Really?” You replied skeptically.

“Mhm, what else do you want to know?” Jungkook let a crooked smirk tug on his lips as you grabbed the base of his cock, obediently doing as he told you, the fat head pushing inside you, a noise escaping you both.

Slowly you slid down his cock until your hips were flush with his, “Mmm, what now?” It was hard to focus now having him stuffing you so full.

Jungkook let out a long content sigh, “Nothing, this is it. Ask away.”

His hands lovingly stroked your hips as you suddenly struggled to speak, feeling his fat large cock throbbing inside you, walls clenching around him as your arousal dripped.

Jungkook let out an amused breath, “Cat got your tongue?”

You shook your head, slowly leaning back down to rest yourself on his chest, but somehow laying made your body feel even more full, “This one?” Your words were soft, trembled with a quiet whine, fingers brushing over his right bicep, a thin long line curving around it.

Jungkook’s hands stroked your waist before trailing over your back, “It happened during our siege of Prokiev, the battle happened overnight and it was dark out, fire my only source for my fight with their royal guard captain, our adrenaline was running out and we were both ragged, he threw a sloppy blow aiming for my chest but I moved away and back, the edge of his blade managed to pierce right through my chainmail. It wasn’t a serious injury.”

Jungkook let out a soft pleasured sigh at your little walls clenching around him, seemingly unable to relax with him buried this deep and unmoving in your cunt, “It serves as a reminder though.”

“To what?” You whispered out, setting your head down on his chest, biting down on your lip once more, trying so, so hard to focus on his words and not his cock, it felt like he was completely stretching you out, hitting all the way up into your stomach though surely that wasn’t possible.

Even if it felt like it was.

“That many want me dead, sharpening their blades that even a shallow cut could one day maim me or better yet kill me. Sometimes I wonder how I survived,” Jungkook murmured, eyes closing as he fought the sleep off, “Each of these scars is proof that I’m still here, that somehow despite all of the odds, whether it was pure luck, or pure skill, I lived another day. Learned, grew from my mistakes.”

Your eyes had fallen shut, tiredness pulling you into a lull as you felt a blanket being pulled over you, engulfing you in warmth once more.

You let out a ghost of a whine at feeling the slightest rut of his hips, cock making sure it was buried as far inside you as possible, Jungkook pressed a kiss against your head, “Something above let me live, let me marry you, the love of my life.”

Your eyes had become heavier with each passing gentle press of his lips, you had soon fallen asleep to the sweet sensation of his lips feathering your skin, hands stroking your side, cock keeping you full and ushers of love on his lips.

While the journey had been safe and overall good travel, to say you were relieved to be in Kimhae was an understatement, the air was cold, but it didn’t have that wet sharp feeling it did in Penumbra, and only a bit of frost covered the ground now.

Your thickest layers were shedded during travel as it got warmer much to your relief, more than anything you were ready to see your family, and even more so ready to sleep in a proper bed and rest.

You couldn’t voice it aloud to anyone but your thighs were sore from not only riding your horse but also from other nefarious activities late into the night, you were absolutely ready to stand on your own two feet for the next week.

Upon entering the gates of Kimhae the sight was familiar enough to you, elegant towering buildings, busy towns people who all seemed to pause from their business at the sight of not just you but your husband, whispers broke out and if your life in Penumbra had helped you with one thing, it was being able to ignore the stares.

Riding next to your husband as you made your way through the capitol until you arrived at the large gates of the palace, the courtyard open and lush, what you hadn’t expected was the sight of someone so familiar and yet…now had become a total stranger to you.

Kim Seokjin, the man you had once thought was the love of your life, only to realize that this was a feeble, childish type of love, the type of love you think is love until you truly fall in love.

He stood tall and proud as his eyes locked onto your figure, standing in white double buttoned vest and long sleeve, royal blue cape cascading behind him dramatically.

He looked like something out of a fairytale and you couldn’t deny Seokjin was just as handsome as you remembered, clean cut and warm skin.

Coming to a stop, your vision of him was somewhat blocked by your husband, and for the first time seeing them almost side by side made you realize just how different they were, Jungkook dawned in all black, hair array from travel and longer then when you had first met, well overdue for a trim.

His look, all too familiar, neutral but often coming across as dark and brooding to a person who wasn’t well acquainted with him.

And you supposed you must have seemed different from your old self as well, you no longer wore flowery apparel light apparel, now often dawned in black and maroons, today no different though you had gone without the fuss and feathers to make travel easier, a plain black gown with an under layer of red peeping out, sleeves dramatically long but slits having formed to make movement easier, another white long sleeve layer beneath to keep you warm as well as curl up to your neck.

Jungkook had already dismounted his horse, holding his hands out to you as you stood up in your saddle, pulling your leg over before you felt the security of his hands wrap around your waist, lifting you down safely.

You offer him a tiny smile of thanks as you turn to face Seokjin, the hand staying curled around your waist however did not go unnoticed by you as you both walked to greet your ex-lover.

“Seokjin, I cannot thank you enough for your invitation,” You gave him a soft smile, perhaps a sort of soft spot for him still lingered in your chest, after all, while your love might not have been deep, it was something, and you’d take it for what it was, “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, I’m relieved to see you alive and well, it’s been too long.” Seokjin’s eyes were locked onto you and only you, and briefly you felt a sort of severed connection.

His eyes drilling into you with a sort of passion that you only blinked at with a friendly polite smile, him taking your hand into his own as he lifted it to his lips, “Truthfully I don’t think enough time has passed.”

Your hand was suddenly snatched away by a much larger one, Jungkook’s expression had quickly gone from neutral to one hundred percent leering and unfriendly, that typical icy Jeon glare as he spoke coldly, “Kim Seokjin.”

Seokjin’s eyes burned into the sight, Jungkook’s hand holding onto your own in a sort of protective manner, as if he assumed the man’s kiss to your hand would maim you.

“Jeon Jungkook.” Seokjin’s eyes twisted into a glare, but it simply didn’t have the same bite as Jungkook’s, “I can’t say I remember inviting the Jeon’s.”

“Interesting you say that,” Jungkook replied, a haughty cold look on his face, “Given one found its way to my wife,” He glanced down at you, a squeeze of his hand on your waist and his hand releasing your own only for his fingers to trace your jawbone, “Only the most beautiful Jeon.”

Jungkook’s thumb tugged at your lower lip and you couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze, somewhat flustered at such an open display of affection, “What my husband means to say is we’ve come here to represent Penumbra together, I hope this will be the first of many Yule’s we can all come together and celebrate the Rite of Peace.”

You could tell by Seokjin’s gritted smile that whatever he had anticipated this was not it, it softened however as his eyes landed on you, “For you, I’d do anything Y/n.” His gaze became more sharp as they locked back onto Jungkook, “...And I suppose that goes for you as well. I hope your stay in Kimhae treats you well.”

“As do I.” Jungkook retorted, “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’d like to rest after our journey.”

You briefly glanced up at Jungkook, brow furrowing in a little bit of annoyance, you understood that Jungkook absolutely did not like Seokjin in the least, but couldn’t he be a little more discreet about it?

This being your first public appearance as a couple meant you’d have to be careful how you presented yourselves, if he wanted to quarrel with the man you did not care as long as he did it in private where prying eyes and ears couldn’t witness it.

“Of course,” Seokjin almost sneered at him, making you shuffle a bit uncomfortable at seeing the men nearly bearing teeth at one another, “My head maid will show you to your room.”

Seokjin gave you one last look, and you couldn’t quite describe it, it was one of yearning and longing, and yet it wasn’t reciprocated as you allowed Jungkook to lead you both into the palace following behind the maid.

“What was all of that about?” You whispered reprimanding to Jungkook.

Jungkook only looked ahead, “He touched you.”

“...He was being polite.” You reasoned, you had never seen such displays from Jungkook before- well aside from the time Claudin had taken your hand.

Come to think of it, you supposed this was less rash then when he pressed a knife into Claudin’s neck for so much as grabbing your hand to kiss, truthfully you should be thankful it didn’t escalate so quickly to that.

Stepping into your guest room you paused, realizing this was the room you used to stay in when you were a maiden...Seokjin probably still has the route memorized…had he thought you’d come to Kimhae alone?

You shook the ridiculous notion away as you took your cloak off, Jungkook shut the door to your shared room, “He touched you.” He emphasized it.

You turned around, raising your eyebrows, not understanding what he was getting at, Jungkook huffed, “Men who touch women like that aren’t being friendly.”

“It was my hand!” You pouted, “You’ve touched my hands plenty of times.”

“And look where it led.” Jungkook countered as he took his own outer apparel off, “That’s just the way it goes. And perhaps because I also know you’ve sucked his cock-”

“Jungkook!” You cried out, embarrassment flooding through you, “Don’t say it so loud!”

This made Jungkook chuckle as he sat on the foot of the bed, “Hmm, you’ve never sucked my cock before come to think of it.” He laughed even louder at suddenly being hit with the cloak you launched at him.

“I am tired and taking a nap, you can either join me or sleep on the floor if you keep being crude.” You kicked your riding shoes off as you pulled the covers curling up in bed, his body immediately beside you, arms wrapping around your waist.

“I can’t help it,” Jungkook replied, snickering into your shoulder, “You’re easy to tease.”

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader smut #prince!jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook x you

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