#and we were expected to believe he was the series was about him!

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

(not my gif!! if it's yours, pls reach out and i will tag u<3)

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[millietalksra]

RA Confession

I always thought Horace was a more compelling character than Will and wish we had a book with him as the main character

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞

❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S YOUR THESIS ADVISOR !! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (yuta x f!reader) (part six of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: just when you had moved on, suguru is back in your life as your thesis advisor, and what choice do you have but to deal -- deal with lingering feelings from your breakup, but also yuta's. and through this, you both find out what you all owe to each other.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, post breakup, dealing with exes, insecurity, semi-exhibitionism, desk sex, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, multiple orgasms, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, fanart by @ / kyrraen (pls go follow them, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 25,305 | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

Suguru never had believed in fate before — before he met you. 

And now it seemed fate had its own plans for the both of you — pulling you together, even when he had tried his best to push the two of you apart. Try he had, and in the end, you both ended up back where you had started — seated across from each other with a pile of papers littered with red pen. 

Except now he himself had found himself littered with you — your tie pin you had given him, the way his fingers wanted to smooth your brow with a kiss as it furrowed while you flipped through your proposal, and how his heart felt whole from the moment you walked in the room. And he knew he would be littered with your marks all his life, more permanent than ink — and he would never be able rid himself of them. 

Or of you. 

When Yaga had come to him with the news, it was already too much to handle. He was being re-assigned to Tokyo to handle duties for both schools for a time — until someone stepped up to handle Kyoto. Yaga didn’t trust anyone else — and since Suguru had worked at Tokyo longer, it made sense to have him go back. 

But then the question of you — the reminder came on the form of your email during their meeting — and you came into his world again the same way you did before — an email for a meeting. But it wasn’t for him. 

Not yet at least. 

It was hard to know what to do, or what you would want. Yaga could have you re-assigned, but the thesis you were working on was in Suguru’s specialty and he knew half the reason you had asked Yaga was to have a department head listed on your thesis. And to rob you of that wasn’t a choice he wanted to make for you. 

He’s done enough of that to you. And he had done it for your future — and he would do this for your future, if you wanted him to. 

You’re speechless when he breaks the news to you — as he expected you would be. But his surprise comes when you reply — he expected anger, frustration, a straight out refusal to work with him — but he did not get any of those — he only got quiet acceptance. 

“Fine, should we stick to the same schedule that Yaga and I agreed to?” And Suguru takes a minute, leaning back in his chair, “what?” 

“I just…I didn’t expect you to accept so readily,” he replies softly, choosing his words carefully, “in my email, I said you could take time to think about it or we could procure a different advisor—“ 

“Professor,” the word sticks in his chest like a right dagger that barely misses his heart, “out of everyone who works in this department I know you are the only one who is capable of pushing me to be my best, even when I don’t ask for it,” you add under your breath, “especially when I don’t ask for it,” 

A hollow chuckle is stuck in his throat, “If you’re sure, it’s your choice,” and he’s looking for a few notes and edits he had written out for you for the schedule you sent along previously. 

“It is my choice,” you echo, your eyes meet his, as he looks up from the papers strewn about the desk, “and I choose this,” and he knows all too well what you mean by your deliberate choice of words— and he did love you for your cutting tongue. 

Even when it was used against him. 

“If you do, then can you choose to come to my old office?” And you’re blinking, brow furrowing — and his cheeks burn, “I left your schedule there — I had a few notes regarding my own schedule,” 

You raise an eyebrow, a flicker of a smart remark on the tip of your tongue that you seemingly swallow, as you gather the proposal into your bag, “let’s go,”

The walk over is in relative silence, the campus mostly quiet with the impending end of the semester at bay — as he forces his gaze forward, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous eyes from sneaking glances all the same. Why was it that he was a lighthouse and his eyes were spotlights only made to find your ship on the dark waves of the sea. 

And you stop in your tracks, a glance at your face doesn’t give him the answer — but another face does. 

“Yuta?” And he’s holding your lunch bag — the same one you insisted on taking with you, refusing to spend more money on the overpriced lunch on campus. And the realization hits him all at once, and he’s suddenly toppling headfirst into the waves. 

“You forgot your lunch,” Yuta offers an awkward smile — and Suguru’s eyes find your face again, right before he goes under — the same soft look you gave him. 

Used to give him. 

And he lets the water overtake him. 

~~~

“You forgot your lunch,”

And you never thought a rushed morning would lead to the most awkward moment of your life. Yuta glances between you and Suguru, as you step forward to take your lunch from his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, as if to ground yourself. 

“Yuta, this is Professor Geto, he taught one of the classes I took and he’s taking over as my thesis advisor,” and you’re only lucky Suguru is able to tuck away emotions so easily, a polite smile on his lips as he offers his hand to Yuta, “this is Yuta, my boyfriend,” 

You can’t meet Suguru’s gaze as you say it — but you wonder what you would find — hurt, anger, or nothing at all? And you couldn’t figure out which would hurt the most. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Suguru says, before shaking his hand, and Yuta nods. 

“Likewise,” and Suguru turns to you, hands slipping into his pockets, while yours remained laced with Yuta’s — but how long ago would it had been intertwined in his? “On second thought, I’ll email you my edits to your thesis schedule, I’ll leave you both to the rest of your day,” he gives a stiff smile, before heading on his way. 

And he knew this was a future of his own making — the consequences of his own actions. 

He gives a bitter chuckle. Consequentialism — the morality is centered around creating the right consequences — and wasn’t it right? Right for you to be happy with someone your age? Right to be with someone who you can hold their hand and be with? Right to be with someone who can give you everything and anything you want? 

“I understand the intention of consequentialism, but it just feels so pointless,” you had said while the two of you sat watching TV on the couch, your legs thrown over his lap, the comfortable warmth of your head resting on his shoulder. 

“That’s not where I thought your mind was,” Suguru had chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, but still he indulged, “the point is to get as much good as possible out of a decision correct? The most happiness?” 

Your brow remained furrowed, “But the problem is the cost of it — it can come at the cost of your own happiness if it’s creating the right consequences,” 

“That’s more utilitarianism—“ and you shrug. 

“I understand it’s more complicated, but I don’t see the value in making decisions like that — doesn’t it defeat the purpose because you’re doing it for the outcome — without considering your feelings or the others? You’re nothing more than a happiness pump,” 

And as he sneaks a glance back, watching you and Yuta stand there still, fingers still intertwined, his fingers squeeze the handle of his bag, is that why it feels so wrong? 

He arrived back at his office, fingers turning the knob and finding an empty tomb — the walls stripped down to the bare, a thick layer of dust that clung to the surfaces, the couch he had in the corner of the room likely relocated to another office — that he thought he had finally left behind. But here he was again — right back where he started. 

He dragged his finger through the dust on his desk. Was he nothing more than a happiness pump? Giving himself pain for the sake of others’ happiness — and was the outcome worth it? But he’s swallowing down his pain — a bitter consequence he had to take — because he knew — he would take any pain, if it meant you were happy. 

And you were. 

Right? 

~~~

Yuta knew — he did even before he had started to date you. Or rather, he had suspected. But now he knew.  

The first time he saw the two of you bump into each other, he knew because of the way Geto looked at you — and even the way you looked at him — the hurt flickering in your gaze, even when you refused to look at him. 

Professor Geto has been much more than a professor to you — he was your boyfriend, the same one Yuta had envied for so many months. Only for him to be back in your life again. And he felt like he was right back to where he had started in your life again — a friend. 

And there wasn’t a thing wrong with being your friend — but now that he was more than one, he knew he only wanted even more of you — and to give more of himself. If you would let him. 

But when your fingers curled around his, ‘boyfriend’ slipping from your lips, assuaged his anxiety for a moment, but as he watched your eyes find the back of Geto’s head after he left, it all came back. 

Your fingers squeeze his, “Thank you for bringing my lunch, Yu,” and it brings him back to the moment, and your face is so readable in this moment — as if to make up for the times he couldn’t make sense of you — searching for an indication that he knew, an implication of his emotions, a question unspoken to ask if he knew. 

And he did. 

“Of course, baby,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, and he wants to tell you he does, wants to ask you why you hid it, why you felt you couldn’t be honest, and why you look like you’re still as heartbroken as the day he ran into you outside this building, “I have to go, but I’ll see you later,” but he doesn’t ask. 

“Yuta—“ but he’s only pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, fingers cupping his cheek. 

“I love you,” and your lips curl into a small smile. 

“I love you too,” and it was enough, he thought, as his fingers parted from yours, and he turned to leave. 

It was enough, for now.  

~~~

How do you tell someone something they already know? You snuck glances at your own boyfriend after dinner, as the two of you settled in to watch something to unwind. The day had gone by as expected, but the crawling anxiety only grew as more time passed, the words wanting nothing more than to leave your mouth. 

Why was it you when you had so much to say you couldn’t say it? And now when you had to explain, no words could leave your lips? 

God, how the fuck did you catch yourself in this mess? Your ex as your thesis advisor — was this karma for being unethical? A cruel consequence of the choices you made? Maybe fate? No, it wasn’t fate. Things were better without Suguru in your life, simpler and easier. And you were happy — but now this, this just had the potential to ruin everything. 

But only if you let it. 

And the longer you went without discussing this, the more damage it would be. It was a secret you had chosen to keep — you didn’t think it was pertinent, especially with Suguru in Kyoto. It was a detail you could spare, at least until after you graduated, 

But now it couldn’t wait. 

It was a piano hanging by a string that’s already snapped and it was on its last fibers, swinging back and forth, waiting to see whether you would push Yuta and yourself out of the way — or whether one or both of you would get crushed in the process. 

The walk back to your apartment is an exercise in coping mechanisms to prevent panic or anxiety from settling fully into your skin, holding the string together with your arms seemingly, ready for it to tear you apart. 

But it doesn’t. 

“I have to talk to you,” you say once you and Yuta are sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under the other to prevent you from shaking it, or running away for that matter, “it’s nothing bad — well, I mean it’s not—“ you cut yourself off, shaking your head, “just know I love you, and that hasn’t changed—“ 

And his lips find yours, cutting off your frantic thoughts with a sweet kiss that only leaves you wanting more, but also leaves you with more questions than answers. 

He pulls away, a small smile on his lips, “Breath “ and you sigh, taking a breath, “and I love you too,” your fingers interlace with his, “what is it?” 

But you don’t even know where to begin, except at the point, “You know the ex that broke my heart before we dated?” And he’s nodding, “Professor Geto is—“ 

“Is your ex,” he finishes, and you knew he had figured out, but you hadn’t expected it to come out so matter-of-factly, “I had a feeling and this morning confirmed it,” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “after he moved, I never thought he would move back, much less become my thesis advisor,” you bury your face in your hands, “and I don’t want you to think I was hiding it. It’s just with the relationship being taboo, I didn’t think—“ 

“You were trying to protect yourself and your ex, it’s understandable,” he squeezes your hand, “you couldn’t have expected this to happen,” 

And you’re lifting your gaze to his, “How are you so calm? How are you so…okay?” 

He gives a sigh, “it’s hard, I’m trying to stay rational for you — for us,” you lean against him, “what are you going to do? About your thesis?” 

“I think I’ll have to take Suguru as my advisor. I don’t have much of a choice,” you bite your lip, “I could take another, but no other professor has the same specialization as Yaga, except Geto, and I know he’ll give me good feedback,” 

“But?” You rest your head in your hand. 

“But having to spend that much time with my ex? Having to work on something so important to my career with him? Having to put you through that?” you feel more lost than when you began this conversation, “I don’t know what to do. I already agreed to it, but I think it’s only sinking in,” and you turn to him, “and then there’s you,” 

“What about me?” and you shake your head. 

“How can I put you through watching me spending hours with my ex over the next semester?” And Yuta shakes your head. 

“A decision important to your future shouldn’t just be based on me, it should be about you,” and you purse your lips — another reason why Yuta was so sweet, as you lean against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I’ll keep him as my advisor for now, but if you have a problem, please talk to me okay?” You lean back to look at him, “please?” 

“Of course,” and his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, “and you always deserve me — because I chose you.” You kissed him, his arms curling around you, as you leaned into his touch — the one place that always felt safe. 

And you didn’t know that he just hoped — you’d choose him too. 

~~~

Fuck. How was it you found yourself before Professor Geto’s door yet again? 

Winter break had flown by and now you found yourself back in the office you thought you had left behind not so long ago. Even if it felt like forever. You had spent your time split between working on your thesis, with the edits to your outline that Suguru had provided you, and with Yuta — who was more endlessly understanding than you could have hoped to imagine. And even today, as you headed off to meet Suguru in his office, he had nothing but soothing words for your nerves, sweet kisses, and a promise for a good meal when you got home. 

You hovered before the door of his office — no matter what had happened throughout these months, why did it always feel as if you always ended up here? Pulled against your will into a rotation around him — one that would have you stuck into a constant push and pull — and just when you had let go of his grip, you were pulled back in. And as your fist hovered next to the door, bracing to knock, you weren’t sure if you were ready to fall back in. 

But what you didn’t know as you stood before the door was that the man behind it was more anxious about this meeting than you were. 

~~~

“You’re early,” Suguru glances up from his paperwork, his top of his pen pressed to the seam of his lips, “for once,” 

Suguru himself had nearly been late this morning — ever the hypocrite, he supposed. He could barely sleep the night before, spent catching up on the work piled up for two department heads while the Kyoto campus makes potential temporary candidates jump through hoops. And then there was the other reason, his meeting with you — and all the complicated feelings he didn’t wish to entangle himself in. And yet he always fell deeper into your web, as if he didn’t willingly ensnare himself to begin with. 

He didn’t even know Yaga was sick, but he had seen the change in him. The subtle differences in his demeanor, the bags around his eyes, and the creeping slowness that came with illness. But it still hit like a gut punch to hear it from his mouth, and for him to ask to take over duties for him was a double edged blade of honor and complication. 

Yaga had given him the option to turn it down: to keep managing everything from Kyoto — but he accepted anyway — accepted because he knew that you’d be out of a thesis advisor. And he would be left unable to help from Kyoto with the in person role an advisor played. 

And so he was here. 

When he finally had gotten to lay down, eyes fixed on the familiar ceiling fan again — as he had managed to get his old apartment back by some miracle — and he hates how this place is a husk of itself without you here. But even with you here before him, his eyes snuck at glance at you, it somehow was worse being with you — when he was nothing to you. He could bear to not be your lover, but he couldn’t bear the weight of your hatred, or worse, your indifference. 

You cross your arms, your laptop bag draped on your shoulder, “You’ll never let that go until one of us is dead will you?” 

“That’s assuming we wouldn’t haunt the other,” he replies without missing a beat, as you take a seat across from him, eyes taking in his office. The same set up from before, if not a little less ostentatious and obnoxious — a few missing pictures and awards tucked away, the missing luxury sofa, and the lack of leather bound books lining shelves, instead minimally decorated with a few select titles — including What Do We Owe Each Other, prominently displayed. 

“I have better things to do than haunt you,” you scoff, pulling out your laptop from your bag, “did you forget to finish unpacking?” And he doesn’t offer even a look up at your remark. 

“No, just decided to take a certain person’s advice and try to take a less pretentious approach to my office,” his lips curled in that damnable wry smile of his, “plus not everything has been sent back from Kyoto yet,” and he leans forward, plucking your revised thesis outline from the neat piles lined up on his desk, “but my office decor isn’t why we’re here,” he flips through his notes on your draft, “the outline is in good shape, have you started on your draft?” 

You pull a stapled stack out to slide to him, “I have fleshed out some of my main points and I wanted your thoughts before I dove further,” and he takes it before scanning through it, silent as he peruses the contents. 

His eyes flit up, “You didn’t have to wait for my approval—“ 

“I know, but I value your opinion,” you grumble, eyes averted as you admit it, a graze of your teeth against the bottom of your lip. It draws a small smile from him, hidden away behind his closed fist pressed to his lips, “as my advisor,” you add, and he nods. 

The meeting finished up with much else, as you slide your laptop and things back into your bag. And for the first time your eyes meet his. 

“Have you been sleeping okay?” and he’s blinking a moment, as you continue, “you look tired. You should sleep more instead of working,”

He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“ 

“You have bags under your eyes, Professor,” you roll your eyes, “listen or don’t, but I rather my thesis isn’t re-assigned last minute because you ran yourself into the ground,” you say before turning to leave. 

“I expect your next draft by the beginning of the next week,” and you pause, the click of the knob as you pull the door open. 

“I’ll have it to you by the end of the week.” And you’re gone, door shutting behind you, and he leans back in his chair, a smile that he can’t quite hide on his lips. 

Maybe he wasn’t quite nothing to you after all. 

~~~

“I’m home, baby,” you say, as you walk in, the burden of the day still in the process of sliding off your back as you passed through the threshold of your apartment. You stripped yourself of your cost and your shoes, hanging your bag up, “Yu?” 

You checked your phone with no text or call from him — he said he would be at your place, and that’s when you spot a familiar mop of black hair from the couch. Your lips curl as you round the couch, only to find him fast asleep, his work spread out around him. His first day back seemed as stressful as yours, and yet he hadn’t complained. 

His bags were dark — a product of a bad night’s sleep — a running trend for today seemingly. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, knowing he wouldn’t wake simply by that, but you heard the quiet mumble of words you couldn’t catch. You glanced at the kitchen and found dinner prepped but not made. You smile softly, as you take the throw blanket and gently spread it over him, before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and then rising to your feet. 

You’re almost done cooking curry when Yuta stirs, the smell of the stewing beef and spices waking him, as he lifts his head, back of his hand rubbing his eye, while he glances at you with the other. 

“Hey sleeping beauty,” your lips curl, doing a bad job of stifling your chuckle at the sight of his black hair askew, “dinner is almost ready,” 

“Dinner? When did you get—“ and he picks up his phone to check the time, a small groan stuck in his throat, “why didn’t you wake me when you got home?” 

“I would have,” you wipe off your hands, as you make your way to the living room, as Yuta swings his legs off the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face, “but you’re so cute when you’re sleeping,” and his cheeks flush an ever so subtle pink — even after this time together, it was so easy to fluster him, “plus, it looked like you needed it,” 

Your hand brushes his cheek, and he’s leaning into your touch, your other hand running fingers through his hair to straighten it out, “I did,” he mumbles, “it was a long day,” 

“Want to talk about it over some rice and curry?” and he bites his lip, before he leans in to press a sweet kiss to you, delighting in the desperate look he gives you when you drag your tongue teasingly against the seam of his lips only to pull away, “don’t pout,” you drag your thumb down his lips, “I’ll kiss you plenty after dinner,” 

“Promise?” And you drag him to his feet and he’s walking to the bathroom as you’re opening cabinets to take plates out, only for his arms to wrap around your middle, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. 

You chuckle, biting back the shiver that runs up your spine at the warmth of his touch, “what’s that for?” 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, meeting your gaze with umbra eyes that has you lost in the only inky black sky you craved. 

“Of course, Yu,” you murmur before his lips find yours again, and you just wished you could live in this moment, as he parted from your lips only to press another kiss to your cheek, but you supposed you could— 

—For now at least. 

“She’s what?” Maki stares at Yuta as he rubs the back of his head, her words nearly ringing out in the empty conference room, “she’s spending a bunch of time with her ex and you’re ok with it?” 

Yuta has made a mistake — the mistake of being twenty minutes early to this student government meeting only to find Maki here alone, scrolling on her phone. Her eyes flitting up only for her to tilt her head and bark: 

“Oi, what is it now?” And Yuta didn’t know if he liked being so seen by her. 

Especially now that he was being judged for his decisions — or rather, raked over the coals for them. 

Yuta purses his lips, “I’m not exactly okay with it, but I don’t know what to do. She has to work on her project with him — I guess, how could I object?” And how could he? Your omission made sense, you were only trying to protect your reputation— and your ex’s by extension. But it didn’t make it sting any less. 

“Doesn’t she have another choice? Couldn’t she work with someone else?” Maki crosses her arms, eyes narrowed, as if she can detect the holes in his lies by pure reflex, “aren’t you worried she’ll go back to him?” And voices every worry almost if she’s ripped it from his mind itself.

“I am, she does have other choices, but I couldn’t be the one to make her choices for her—“ 

“But you couldn’t tell her how you felt about it?” Maki shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose as if this conversation is giving her a headache — or more likely, he’s giving her a headache, “how do you feel?” 

Yuta chews his lip, leaning on his arm on the table, “I don’t know, I understand it’s just a project — it’s something for her future — I don’t want to make things more complicated for us,” he mumbles. 

“You mean for her—and for your relationship,” Maki crosses her arms, tilting her head, “Yuta, if you can’t be honest with her, what’s the point of this relationship?” And people start to file into the room for the meeting, so she hisses in a whisper, “you need to figure out what you want — and how to tell her how you’re feeling because it’s going to eat you alive or drive her into her ex’s arms — either way, you won’t be in this relationship,” 

And on that bleak note, she gets to her feet to corral everyone into their seats, leaving him to simmer in her words. His phone lighting up nearly on cue with a text from you— 

Can’t make the meeting this week, babe — Geto rescheduled my meeting with him this week for now, so I’m headed there 

A hint of irritation pricks at him — it had to be today, during the only time that they had together at school? 

Another message comes through. 

I’ll see you at your place after the meeting - love you 💕

He locks his phone, tucking it away in his pocket — as Maki starts the meeting. 

It was fine — he would see you at home. It didn’t matter — Geto had only these meetings, Yuta had much more of you. It was fine. 

He forced his gaze forward, a gnawing dread in his stomach. Right? 

“What do you mean it was expected?” 

You were starting to remember the reason why you hated this man so vehemently when you first met him. His nearly smug expression made you want to leap across the desk and strangle him — though you knew the consequences of that action wouldn’t turn out well for you — nor the proximity for that matter, “what I wrote—“ 

“Is what others have written in papers time and time again,” he cuts you off, and you slump back in your chair, as you flip through the red inked comments he had so thoughtfully ripped apart your first few pages — the precise cuts and slashes enough for red ink to look like blood, “your thesis needs to be a unique take—” 

“And now it isn’t unique enough?” you grumble, crossing your arms, as your cheeks burn, “soon you’ll be saying I’m rambling again,” 

“No, I was able to rid you of that habit a while ago,” you glare at him, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “I would be concerned if you started to regress,” 

“Well, at least it would only be academically,” the words spit like venom from your mouth without a thought, but the hurt that flickers across his face is one that seemingly has too much thought behind it, “sorry, that was inappropriate,” 

“It’s fine,” the hurt is gone from his expression, as unreadable as it always was, “to get back to our discussion, I know you want this paper to be published by journals, and in order to do that, you need to have a perspective that hasn’t been explored before—at least not fully. Your outline reflects that, but your paper is regurgitating ideas that you’ve read,” he’s handing you a list of papers and books, with some noted passages, “read some of these materials, it might help give you some ideas to rework your paper,” and then he adds, “and you knew I’d say this,” 

You knit your brow together, “What?” 

He leans against his arm propped against the top of his desk, “Why else would you want me to see if you were going in the right direction? You always have an idea what you want to write, of where you want your paper to go — and you never wanted my greenlight for a long time now,” 

You hate how he can still see right through you — you hate how easily he can pinpoint your problem without you uttering a helpful word. Even before, it always felt as if he was the only one who saw you, without you having to explain a single thing. 

“You’re right,” and he hated how right he was, “I wasn’t sure where I was going,” this thesis had been weighing on your mind day and night, pricking at your nerves each time you stared at the blinking cursor of the document, “I still don’t,” 

Suguru murmurs your name softly, his gaze as gentle as it always has been for you, a part of you hoped — only for you, “As I’ve always said, the only reason why I push you is because I know you can do more. This thesis would be outstanding for many scholars, but I know you can do more,” he tilts his head, small smile on his lips, “and I know you still can,” 

“What if I can’t?” The question slips out before you can even think it, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“There is no ‘what if,’ I know you can do it,” and you bite your lip, “i don’t have any doubts,” 

“Not even one?” You reply, an eyebrow quirked. 

“Not when it comes to you,” and he said just what you wanted to hear, but you hated it all the more — because how did he know you so well? How did he know you so well and yet not know to talk to you before breaking your heart? 

But it didn’t matter now. And you couldn’t trudge up these feelings now, or maybe ever. 

“I’ll read these materials and rework it,” and you begin to collect your things all the while, getting to your feet. 

“Good,” and you catch sight of his smile in the reflection of your phone, “it’s what you owe yourself.” 

And your eyes meet his for a moment, so why couldn’t he give you what he owed you before? 

“Thank you, Professor.” 

“I’m back,” you call out in Yuta’s apartment, tucking your keys away into your bag, as you slip your shoes off and shrugging off your jacket, but you hear nothing in response, “Yuta?” But not a sound — no quiet voices of the TV, the clatter of dishes and utensils in the kitchen, and no sign of him in the bedroom either. 

You check your phone, as you sit on the edge of the bed, creaking under your weight, and you see his text: sorry baby, Maki took the group out for dinner after, you’re free to join us. And the address is sent underneath. 

But the text was well over twenty minutes ago, and it would take you longer to get there — which meant dinner would nearly be over. You laid back on his bed on your side, typing a reply. 

Sorry Yu, just saw this :(. I’ll come next time. I’ll make something up fast and probably lie down. I’ll see you at home. 

You curl up on the bed, placing your phone down with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Your nose turned into his sheets, Yuta’s scent flooding your senses, and you could nearly feel his arms around you. Almost. 

God, you missed him — especially you two just kept missing each other like this — and it made it all the more important you stayed awake. 

Your eyes flutter open, the sweet siren of sleep growing all the more tempting, a late lunch sitting like stones in your stomach and the need for the sandman’s relief growing headier. 

And before you knew it, your legs were tucked under the comforter and your eyes succumbed to their own weight. 

Your soft breaths filled the silence of the apartment, and even as Yuta came in an hour or so later, only to find you sprawled out messily in his bed, phone still in your hand, did he chuckle. His hands are gentle as he guides you into a normal position for sleep that wouldn’t fuck over your back, putting your phone on charge, and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

And as he leaves the room to shower, not hearing the quiet murmur of his name leaving your lips. 

“You have to try a little,” you’re nearly waving your ice cream cone in front of Yuta’s face, soft serve dripping onto the pavement, and the soft pink swirl threatening to topple over in front of your eyes, but the risk of losing your beloved ice cream was not as important as advocating for it, “c’mon it’s so good—” 

“Baby, the ice cream is supposed to be your treat for all the progress you’ve made on your thesis, not a taste test, and I have my own flavor—” but as the ice cream hovers in front of his face, Yuta tastes it — the subtle sakura flavor lingering on his tongue, “it’s good,” he concedes, “but not as good as my matcha,” 

It had been a lot to tear you away from your work — it had been weeks in the making of trying to get you to take a break that wasn’t you falling asleep on the couch with your laptop and notes strewn about or a mindless TV break. And the times you both were supposed to have together often ended with one of you being busy or falling asleep. He barely remembered the last time the two of you had spent together that didn’t involve takeout or the couch. 

You pout, “Sakura is so much better,” you grumble, licking at your ice cream, trying to stem the excess melting off the sides of your waffle cone, and he chuckles, as a little of your ice cream sticks to your nose. 

“More for you then right?” he’s pulling a tissue out to wipe your nose and lips before kissing them, “Mm, it’s sweeter on your lips,” and he knows your cheeks are burning as you avert your eyes, biting your lip.

“You’re the worst,” and he laughs, as he wraps his arm around your middle, “but I’ll say you’re right about today. This date was definitely needed,” you lean into his touch, still working on your ice cream, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” 

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not just you that’s busy—” 

“I know, but it’s mostly been me,” your eyes find his, and he wavers under your glance, “I know we haven’t had a lot of time together, and I promise, it’s only going to last a little longer, once I’m done with my thesis I’m all yours,” 

And it’s hard for him to believe that — but he tries, because he knows you are. 

“I know,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “I’m just glad we got to do this today, I just feel like we keep missing each other, and it just…it’s been bothering me,” 

And you kiss his jaw, before softly smiling, “You’re not alone,” and his lips find yours again, and again, ice cream starting to run down his fingers and palm, but he could care less about anything else but you at this moment, “You’re gonna make me drop my ice cream,” 

“I’ll buy you another,” and you laugh, kissing him this time, and he melts just like the ice cream into your grasp, your arms wrapped around him tight, “now who’s making our ice cream melt?” 

“You said you’d buy me another anyway,” you nuzzle his neck, “plus I have to leave space to eat you up later,” and you giggle as his cheeks burn, “you blush so easily still, thought you would be used to my teasing by now,” 

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, still feels like a dream,” you pinch his cheek in reply, a smirk on your lips, as you kiss the skin that you pinched. 

“Now, it’s not a dream, is it?” And right as your lips were about to meet his again—

RING. RING. RING. 

Your brow furrows as you ignore it at first, before a sigh catches in your throat, “hold on—“ you check your messages, your brow furrowing, “fuck,” you swear under your breath. 

“What’s wrong?” And you’re tossing your ice cream in a nearby trash can, wiping your hand with one of the tissues the ice cream place had handed you, before texting back. 

“Geto wants to meet today about my thesis. Apparently some departmental meetings got pushed around, and today is the only day he can meet in person—“ 

“Do you have to—“ and you’re shaking your head in exasperation, burying your face in your hands. 

“I have no choice. It’s the only time until a week and half from now, and I can’t wait to get this feedback, otherwise it will throw off my entire schedule—“ 

“But this is the only time we can meet,” he cuts you off, voice catching on the words, as his tongue is caught between holding it and wagging it, “I miss you, baby, we haven’t seen each other in weeks because of our schedules, because of your thesis—“ because of him, “when will our relationship take priority? When will I be important enough to matter?” 

“Yuta,” your voice breaks, “of course you matter to me—“ and your phone vibrates again, cutting you off, and he takes a beat and a breath. He swallows thickly, this wasn’t the right time for this. 

But when would it be? 

“Go,” he says, and your eyebrows knit together, lips parting to refuse, “I’m okay, really. We’ll talk when you get home,” but he’s stepping towards you, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “promise, we’re ok. Just go. I’ll call you.” 

“You sure?” He wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if he should let you go or stand his ground — but, his fingers cupped your cheek, and kissed your lips — but he was sure that he loved you. 

“I’m sure,” and he wanted what was best for you — and he watches you leave after you say your farewells — even if it wasn’t best for him. 

You shouldn’t have agreed to this. 

Agreed to take this meeting over your date. Agreed to meet in the lecture hall instead of his office. Agreed to have him as your thesis advisor. Agreed to even take a course with him to begin with. You were several steps too close to regret being born, but your real mistake was ever pursuing this man to begin with. 

That was your mistake — and now you are reaping what you sow. 

Literally. 

“Your lecture was compelling — I have so much to learn from you,” you stood outside his lecture hall as students filed out quicker than usual, without the typical quorum that formed after every one of his classes — only to find the reason that a single person commanded his attention, “I didn’t realize how wonderfully interesting philosophy could be as a topic,” her voice already grates on your ears, the elongated syllables of her words nearly enough for you to roll your eyes into the back of your head so far that you were they would get stuck. 

“It’s a fine line between interesting and dry, I’m glad I could walk it for you, Mei Mei,” and you could hear the smile in his tone, the saccharine sweetness enough for you to choke on and die of excess sugar, but unfortunately you don’t, so you have to hear the rest of this conversation. 

“I’m so glad I took Satoru’s advice to see your lecture, it was definitely eye opening,” and you furrow your brow, “he’s been asking me about you — he told me if I stopped by to have you call him,” 

You purse your lips — Satoru? 

A sigh in his voice as he speaks “He sent a real messenger this time? I get his texts, I have been really busy with my duties—“ 

“You know what they say — about all work and no play?” You hear the click of heels against the floor, as she assuredly steps closer, “maybe I can help you with the play—“ 

You knock on the door then, hand possessed, as you spot the woman with whom the voice belonged — her long silver locks tied into a braid that hung past her shoulders, her dark eyes finding yours and brow arched in curiosity, and wine stained lips curled. 

“Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but our meeting?” Your voice was laced with irritation you didn't intend to have, “I have a class after this, so unless you’d like to reschedule?” 

Suguru’s lips part, only for Mei Mei to speak first, “I’m sorry about that — that’s my fault — old friends you know?” Her head tilts, as if to say, no, I know you don’t know, “and you are one of Suguru’s little students?” 

“I’m his former T.A. and he is my thesis advisor,” and his girlfriend, you want to add — ex girlfriend, rather, but the words are as taboo as your feelings are, “I’m sure Professor Geto wouldn’t mind speaking to you after our meeting if you could wait,” 

And again Suguru opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off again, “Oh I wouldn’t mind waiting at all, not for him,” she walks past, “I’ll wait for you in your office, Suguru,” and you have to force your expression to be neutral, a knot in your gut, and a fist clenched and hidden around the handle of your bag, “I’ll make myself comfortable,” 

The lecture hall door closes behind her, the click of the door brings silence between the two of you, “I apologize if—“ 

“No, I should be sorry for interrupting,” you cut him off, your throat tied into knots, a distinct dull ache in your chest that surely shouldn’t belong to you — not after all of this, “I should have just rescheduled—“ 

“No, I’m glad you interrupted,” he says, “we have an appointment and she really is only a—“ 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Professor,” and the title seems to cut this time, slicing through his mask, fraying his calm demeanor and leaving behind a deep frown, “it’s your business, not mine,” not anymore. 

His mouth opens and close, before he speaks, “Maybe not as a professor,” he says softly, taking a step forward, “but I think I do as your—“ 

“I’m not ‘your’ anything—“ you interrupt him, taking a step back,  “I’m only a student, and your advisee, nothing else, Professor Geto,” you’re turning to leave, “let’s reschedule after all, I have somewhere to be,” 

You had to be somewhere that wasn’t here — here with dredged up emotions that had no right belonging to you. Ones that you thought you had moved past, ones that shouldn’t hurt you the way they do now, and ones that you don’t know how to stop from spilling from your lips. 

“You’re not just—“

“Did you hear that she would wait for you?” you don’t turn to look back at him, “I wish you could have done the same,” you give him a second, one second longer than he gave you when he broke up with you, to reply, but he says nothing, “I’ll email you a few times to meet next week, just send me any edits you have on my pages.” 

The door clicks behind you as you leave the classroom behind, wondering if you had ever rid yourself of your feelings, or if you had simply buried it— 

And now, you are starting to unearth it — and your world may crumble underneath you along with it. 

There was something wrong with him. 

But there always was — when it came to you. 

Suguru stared at the email you had sent later that week, opting to skip the in person meeting again for the third week in a row. The semester was over half over — and now the other department head had started in Kyoto, so he had a little more free time — and yet he couldn’t use it to help you, at least not really. 

Your thesis was shaping up — you were on the right track now, and he knew your paper would need little edits before being submitted for peer review. And when it did, a journal would be lucky to publish it. By that standard, he could take a more hands off approach — but he never wanted to be hands off, not with you. 

He wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms, fingers trace the curve of your cheek as he’s done countless times before, and press a kiss to those lips that consume his consciousness. 

But he couldn’t. 

Not when he was the one who had broken your heart, when you had managed to piece it back together, and when you had found happiness with someone else. 

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do. 

Mei Mei was an unforeseen complication — a donor that made some generous investments in the university — trivial with the amount of wealth she possessed, mostly due to Satoru’s convincing. And Satoru was the reason she had decided to sit in on his class — and he was stuck entertaining her, while his best friend was away on his sabbatical. And he couldn’t resist an opportunity to fuck with him while he was away — his apparent revenge after Suguru had avoided his texts. 

And your reaction was—not what he expected. He pursed his lips, you were jealous right? That’s what you seemed to imply with your words — as if Mei Mei was a friend he would be interested in. The pot calling the kettle black — when you were the one to move on first. A sigh caught in his throat, not that he had any right to complain. Not when it was his fault.  

But when the only person he was truly in love with was in front of him — the pain in your gaze as fresh as it was the day he had broken up with you — it was hard to hold back, especially when he wanted nothing more than to—

And then there was a knock at his door, “it’s me,” your voice came through the wood, his eyes sliding to the time, it was late into the evening, “can I come in?” 

“Yes, come in,” 

“I apologize, I just had a few questions I wasn’t able to ask over email, and since I was on campus, I thought—“ 

He shakes his head, your rambles still as endearing as they always were — though you had kicked the habit in your papers, you couldn’t help but ramble in the way you spoke, “No need to explain, what can I help you with?” 

You lean back, hands folded in your lap, “Do you remember when we discussed the concept of a happiness pump as a criticism of utilitarianism?” 

“Yes, in class, we discussed it — the idea of someone who will do anything to make others happy, even if it makes them miserable,” he tilts his head, as he leans back in his chair, eyes betraying him as he watches your dress ride up ever so slightly as you cross your legs — he forces his gaze to your face, “do you plan on using it in your thesis—“ 

Your eyes could cut stone with its biting glare, “No, I don’t, I wanted to talk about it in context of why you broke up with me — do you plan on being a happiness pump for the rest of your life? Or is that simply for me?” 

His mind moves slowly as his words do, “what—“ 

“Because it’s only for me, it’s flattering — if it’s what you do for everyone, well, it’s just exhausting,” you scoff, twirling a strand of your hair with your finger, “especially when your idea of what will make others happy is so misled,” 

“And how’s that?” He says through gritted teeth. 

And you’re rising from your chair, “You think my happiness means to make yourself miserable, when it does nothing more than make me unhappy,” you’re rounding the desk, fingertips dragging over the edge of the surface, “do you want to spend the rest of your life miserable? Do you think that girlfriend of yours will make you happy?” 

“She’s not—“ and your heels clicking against the wood cuts him off. 

And you’re only drawing closer and closer, and he can’t bring himself to speak — words caught in his throat because he knew anything he uttered would break this spell, and he wanted nothing more than to succumb, “pumped full of unhappiness when it could very well be the opposite—“ and your hand is sliding up his chest, toying with the top buttons of his button-up, lips ghosting his ear as you whisper, “when you know I know exactly how to pump you, don’t I?” 

“Sweetheart, please, we can’t—“ and your fingers finding the buckle of his belt, a gasp lodged in his throat, as your hand grazes his tenting bulge, twitching against your thumb as it runs over the clothed tip, “fuck—“ 

“We could be so happy, like before,” your lips brush against his, and he crumbles under your touch — his resistance crumbles like a statue made to wait, and god, he’s waited so long for this — too long. 

His lips find yours in a bruising kiss, the way he’s wanted to since he had watched you leave that day — the way he should have, the way he should have grabbed your hand and stopped you, pulled you into his arms, and never let you go. 

And he never would again. 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Suguru jolts awake at the sound of his phone, a paper stuck to his face, drool sticky at the corner of his mouth. He tugs the paper away, rubbing his eyes, as his heart slowly retracts from his throat. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back in his chair, what the fuck was he doing? Sleeping at his desk again accompanied by wet dreams of you — he thought he had grown from this. But you always sent him right back where he started, his eyes falling to the bulge in his pants. He ignores it, gathering his things and tracing the edge of his desk as he rounded it to leave his office. He took a look over his shoulder at his office that he spent so much time with, he was sure of one thing — he flicked off the light — you would be the one to haunt him. 

For the rest of his days. 

“Baby, aren’t you gonna get up now?” Yuta murmurs in your ear, pressing sweet kisses to the skin behind it, fingers resting against the nape of your neck, “you said you have to practice for your thesis presentation,” 

You mumbled, burying your face in his neck, as the two of you lie entangled on the couch for your mid afternoon Saturday nap, “a few more minutes,” 

The semester had been going by far too quick, days slipping into weeks, and now there was just over a month left in the semester. And soon you’d be graduating — his fingers raked gently through your hair — and he didn’t exactly know what that meant for the two of you. 

He still has a year left in his program, and you were going to be moving on — though you weren’t sure exactly where. And he would be here — but what then? Would it be a long distance relationship ? Would you look for opportunities here? Or would it be something else? 

He didn’t want to think about other possibilities. 

So many of his friends had warned him not to date while in grad school — that it would only end in heartbreak, and the more significant fact that it would always end. Your face nuzzled into his neck, warm breath still warming his skin, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head — and he never wanted to be apart, not from you. 

“Baby,” you mumble, “what time is it?” And he can’t help but smile at you, as he reaches for his phone. 

“It’s almost four-thirty,” and you groan softly, wrapping your arms around him tighter, “you still have time before you have to go practice don’t you?” 

“No, I reserved the classroom until seven, if I don’t go now, I won’t have enough time to practice,” you kiss his neck, “I have to get as much practice in this month before doing my defense,” You untangle your limbs from his and haul yourself to your feet, his body already mourning the absence of your heat. He watches you make your way to the bedroom to change, the door still open as you strip your shirt off.

His gaze admires you as you do, shifting to sitting up, his chin leaning against the back of the couch, “When is your defense again?” 

“It’s in three weeks,” you sigh, as you tug a shirt over your head, “I’m so nervous, I have to start practicing now or I’ll drive myself insane,” and you’re stripping off your shorts in exchange for some jeans, “my advisor, many of my professors, students from the department, and maybe some undergrads might attend,” you turn, as you finish changing, catching his admiring gaze with a slight smirk, “and unlike you, they won’t just be interested in staring at me,” 

“I think some of them definitely will,” he smiles, and you walk over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips, “at least, I’ll be, if you let me,” 

Your lips curl, “Oh yeah? I think I’ll be distracted if you keep giving me this puppy dog look, baby,” you kiss his nose, “might make me walk over in the middle of the defense and kiss you,” 

A soft chuckle leaves his throat, “That would cause a scene, but I could also be some moral support — a friendly face,” 

“More than friendly, you’re selling yourself short, Yu,” you kiss him again, and he can taste the lingering salt and butter of the popcorn you two had ate earlier during your afternoon movie turned nap time, “but I think having you there would make me more nervous, so is it okay if we just have dinner to celebrate or cheer me up after?” 

His brows knit together, “You don’t want me there?” but Geto gets to be there? The unspoken feelings he can’t find in him to voice, the words lodged in his chest, ricocheting off his ribs if only to free themselves from his anxious heart to spill from his lips — but they don’t. 

“I do, Yu, of course, but I think having you there will just make me more nervous, I’ll just keep looking at you instead of addressing the whole audience, and…” you bite your lip, “with Professor Geto already having to be there, I think I would spend the whole time worrying about the two of you together than about my defense,” 

And his heart sinks — your ex gets to be there, but he doesn’t? At one of your most important moments? He knows logically the only reason you ask because you can’t ask Geto — but it doesn’t hurt any less. Does he always have to be the nice one? The mature one? Couldn’t he argue with you?

No, but he could ask. 

“Do you think I’ll make a scene or that he’ll—“ and you’re shaking your head, your fingers cupping his cheek. 

“Of course not. I know you would do nothing but support me, but still forcing you two of be in the room together,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “even if you say it’s okay, I know it’s still hard,” his lips part, but you add, “and it would be awkward for me too. And I can’t do anything about Geto, but I can ask you,” 

You could always ask him. He would do anything for you — but did his feelings matter as much to you? 

“Of course, I understand,” your lips curl, and you’re pulling him into a hug, you rake your fingers through his hair. 

“Are you sure?” You murmur, pressing your forehead to his, “you can tell me if you’re not okay with it,” 

He could tell you that he’s not — he could tell you that it’s important for him to come, for everyone to see that he was important to you, for him to see that he was important. But it wasn’t about him. This was your defense, shouldn’t you have a right to have who you want there? 

Even if it wasn’t him. 

“It’s fine baby, I just want to support you,” he kisses your lips, “but I’ll plan something special for after you pass your defense — because I know you will,” 

You kiss him again, softer and fuller this time, as your fingers run down his cheek, “You don’t have to plan anything — I just want you, and maybe some food,” and he chuckles, as you place butterfly kisses all over his face, “I love you,” 

And he knew you did — you loved him — and that was enough, right? 

“I love you too,” and you’re pulling away, as you pull on your shoes and grab your bag. 

“I’ll be home by eight, should I grab dinner?” and he leans back on the couch, nodding, “I’ll see you when I get home okay?”

And he was the one you always came home to — the one you wanted to come home to — and that was enough. 

“See you soon, baby.” 

For now. 

You enter the lecture hall, the door closing behind you with a click that rings in the silence. 

Of course. 

Of course you ended up with the lecture hall you had with Suguru’s class. You round the podium at the bottom, and give a terse chuckle, how had it been so long but so little time? How many days had you watched him lecture here — only to end up falling for him after? Even despite how much you hated him — it was so easy. 

And still so hard. 

You set up your phone to record yourself, if only so you could fine tune your presentation, and see any spots that you struggle. You prop it up, making sure it’s framed correctly on the desk directly in front of you. You run through your presentation once, noting spots for improvements or thoughts for potential questions people could pose during your defense. 

You flipped through a few pages of your notes — wondering how this semester had flown by. 

The rest of your thesis was completed over email — brief email exchanges and your thoughts exchanged through notes scrawled on the pages he scanned to you. It was better this way — you didn’t have to see him. You didn’t have to see the smile on his lips that you didn’t put there, a stray lipstick mark on his collar that you didn’t stain, or the happiness in his voice that you didn’t cause. 

No, you didn’t need to see that. 

But you didn’t know why. 

Why did the idea of him moving on irk you when you had already moved on? You weren’t vindictive — your fingers drumming against the podium — you wanted him to be happy, to find someone who made him happy — maybe in all the ways you couldn’t. But the stubborn thought remained — the same one that kept you up crying every night after he broke your heart and haunted you even in your happiest of nights — that he could have had it all with you — but he didn’t. And now here you both were, fake smiles plastered in front of each other whenever your paths crossed, as if those lips hadn’t murmured ‘I love you’ before in the quiet of the night. 

But why did it matter? You were happy with Yuta, you had moved on, and yet — when you saw Suguru with her, it felt as if the stitches holding your heart together had come undone, and you were back — right where you started. 

But it didn’t matter. Either way the thesis was complete, and now all that was left in front of you was the defense, then you would be done — with this project, with your degree, and with Suguru. 

But would you ever be done with him? 

There was a knock at the door, and you turn only to find Suguru leaning against the frame, “Sorry to interrupt,” 

Apparently you would never be. 

Your shock lasts a moment, before your eyes flicker back to your stack of papers, “Do you need something?” The question comes more bitingly than you intended, but you don’t bother to gauge his reaction, focusing on mindlessly rifling through your presentation. 

“I forgot my notes for tomorrow’s class,” he says, quiet steps ringing in the silence of the lecture hall, “didn’t mean to interrupt,” and you’re gathering your notes, catching a glimpse before you step back from the podium, “are you practicing for your defense?”

“I am,” your answer is as terse as your emails, eyes fixed anywhere but where Suguru stood, as he pulled his file from one of the shelves inside the podium. 

“Do you need any help?” He asks, and you almost want to ask: ‘haven’t you helped me enough?’ But you don’t, only shaking your head in reply. The silence drags on for far too long, “can we talk?” 

Your muscles tense, a bow drawn taut for an argument, but you would draw blood first, “What is there to talk about, Professor—“ 

His calm facade cracks, irritation seeping in like poison through the fractures,“You don’t need to call me that—“ 

“I do,” you cut him off, “because that’s what you are. My professor. Nothing more,” and it’s a line in the sand you’ve drawn since you’ve met again, one he hasn’t dared to toe, much less cross, until now. 

His voice is broken, “We were so much more,” yes, you both were. He was everything to you as you were to him — but that was before. And this was now. 

“Operative words are key, Professor — ‘were’ is past tense,” 

“But we’re here now, aren’t we? How long are we going to avoid discussing this?” 

You scoff, “am I the one who avoided it? Do I have to discuss it now on your terms — when you didn’t even give me a chance to make my own decisions before?” Your fingers curl into fists, “you broke me, you broke me and now you come back wanting to talk as if you didn’t do the breaking to begin with? You don’t get to come back when I’m fixed,” the bottled emotions burst at the seams of its lid, the contents more vile than when they were placed inside, resentment fermented into rage. 

“I know,” he says softly, “I’m not trying to come back, not if that’s what you don’t want. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I left you. I thought it was the best for you—“ 

“Because you know better than I do?” You give a bitter chuckle, “do you know infantilizing it is to have someone make your decisions for you? I know what I wanted, Suguru, and I would have chosen you, every time—“

“That was the problem,” he cuts you off, “I wanted you to choose yourself,” 

“Do you not understand that choosing you is choosing myself too? Because it would have been a choice for me, for us, for us to be happy,” 

And those words seem to sink in the silence, his eyes averting from yours, a hand scrubbing down his face. 

“You’re right,” he finally says, “I’m sorry,” his words are quiet, but heavy — a rock sinking slightly into near still waters, “I wanted you to have everything, but I didn’t take into consideration what that meant to you,” he says, “I suppose I didn’t consider what I owe you,” he adds, and you shake your head, a small smile on your lips. 

“Shut up,” a chuckle leaves your lips despite yourself, cooling the white hot anger to warm wistfulness,  “I wish it could have worked out,” and he nods, a small frown on his lips. 

“Me too,” 

“But maybe it was for the best,” and his eyes find yours, as you step back to the podium to place your papers down, “it was never going to work between us. It was already too complicated to begin with, and when we finally got together, there was a time limit,” you find his gaze again, unreadable, “maybe it was for the best we moved on,” he doesn’t reply, “I should get back to work,” 

He nods, as he turns to leave, casting a glance back over his shoulder,  “Let me know if you need help with anything. Practice or otherwise, has the final formatting of your thesis been approved?” 

“It hasn’t yet, but I believe I followed the guidelines correctly, so there shouldn’t be an issue,” you say, and he nods, as the door clicks open, as he turns the handle, “thank you again, for everything,” and there’s far too much that can encompass everything that he did even in that word, but you meant it all the same. Everything he did had led you to this moment, and you would never be ungrateful for the impact he had. 

“Of course, I’ll always be there for you, anytime,” his eyes find yours, lips curled in a wanting smile that wishes to say more, “even when I actually do move on.” 

And he’s gone in a moment, the door shutting behind him, as your gaze is fixed on the place he just stood — lips parted.

What? 

“Professor,” you stop him, fingers reaching for him, even as you promised you wouldn’t — wouldn’t put yourself here again, wouldn’t find yourself falling into his grasp again, but here you were again — you never learned your lesson. But you wondered if that made you a bad student or him a bad professor, “what do you mean?” 

He’s turning only for your hand to grasp onto the sleeve of his jacket, your name leaving his lips but you cut him off. 

The question wavers on your lips, “Are you not with—“ 

“No, I’m not. She’s just a friend, like I said,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I know it’s ironic for me to be the one to break up with you, and not have moved on, but, I haven’t,” his fingers brush against your own holding his jacket, before slowly intertwining, “I don’t know if I ever will,” 

“Well, some philosophers believe in endurantism — the past is dead, and we live here and now — we can’t do anything about what happened then — we’re whole right now, and not defined by what happened then, or what happens in the future,” your fingers squeeze his, “if we let this go, we could just exist now — the past erased and the future unclear — but we’re no less whole, are we?” your fingers slowly let go of his — but his don’t. He only clings to your fingers still, stubbornly laced. 

“Perhaps you aren’t,” and he’s gently tugging you closer, you don’t find yourself resisting, but instead leaning into his touch, “but I always find myself clinging to my past — when you’re contained within it,” he lifts your hand to his lips,  “what future do I have without you?” He presses a soft kiss that steals your logic, “and what present is worth being in that I don’t get to spend at your side?” 

“Suguru—“ and he sighs, as draws closer to you, breath warming your lips. 

“Been so long since I’ve heard you say my name,” his lips ghost your jaw, barely not brushing against it, “my name doesn’t sound the same unless it’s leaving your lips,” 

“We shouldn’t,” but even so, the back of his hand lightly drags against your why shouldn’t you? Not when it felt so good, not when it felt this right, and your lips graze his, “Suguru,” you’re murmuring, the faint lingering taste of coffee on his lips, “fuck—“ 

RING. RING. RING.  

Your eyes flutter open to find yourself in bed alone, your hand reaching beside you only to find more of your blanket and more pillows beside you, as it dawns on you. 

A dream. Of course. A sigh stuck in your throat — no, you had watched him leave that night without another word, even though you had so many to say, but none at all. And even now, you didn’t know what to say — to Suguru, to yourself, or to Yuta. 

So you said nothing. And instead, you’re left with an aching in your chest as you grab your phone to find a text from Yuta— 

Had to go in early today— I’ll see you for dinner, baby 

You lock your screen and place your phone on the nightstand, before turning back around to bury yourself in bed — as if staying in bed would bury your feelings along with yourself—

Because that’s not whose text you wanted to see. 

“You’re home,” Yuta says when he walks through the door to find you lying on the couch and scrolling on your phone. 

“No ‘hi you’re home?’” And Yuta snorts, as he strips off his clothes, and walks in to place a kiss on your lips, burying his face in the crook of your neck, drawing a giggle from your lips, “I missed you too,”

“I thought you were going to practice today. Your defense is the day after tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d get to see you out of a classroom until tomorrow evening when it was done,” you run your fingers through his dark locks, “thought I’d have to pry you away from your notecards,” 

“Ha, ha,” you kiss his cheek, brushing your nose against it, “I thought it would be good to take a break tomorrow, and I’m just exhausted after all the practice I did tonight,” you sigh, and he’s on the couch beside you, wrapping his arms around your middle, “this seems like a much better use of my time,” you settle into his arms, “how was your day?” 

Yuta shrugs, kissing your shoulder, “Better now,” and you chuckle, rumbling against his skin, sending a shiver up his spine as you lean over, his cheeks a pretty flush that only makes your lips curl, “it’s been too long since we got time like this. I don’t even know where to start,” he nuzzled the side of your face. 

You turn your head to kiss him fully, lips sliding against his, voice a quiet murmur, “then let’s make our time count,” your sweet kiss grows deeper, your tongue at the seam of his lips that he parts for you. You swallow his moan with a smirk on your lips, your body moving against his slowly, his tenting erection catching on your clit through the far too thin material of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, as you slowly begin to grind on his bulge, the delicious friction too much for him as well, head lolling back against the couch, “Yu, s’good,”

“Mm,” Yuta parts from your lips, panting as your lips press eager kisses down his neck, a desperation he hadn’t sensed before from you,  “baby, slow down,” and you almost don’t seem to hear him, as your fingers find their way between your bodies to touch him through his joggers, “ngh, you don’t need to—“ 

But you seemingly do, as your thumb flicks against the tip, a soft hiss escapes his lips, “like that, pretty boy?” You’re murmuring in his ear, “gonna make you feel so good, because you’re s’good f’me,” 

And you’re slipping his joggers and boxers down to free his cock, stroking him from base to tip, lovely beads of precum dripping down his length and your knuckles. 

“Fuck,” he’s covering his face with his hand, his fingers grasping at your hips, before eager fingers slide between your thighs and underneath your underwear, drawing a lovely gasp from your lips, “wanna make you feel good too, baby,” as his fingers circle your dripping entrance teasingly, a smirk on his lips, as he sinks one then two fingers in knuckle deep—

“Yu—“ your hand stills for a moment as his fingers work their way against your drenched insides, “fuck—“ and you’re melting into his arms — and maybe this was just what you both needed. 

“This was so nice,” you mumble against his chest later, pressing soft kisses against his skin as the two of you laid entangled in the afterglow, “it’s been too long,” 

He hums, “It was perfect,” his fingers skim down your cheek, “you know we could have this every day,” and you chuckle, the corner of your lips curled mischievously. 

“Do you have the stamina for that?” you tease, painting a heated flush across his cheeks, as he rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, we could go to sleep like this every night, and wake up together every morning if we moved in together,” and you blink at him, his nervousness overcoming him as he begins to backpedal, “w-we don’t have to! I just thought I’m ready for the next step with you. And I want to—“ 

You cut him off with a soft kiss, pausing his worries and anxiety in the syrupy sweetness of your kiss, before you pull away, “I think I need some time to think about it,” 

And he nods, “take all the time you need, baby,” pressing a kiss to your forehead, but a thought still niggles into the forefront of his mind that he can’t help but dwell on— 

Would you say yes if it was Geto asking? 

It always seemed that you were ready when it came to him. Ready to be with him, no matter what the consequence, willing to make it work — but with him, it felt as if he was always the one chasing, and you were reluctantly within his grasp. 

As you drew closer into his arms as the two of you settled down to sleep, his fingers running softly through your hair, he wondered how long it would be until he felt as if he wasn’t the one desperately holding onto you, even as you seemingly always slipped away. 

Even as he held you against his chest, heartbeat under where your head laid. He knew you were the one who had his heart. 

He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” it wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was always like this. No matter how well prepared you felt, something always managed to go wrong at the last minute. It was always when you were lulled into a false sense of security, only to have a rude awakening—

And this time it came in the form of an email rejecting your thesis formatting as incorrect. An email that came in that morning, but you had slept through, choosing to sleep in past noon after last night. And when your eyes fluttered open, Yuta was gone already for the day, you rolled over to check your email when you saw it. 

Fuck. 

You barely had time to text Yuta what had happened before rushing to the library to seek possible help from the librarians — fuck, you would have paid every overdue library charge if necessary. You didn’t want to wait another semester to present again. It would be more time wasted, more time spent working towards something you’re already for, more time spent in this place that you didn’t want to linger in any longer. 

How had you managed to fuck it up so bad? Now every one of your citations and in text citations would need to be redone, along with reformatting by 5:00 PM today. And it was already 2:00 PM. 

But maybe you were going to have to, as you rushed to pull the library door open, only to find it was closed this weekend due to scheduled maintenance. 

Double fuck. 

Your eyes burned with tears that you didn’t want to shed right now. You had no time to cry. You had no time to panic. But it was all you wanted to do — just crawl into bed and cry. 

You were turning back around to leave, when you nearly ran into— 

He steadies you, his fingers brushing your shoulders, as his lips part to greet you, but his brow furrows when he sees your expression, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

And that wasn’t the right question to ask. 

Tears slip from your eyes before words can, as Suguru blinks, concern flooding his face, as his hand finds yours and he takes you to his office nearby. It takes a few minutes for you to calm down (several tissues later) and you finally explained to him what happened. 

His hand never leaves yours. 

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to waste another semester here, I can’t do that. I want to graduate—“  

“Listen, slow down for a second, ok?” His voice is soft, soothing your anxiety like a balm, even as your nerves flare as your eyes flicker to the time again, “There’s time to fix this and go get it resubmitted before 5:00 PM. But, even if you do have to do another semester, what’s so bad about that?”

You shake your head, biting your bottom lip, “I can’t waste time like that. I already said I was graduating. If I have to stay another semester,” more tears trail down your cheeks, your nails digging into your knees, “how could I face anyone after how hard I worked?” 

Suguru whispers your name, his fingers brushing against your cheek, “what’s another semester? Nothing will change. No one will view you any differently. But the more important thing is how you view yourself — and you know how hard you worked. You’ll be fine,” 

You’re wiping your tears, sniffling, unable to meet his gaze, “How do you have so much faith in me?” 

He gives a brief chuckle, “It’s you — how could I not?” And your eyes finally lift to meet his, as his thumb rubs lightly back and forth across your cheek, before he clears his throat, “we have time to get it resubmitted,” 

“‘We?’” and he stands up to grab a copy of your thesis and the error notes you had shown him. 

“Well I can’t have you do it, otherwise you’ll end up submitting it late,” and you huff, a watery chuckle leaving your throat, “come on.” 

“Suguru?” You call softly, as he turns, blinking at the sound of his name, “thank you.” 

“Of course.” and he smiles that damnable smile that made you fall for him — your heart squeezing and thudding against its bony cage, an aching that left you longing — a glance at your phone with Yuta’s notification that sent that longing sinking like a stone into the pit of your stomach. 

No. It wasn’t that. 

It wasn’t. Not if you let it be. 

“I’m sorry,”

It had been quiet for sometime as the two of you made edits — him on the actual physical copy, while you edited the digital. The quiet scrape of his pen against paper and the clack of your keys are the only sound in his office. The very same one that the two of you had built your relationship from, and now here you were again. Except there was no banter, no smiles shared, nor even a knowing glance exchanged. 

There was only silence. 

Until you spoke first. 

It was a silence you weren’t accustomed to — a layer of awkwardness that had settled between the two of you as if to bandage the honesty that had shredded the false student-professor only relationship you had superimposed on top of the two of you. 

Only for you to claw your way out — and claw him open as well. 

But no bandage can seal a gaping wound for long, and there was only one way to deal with a bandage effectively, by ripping it off. 

His eyes draw up slowly from the pages in front of him, glasses perched on the tip of his nose so precariously that you wanted to push them back, “You have nothing to be sorry for — and you know it’s better to thank than apologize — I’m always here to help,” 

But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for. 

“I meant for the other day,” you say softly, guilt was crawling at your throat. 

His gaze grows heavy, “There’s nothing to apologize for that either. You were right,” he adds, “I made decisions for us, when it should have been a discussion — especially when I said it was for you—“

“I wasn’t sorry I said it,” you gently cut him off, fingers knitted together in your lap, “but I’m sorry for where and how I said it. It wasn’t the time or place for that.”

“It’s really ok,” he tells you, a glance at his face telling you that it really was, “I would have yelled at myself far sooner, and nothing you said wasn’t true,” his hand tugs at his tie, loosening it, his fingers wrapped around the fabric, “I wish I did it differently,” 

You shouldn’t ask the question but it falls from your lips before you can stop it, “What would you have done differently?” 

And he gives a smile worthy of melancholy’s grasp, “I would have kept my promise to you,” and you know which one he means without him needing to say, “I would never have left you, if I hadn’t been too busy being a happiness pump,” and those words stir warm coals in a fire you thought was long put out — but somehow burns still, a flicker of a promise for a spark. 

One you couldn’t stoke. 

“Well, you make an excellent one,” and he scoffs, “no really, I’ve never seen someone so unhappy trying to make someone else happy before,” 

“I wouldn’t say, ‘so unhappy—’” his pout is far too cute for your own good. 

“Can really tell your life fell apart without me,” you say completely teasingly, as your lips curl, only to find his eyes on you still, “what?” 

He only shakes his head, “only regretting not giving you lower than a 99 on your final paper,” and you gape at him as he bites back a chuckle, “I am the department head, maybe I could—“ 

“You mess with my grades—“ and your phone goes off — it’s Yuta. A text asking if everything was ok, before his face lights up your phone screen, and you’re not quick enough to avoid the awkward moment where Suguru sees it, “sorry I—“ 

“Go take it. I have plenty to get through,” 

“But—“ but he’s already back to reviewing your citations as if nothing had happened as you pick up the call, screech of your chair as you get up to take the call, “hey, yeah I can talk—“ and the door is closing behind you as you step outside. 

You don’t see the way he leans back, scrubbing a hand down his face to rest at his lips, “What am I doing?” 

And he really didn’t know — as always, when it came to you. 

“You’ll do amazing,” Yuta pressed another kiss to your lips, as you did the final adjustments to your outfit for the defense, “I can’t wait to celebrate with you,” 

“I know, I can’t wait for it to be over,” you sigh, pulling him into your arms, your chin perched on his shoulder, “you still haven’t told me what we’re doing,” 

He chuckles, his fingers cupping your cheek, “I told you it’s a surprise, so telling you would defeat the purpose,” you turn away to look at yourself again, “you look perfect,” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re too nice,” you grumble and he laughs, as you bite your lip, meeting his gaze in the mirror, “I’m sorry about not having you there,” 

And he feels a twinge in his chest, he had spent the last few days not trying to think about that. It wasn’t important that he was there — it was important that you’d be coming home to him. That’s what mattered — or that’s what he kept telling himself. 

“It’s okay,” he intertwined his fingers with yours, and squeezed your hand, “I’ll be here after, waiting for your good news. Because I know it will be,” and his arms pulled you against him, and he can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t want to let go. 

Even if you were ready to go. 

You barely remembered what you said. 

You remembered how your stomach turned and twisted in knots you didn’t know were physically possible as you made your way to the building where your defense was being held. Your fingers kept twiddling with your phone, checking the location and date listed in your email a million times to ensure you hadn’t missed your defense already or that you didn’t imagine your citations were accepted. You were sure your clothes would wrinkle from the sheer anxiety cladding through your veins, the vibration of nerves enough to beat creases into your freshly pressed clothes. 

And you remembered seeing Suguru right when you walked in. He stood behind the table with the other members of the committee, chatting — and objectively, you hated how unfairly pretty he was. His long, inky hair tucked into a neat bun today, choosing to wear a crisp white button down, opting for no tie, but a off white sweater vest and black suit jacket over his shoulders, and lips curled in a small smile that only grows warmer when he catches sight of you from the corner of his eye. And it must be nerves, the way your heart flutters within your chest and the way that heat clings to your cheeks — nothing more. 

Your eyes slide to him again — no one else. 

You remembered how people filled into the classroom that you were defending your thesis in, as you shuffled around the front, setting up your presentation and notes for talking points. You spotted Maki, Panda, and Inumaki walk in, undoubtedly Yuta’s doing, along with a few of your other friends from the program. Your hands shook ever so slightly, even as you wrung them — a nervous habit you had picked up before large presentations or important milestones. 

And then as people took their seats and it was 4:00 PM, it was time for your defense. You took a breath for a second — and your gaze finds not your friends, but Suguru’s. He offers you a smile, a look that tells you that he believes in you — always more than you ever had. 

So you begin. 

You don’t remember what you said — but you remember speaking as you did a million times before in practice. You remember making an adlib or two that draws a few chuckles from your audience. But what you mostly remember is the few glances you stole from Suguru who listened intently, a mouthed encouragement when you took a pause. 

And soon you were answering questions after concluding the main part of your presentation. You are fielding them from professors and students alike, until there was only time left for one more. There was silence for several moments — it felt like hours, the committee conferring and speaking amongst themselves. 

“I think I can take one last question,” and your eyes darted over the group, finding no hands, until one slowly went up — one you were familiar with, “Professor Geto?” 

Of course he would have a question — no less, the last one. 

“I just had one comment about your thesis, not a question,” and with how he had poked and prodded at the fire of your work from the moment you met him — the way he pushed you head first into the flames, if only to temper the best version of your work, and of yourself. And even though you had burned yourself one too many times, you couldn’t help but reach for it again and again, “after conferring with the committee, congratulations, you passed your defense.”

The audience claps and congratulates you, a sea of shaking hands and kind words while you recover from the defense. But as the crowd disperses, you find Suguru walking towards you. 

A silence settles over the two of you for a moment — a want to speak lingering between you two, but no words said. Why was it always when you had so much to say you found none of the thoughts you wanted to express? There wasn’t enough time — but they would never be.

But he breaks it first. 

“Congratulations on your defense. You did wonderfully,” he says, hands tucked into his pockets, as you bite your lip, cheeks burning. 

“No remark about me being on time? Or any little criticisms? I’m shocked. You’ve lost your edge, Professor,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he replies, his hand slipping out from his pocket only to be placed gently on your shoulder, “but right now, I just want you to know I’m proud of your determination and grit, but mostly, I’m proud of you,”

His name almost slips from your lips as your mouth opens and closes, words stuck in your throat, “Thank you. It means so much,” especially from you. But you can’t say that, “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,” 

“You don’t owe me anything,” and you chuckle, gaze finding his own, just as it always did. 

“Don’t I? I think I owe you a drink, I never did buy you one after all — purely for networking purposes,” you add, “and a thank you for saving my ass on these citations,” 

And he’s shaking his head, “All I did is what you what have done for anyone else,” 

“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs. 

“For a student? Maybe. For you? Always,” and you bite your lip, gaze falling,  “what is it? 

“Why?” ‘Why for me?’ was the question you wanted to ask but you couldn’t push the words past your lips even as they rested on your tongue. 

But he knew the words. 

“You know the reasons,” he says softly, “I know you have nothing but amazing things ahead, and I’d do anything to see you reach your goals,” 

And he would. He did.

“I can agree with that,” a hand clasps your shoulder, Yaga gives a small smile, “good job,” 

“Professor Yaga, oh my god,” you grin, resisting the urge to hug him, “how are you? Are you feeling better?” 

“I’m well enough. Treatment has been honestly shit, but my son is doing a good enough job looking after me,” Yaga rubs the back of his head, “that and balancing classes hasn’t been easy for the kid.” 

“Your son goes here?” Professor Yaga points at a familiar cluster of three, “Panda?” You didn’t really see a family resemblance but you supposed you didn’t have to. 

He nods, “but I’m not here to talk about him,” he holds his hand out to you, “I’m very proud of you. I know you have a bright future ahead. I apologize I couldn’t help—“ 

“You did too much. Thank you Professor Yaga,” and then others are calling for you, “if you both will excuse me,” 

“Of course, I need to speak to Suguru so it’s just as well,” and your attention is pulled, but the corner of your eye still watches him, watches him leave the leave — leaving you behind here. Just as it should be, your gaze sliding back, as your fingers rested against your chest. 

So why did it hurt so much? 

Yuta was late — it seems he always was, when it came to you. 

Even so, this time it was somewhat purposely, but he still had tried to be on time. He wanted to at least hear the very end of your defense, if not in sight, then outside the classroom. But he had run late, trying to straighten out reservations he made at a restaurant you’ve been wanting to try for months. He had finally convinced them to bring out a cake as if to celebrate your birthday, but for your thesis. It was silly, as Yuta half walked half sprinted to the room of your defense, only to find it was over. 

The doors to the lecture hall had been opened after your defense finished, some people filing out, while others lingered to speak to you or others. Yuta held the bouquet of flowers behind him, scanning the group for you — and his eyes fell on you — with Geto. 

You were both off to the side, speaking alone, his hand clasped on your shoulder, before slipping off. And it was clear from the way he looked at you — that he felt the same for you as he always did. And you—

You looked the same, as you always did, when it came to Geto. 

Yuta’s fingers squeeze at the base of the flowers, plastic crinkling under his grasp. He hadn’t asked why you had stopped meeting with him for your thesis — almost a relief to have your correspondence all over email, and not to face dealing with the weekly meetings. He hadn’t asked, but he could assume some sort of argument happened, a discussion, a confession maybe — something you hadn’t broached with him. And a part of him really didn’t want you to. He didn’t want to have the boat rocked on him — but—

As he watched you become pulled away when another professor joined your conversation, and Geto was pulled away out of the room by that same professor — Yuta saw your eyes follow Geto’s back. The two walk past Yuta without notice, engrossed in their conversation, and Yuta catches a few snippets of it before they’re out the door. 

And he turned back to you — he knew he may have to be the one to rock it. Because the ship had already begun taking in water — and it was either he grasped onto the side with white knuckles and went down with it, or he let it go, letting it fall into the wreckage. He glanced away from you, starting to walk off towards the exit — because maybe this ship wasn’t made to sail, but to sink. 

And he couldn’t let himself drown — even for you. 

You checked your phone again as you left — no phone calls, not even a text back. You bit your lip as you made your way back to the apartment. You had already called him three times, but your anxiety was getting the better of you. He had told you he would meet you after the defense, but there wasn’t any sign of him. 

You opened the door to your place, keys jingling as head inside to find him sitting on the couch. You put your things down, as you head to the living room. 

“Yu? Are you okay? You weren’t picking up—“ and you see a bag of his things packed, “Yuta?” 

“Sorry I made you worry, baby, I just thought,” he sighs, unable to meet your gaze as he looks in front of him, “I thought I could wait, but I can’t,” 

“Yuta, what? What’s—“ 

Your name leaves his lips, cutting you off gently, as he finally looks at you, gaze heavy, “we need to break up.” 

You don’t have words. 

No, you have one word. 

“Why?” You ask, as you take steps forward to sit beside him, as your mind struggles to keep up — your certificate still in your hand, the excitement of being done all but extinguished. 

“I’m sorry, but don’t you know why?” He asks softly, and your eyebrows knit together, shaking your head, 

“What are you talking about?” And you’re wringing your hands, fingers nearly in knots, a sigh parting your lips as you try to soothe yourself, “Yuta, I know I’ve been busy this semester with my thesis, but it’s done with. And we can go back to—“ 

“We can’t,” and it was so final — so definitive — and without a way for you to have a choice. Yet again. Were you doomed to repeat this cycle? Again and again. With no change in the outcome. And you don’t know what to say, as you scrub a hand down your face. 

“Okay then,” and your name slips from his lips, as you cross your arms. 

“You don’t understand—“ and your chuckle is so bitter. 

“How can I when you haven’t explained? All you’ve said are cryptic things that I’m supposed to piece together what? What am I supposed to know?” Tears slip down your cheek, forcing your voice to stay steady, the stress of the last few months crashing down around you just as your relationship did, “I know that I haven’t been the best girlfriend. And I’m sorry. I really am,” your voice breaks, “But I tried. I tried to communicate. I tried to spend time with you, even when I didn’t have a minute to myself. You knew I’d be busy. You knew that going in and still—“ 

His voice is gentle, so gentle that it infuriates you — gentle even when he’s hurting you, “It’s not that—“ 

“Then what is it?” You snap — you were tired of running in circles — you needed an answer, a tangible reason why. 

“Geto,” you blink, as the confession settles over his face, “it wasn’t your schedule. It was who you spent it with,” and you’re staring for a moment, expression crumbling under the weight of the truth. 

“Yuta, Yu, no—“ you step towards him, but he only sighs, running a hand through his hair, “it was only for my thesis. Nothing happened between us. I promise,” 

“I trust you when you say nothing happened,” but his eyes lift to meet yours, “and in a way nothing has happened, because you still love him,” 

“yuta—“ 

“I know you love me, in some way,” the words leave his lips slowly, cutting you each syllable, but you can’t imagine how deeply and how long he’s been cut by these thoughts already, “but not like you love him—“ 

“That’s not—“ 

“You know before we started dating, I talked to Maki about how I feel, and I told her I was afraid that you would never look at me the way you look at him,” and the mended pieces of your heart break apart with new cracks with the way his voice wavers, “but all this time, and still, you haven’t. Even today, when I waited outside of the lecture hall, I saw you both together — and I know,” he breaks off, biting his lip, “I know it was him congratulating you, but the way you looked at him hadn’t changed—“ 

You’re shaking your head, “Yuta, no, no, it’s just a look. I don’t even know how I look at him, but it doesn’t—“ 

“I do know how you look. It hasn’t changed,” he’s swallowing, his eyes fall to the floor, “and it’s not just that. Do you see a future with me?” 

“Of course—“ 

“When I brought up moving in, you said you’d think about it, but have you?” you open and close your mouth, fingers grasping at the fabric of your clothes, “have you thought about what happens after you graduate? Or what’s next for us?” your silence is answer enough — sinking in for you, as it already did for him — slipping in between your ribs like a well placed dagger — and it had stabbed him all the same too, “you love me, but I don’t think you’re in love with me,” 

“Yuta, I do, I do love you—“ and he draws close to you, fingers cupping your cheek. 

“But the world doesn’t stop for you when I come near? It doesn’t feel as if I steal your breath when I hold you like this? Does it feel as if you don’t wish to spend a moment without me?” 

“Love doesn’t always have to—“ 

“But it does — to some extent,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “you imagined your future with him didn’t you? Didn’t even want to spend a moment apart?” And he gives a terse chuckle, “we have to break up,” 

You don’t want it to be true. You want to fight him, argue, convince him he’s wrong, that the explanation he’s pieced before you is falsified — a distorted version of how you felt conflated by misunderstandings. 

But you can’t. 

“Yuta, I—“ and he shakes his head, “no, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean—“ your eyes burn with tears, “I’m sorry,” 

He smiles softly, pulling you into his arms, “I knew we had rushed in, but I didn’t want to wait, because I thought I’d lose my chance,” 

“Yu—“ he kisses your cheek, “I do love you, I do,” and he nods, lips curling sadly, before he pulls you into another hug. 

“I know. I love you too.” 

But it wasn’t enough — and it wasn’t right. 

Not for either of you. 

You don’t know how much time you spent in bed after that. The semester had closed out, and you had curled up under your sheets — seemingly a new tradition you had of ending a semester with a break up. You wondered if graduating would end it — and if it didn’t, you might have to reconsider going for your Ph.D. — if only to avoid this pain again. 

You stick your head up out of your blanket, glancing at the light pooling in from the window — because time went on no matter how you felt, and the sun rose each day, despite it all. 

Yuta had grabbed his things and left a while after. You still could feel the brush of his fingers against your skin as he squeezed your hand one last time. 

“You’re still my best friend,” you had told him, forcing your voice to stay even, and he chuckles, a smile on his lips. 

“You’re still mine too.” 

But even so you hadn’t heard from him in a few days — but you couldn’t blame him. You could only blame yourself. It had become so exceedingly clear that he was right. And you didn’t know how you hadn’t seen it. The anger still lingered, but anger was only the remnants of your love for him that still stubbornly clung to life, despite your efforts to move on. 

But moving on wasn’t as simple as finding feelings for someone else — not when you were only ever truly in love with one person. 

You were still in love with Suguru. 

Despite it all — you hadn’t gotten over him, and you weren’t sure you ever would. If months weren’t enough, would years be? Would you ever get rid of the feelings you had for him, wrapped around your limbs, and had snuck into the crevices of your heart. An invasive species that perhaps you would never eradicate. 

But you couldn’t go back now. Not after everything that happened. Not 

Your phone goes off, lighting up on your bedside table before beginning to ring, your fingers slipping from inside your cocoon of blankets. You grab your phone — Professor Yaga? 

“Hello?” 

He greets you with your name, “I hope you’re doing well — I just wanted to reach out to congratulate you again on your successful defense,” you smile, sitting up as you do. The two of you make small talk as he discusses his recovery, reporting that he’s doing well. 

“Thank you so much Professor Yaga, for everything, really,” and he chuckles. 

“Thank you for being so understanding of my situation — it was difficult, but I’m glad Suguru stepped for in me so well, and I’m sure he’ll do well in Kyoto—“ 

“He’s going back?” the question spills from your lips before you can even hold your tongue, “I didn’t know you were—“ 

“I’m not returning yet, but even if I do, I don’t think I will be returning as a department head. So I gave Suguru the choice to stay department head here or move to Kyoto,” and he adds, “I did give him the choice to stay here or move back to Kyoto,”

And your throat is dry, “Oh I see. That’s good for him,” a silence settles over the call for a moment, before Yaga speaks.

“He hasn’t made a decision yet,” Yaga says, and he’s staying for graduation so if you’d like to thank him in person since I interrupted your conversation, II know on good authority that he’s in his office right now,” and he adds, “it’s not too late if someone were to speak to him now,” 

You blink, “Professor Yaga—“ 

“You’re all but graduated so I’m allowed to say this — I wish you both the best. But I know Suguru has never been happier than when he was with you,” you bite your lip, “so for both of your sakes, you should go talk to him,” 

“Thank you, Professor, for everything.” And you hang up without much to do, grabbing your bag and keys before heading out the door. 

He was right, fingers squeezing around your phone — it’s what you owed him — and yourself. 

Suguru sat back in his office, finally done with his papers for his philosophy class. The sun had long fled the sky, along with most staff and students. The end of the semester had come quick, and with it came a quiet and deserted campus with nothing but his grade book and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights in his office to keep him company. 

Not that he was craving company. 

He loosened his tie, unbuttoning a button or two on his shirt and on his cuffs, and then rolled his sleeves up. He was insane for still insisting on teaching a class amongst the insanity, though he did have another professor step in to co-teach the course. He didn’t know why he had stuck to that sticking point when it was illogical — but, as he gazed down at the stack of final papers strewn in front of him doused in his red ink, he knew it wasn’t a logical reason. 

He was rifling through the graded stack, adding the scores to his grade book. This semester has been a mixed bag, a mix of grades — from high to low. Some of the papers were insightful, others were clear that they had only taken this class as a course to blow off. But even of all the high graded essays, not one of the papers compared to yours. 

But of course, no one compares to you, and that’s why he needed to leave. He knew that. He wanted you to be happy — even if that didn’t include him. And after this semester, it couldn’t. Being around you was an exercise of torture — Tantalus who had been starving for decades to get a taste of food, only to be hungrier after that morsel. A bite of the apple only makes you want to devour it, core and all. 

It was just as Aristotle had said — desire was made of both rational and irrational, and his longing for you is rooted in the rational — because yes, perhaps his body craved you irrationally and carnally, but that was far overshadowed by the need for you after experiencing you for himself. This self made inducement would be the death of him, and Aristotle himself would call him a fool. 

But he didn’t need him to — because he was. A fool and a coward, just as you said. He sets down his pen, leaning against his hand, as he looks over at the blank reply email to Yaga with his cursor blinking. It would be for the best if he left for Kyoto again. So you didn’t have to see him again. 

And then there was a knock at his office door. He paused, eyes flicking up only to hear your voice through the door, “It’s me,” 

He hates the way his breath catches at the sound of you, heart picking up as his eyes flicker to the somewhat late hour and back. No words on his lips except the one thing he can say. 

“Come in,” 

And you do — you always liked to tease him that he was the one who was unfair when it came to how he looked, but to him, it was you that was unfair. Your hair askew, chest rising and falling quick, clothes a little disheveled and yet, you were always the most gorgeous person he’d met in his life. 

You shift in the entryway of the door, squirming seemingly under his gaze, “Is this a bad time?” 

Time never was in either of your favor, not ones that she found beguiling, except in a way meant to deceive. But time and time again, he allowed himself to be tricked — if only for a moment with you. 

“No, not at all. I just wrapped up grading the final papers,” and you give a soft chuckle, as you close the door behind you, before taking careful steps forward, eyes finding the stack nearly bleeding from his careful cuts and slashes. 

“How many red pens did you use up? Fifty?” 

“Oh, only forty-nine this time, trying to be more conservative with my usage,” and you scoff, more of a chuckle than a sneer, “plus, I didn’t have a student write several pages over the limit this time—“ 

You gape at him, and he has to bite back his smile,  “It was one page, and you said I could,” 

“Bullied into it was more like it,” 

“Don’t know of a case where a student could bully a professor into anything,” 

“They clearly haven’t had you in their classroom,” and then he adds, a soft smile on his lips, “but I suppose I could see them enjoy being bullied by a student as passionate about the subject — even if my office hours suffered for it,” 

“You loved those office hours,” and he wants to say, yes, when you were there — but he can’t. He told himself he wouldn’t cross that line, “and I did too,” you add, and his eyes find yours — but maybe you would cross it instead, “you remember what you said about not being my professor anymore?” 

And he did — all those months ago at the end of the first semester you had spent in class together, and he’s nodding, mouth impossibly dry, “Well I’m as good as graduated, so you’re definitely not my professor, not anymore,” 

Your name slips from his lips, brow furrowed, a question almost, as if it can’t be what your words implied, but you’re shaking your head, as you pull a folded paper from your bag, unfolding it before sliding it across his desk. 

His eyes fall on it, and it’s the note he had written all those months ago — asking you for a drink, and for so much more. He had admired your determination, your wit, your beauty, your intellect, and so many other things he didn’t have space to say — 

“Suguru,” and his eyes find yours, and god, why was it so easy to get lost in your heady gaze? “We had said we didn’t want to hurt each other — but I don’t think that’s something that can be avoided. You hurt me,” and he nods, lips parting ready for an apology, “but I’ll probably hurt you — and I probably have already,” 

“Sweetheart—“ the pet name falls from his mouth as if it’s second nature, “I—“ 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” and the corner of his eyes burn with tears — is this a dream? Because he swears, it would be the cruelest one so far, “I can’t stop loving you, and I’ve tried to—I’ve tried to move on,” 

“Maybe it would be for the best,” but you’re shaking your head, as you’re slowly rounding his desk, and the truth can’t help but fall from his lips, “I don’t deserve you—“ 

“What did I say about making decisions about us without me?” And he sighs, resistance crumbling as you draw far too close — and he couldn’t bear not to reach out, “you have to take responsibility for your actions, don’t you?” 

“Sweetheart—“ 

“You said you haven’t moved on — is that still true?” 

His fingers reach across the chasm he had carved between the two of you, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw and the swell of your cheek, just he had wanted to for all these months. And just a taste, a brush of your skin, he’d never let you go again. 

“I never could — not from you,” his voice wavers, “every day I missed you — I never wanted to break up with you, I just couldn’t bear to be the reason that you ever hold yourself back from getting something you wanted,” and he gives a bitter chuckle, shaking his head, “who knew I was the one doing that by leaving? And I’m so sorry, I am so—” 

And your forehead pressed against his, his words nearly swallowed with a sob, as he squeezes his eyes shut, tears burning a trail down his cheeks, that you gently thumb away before cupping his cheeks, “I want to hear something other than an apology,” 

His flutter open, lips brushing against your cheek, “I love you, I always have, sweetheart. I never stopped—” his voice breaks, a crack in the dam enough to spill the truth from his lips and tears from his eyes, “and I promise I’ll never break my promises anymore — that’s a contradiction, but—“ and your fingers find purchase on his cheek, consuming the words on his lips with your touch, “I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” 

Your lips curl, eyes watery as you kiss away one of his tears, “Is that a proposal?” you tease, your other hand slides back through his black locks, twisting one strand around your finger, “seems a little fast for that when you haven’t even kissed me properly yet,” 

He snorts softly, clearing his throat ever so slightly, “If memory serves me, we’ve done a lot more than kiss before,” and he’s daring closer, as you lean down, your legs pressed against the lip of his desk, “nearly in this office,” and he’s slipping up from his desk, his breath stolen from his lungs by the whisper of your perfumed skin, and his logic eroded by the heat of your body against his. 

“‘Nearly,’” you repeat with a soft hum, as your lips graze his jaw, “then why don’t we fix that?” your lips find his, a chaste kiss, barely a few seconds when you pull away half a centimeter, and he’s already leaning back in for another and another. 

The familiar feel of your lips against yours makes him wonder how he had survived without you for so long — falling for you was as natural as breathing and kissing you was needed as oxygen. But each kiss only sends jolt over jolt up and down his body, and he wonders if he were to ever stop again, perhaps his heart would too. 

Because all the time he had spent not with you was time spent living — perhaps breathing and existing. But no, he only felt alive when he was at your side — and in your arms. And especially against your lips. Delights in the way your lips part for him like muscle memory, tongue against yours — in a sloppy, desperate kiss that has every ounce of reason sucked from his mind (and likely into your mouth). 

He parts if only for air, a string of spit connecting your lips, that he thumbs away, “If I recall, you had something about me not being very ethical last time we did this,” he remarks, his lips parting before kissing down your jaw, your taste an addiction to his deprived lips — a desert wanderer ready to swallow you whole, “and now here you are,” he’s leaning back, as your hand is splayed back against the wood of his desk, your chest rising and falling, lips kiss bitten red and swollen from his own, “what do you call this?” His finger is toying with the top button of your blouse. 

“A student taking after her teacher,” your lips find his pulse, teeth grazing his skin as if to taunt him, to goad him to go further, but, and his fingers slip behind. your thighs and squeeze no goading was needed — he was ready to devour you. 

And he’s lifting you onto his desk, papers crumpling underneath and pens flung onto the floor, and a gasp caught in your throat as he pins you against it, before tugging his tie off. 

“Looks like I still have plenty to teach you.” 

“Sugu, fuck,” your fingers thread through his black locks, undone from his bun hy your own hands, your nails digging into his scalp. How long have you been in this office with him now? Half an hour? Almost an hour? Time had lost all meaning to you when he had kissed his way down your body. 

Burning kisses that had stolen your thoughts from your mind and left only him in its wake — how had you lived without him? Your fingers had found their way to the back of his neck, as his lips mapped the peaks and valleys of your neck and collarbone. 

“Fuck,” a gasp parts your lips when his teeth teases the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting again and agin, until he’s left pretty love bites gracing your across your skin. 

And that sharp tongue of his dragged over the marks left blooming on your skin, as if couldn’t simply get enough of you, and he couldn’t. 

“Suguru, please—“ you’re whining already and he barely began, and the all too smug smile against the swell of your breast only told you he thought the same. 

“Patience, Princess, so needy f’me, aren’t you?” But he obliged anyway, fingers deftly unbuttoning your shirt. 

And now your blouse was nearly shrugged off, your bra undone with your pert nipples still sticky with his saliva and breasts covered in small marks from his teeth grazing your skin. And now he had tugged your skirt down and off, leaving you only in your underwear. 

“You’re making such a mess on my desk, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, as his large palms slide up your plush thighs and squeeze, drawing a lovely gasp from your lips, before he’s parting your thighs, “but it’s such a pretty mess when it’s you,” and you were so fucking pretty with your legs parted like this, panties translucent from your juices leaking from your dripping folds, even glossy against the wood of his desk now. And he would be sure to make a bigger mess soon enough. 

“Sugu,” your cheeks burn as he stares, your embarrassment melting into a gasp when his fingers drag against your clothed slit teasingly, up and down, so meticulously again and again, until his fingers are sticky with your pre, “ngh, please—“ 

Your plea is enough for him to snap, as he’s tugging your underwear away and off, tucking the ruined panties into his pocket with a glint of his amethyst eyes in the low light of his office. Pretty folds in full display for him, with your swollen clit and glistening slit nearly begging for attention, and he’s more than happy to oblige. 

And he’s running a finger down your lovely folds, gathering precum on his finger, far too slowly for your liking, as he takes his time to circle your clit, “All this just from a few kisses?” lust pools in his gaze with a flicker of amusement, “so sensitive just for me,” your need for him as plain as the juices that seep from your pussy, walls fluttering and aching for something more than the tip of his finger. 

“Suguru, fuck, I can’t,” your toes curl when he finally pities you with a kiss to your needy cunt, nose bumping against your clit teasingly, the friction making your thighs tremble, “please—” 

“Never thought I’d hear my quick witted T.A. beg for me like this, but I have dreamt of it,” you glance down at him, lips glossy with your pre, “I have to make up for time lost, time I wasted without you, princess,” and his thumb rubs at your clit, while his lips press sweet kisses to the flesh of your inner thigh, “it’s what I owe you, isn’t it?” 

“I—” your sentence lost to a moan as he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit, tip of his tongue teasingly lingering around your entrance, and your hips buck into his touch, warm palms coming down to pin you in place against his desk. 

You can barely stifle your moans, fingers flying up to press a hand over your mouth, as the tongue starts to flick and circle your clit, while a lithe finger teases your tight cunt, “I’m not one for sweets, but you may give me a sweet tooth,” and his lips close around your clit, sucking and licking, making your back arch, your arm behind you shaking as it struggled to keep your balance. 

“Fuuuuck, Sugu, I—” you’re panting, head lolling back when he finally sinks a finger into your fluttering walls, the wet squelch of your cunt and your barely contained moans filling up the relative silence of his office, “please—” and a second finger joins the first, a smirk on his lips as he kisses your puffy clit again, a groan when he feels the way your walls clench around his fingers, knuckle deep. 

“Gonna break my fingers at this rate, sweetheart,” he’s grunting, but even so he’s adding a third finger, the stretch far too delicious as it sends stripes of heat up and down your body and right to your spasming cunt, “what are you going to do when I put my cock inside? Our refresher lesson has barely begun,” and he’s enjoying this too much, and when his arms are hooking around your thighs, carefully lying you back on his desk, your hands slipping from his hair, and instead propping himself up on his elbows. 

“Sugu, wh—” and your back arches as he begins to thrust deeper into your cunt, a strangled gasp on your lips that melts into a moan as his lips close around your clit. You can barely make out the obscene noises that leave your lips, as his fingers fuck you open, before he’s sucking hard — once, twice, and then a third time— “I’m—“ 

You can barely find the words before you’re cumming, walls squeezing and fluttering around his fingers while he fucks you through it, lapping at your juices, his name on your lips again and again, until you finally come down from your high. He pulls his fingers away from your twitching pussy, only to bury his face in between your thighs again. 

“Fuuuck, Sugu—“ your moans are broken as your body arches into him, fingers finding purchase on his shoulders, sucking and licking your release eagerly, seemingly hellbent on tasting every inch of you. 

Pretty moans fell from your mouth, muffled as you clasped your hand over your lips, “can’t waste a drop, sweetheart,” he’s slurping and sucking at your cunt, and god, if anyone walked by his office, they would surely hear you both — hear the nasty squelch of your pussy and your barely muffled moans. 

How many times did you orgasm from his tongue alone? You had lost track. Each time he would bring you over the edge with the thrust of his tongue or the suck of his lips, and he would eat you out through it, only building to the next and then the next. 

“Sugu, please, I’m close, fuck—“ and you can’t even hear your own broken voice, not over the lewd sounds of his mouth sucking at your pussy, the coil tight in your stomach and ready to snap, until another hard suck makes you cum, hard.

Your fingers find their way into his hair, clutching at him desperately as you squirt all over his face, drenching him along with his desk, wood sticky and soaked with your release. He’s lapping at your cunt, thighs twitching from your orgasm, until he’s finally pulling away to glance up at you with dark eyes, his chin and mouth glossy with your cum and his spit. His tongue darts out to clean both, before wiping the rest away with the back of his hand, glazed over gaze half lidded with need. 

“S’good for me, Princess,” he’s pressing gentle kisses up your body, “so pliant, and yet you were so mouthy before,” and his lips kiss that mouth of yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, as he presses you further into the desk, his arm slinked around your back. And you’re pulling him just as close, hands grasping at the front of his button-up. 

And then you’re pushing him back, forcing him into his chair, as you get to your feet, before sinking to your knees. His breath catches, eyes watching you — your disheveled appearance, hair half mussed, and skin shiny with sweat, “let me show you how mouthy I can be.” 

“Imagine someone walked in now, see your pants down for your favorite student,” your tongue trailed up the underside of his clothed cock — and he could nearly cum looking down at you between his thighs, your kiss bitten lips pressing a sweet kiss to the head of his dick, thumbing at the leaking slit, licking your lips at the sight of the large stain of his precum on his cock, “Sugu, you’re so fucking big, can’t wait to feel this inside,” and his length twitches, a grunt in the back of his throat, as your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, snapping the waistband against his sensitive skin. 

And god, he’s fucking pretty like this. Black locks falling in front of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones with a lovely flush settled over his features 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he’s panting, head nearly lolling back against the headrest of his chair, “gonna tease me after this long?” it’s half joking, half pleading, but you’re only clicking your tongue at him. 

“You made me wait much longer, Suguru — made me cry too,” and his gaze softens, lips parted with an apology that fades into a hiss, as you free him from his boxers, erection slapping against his still clothed abs, “but now I’m going to make you cry,” you press a teasing kiss to his weeping tip, flushed red with need, letting his white pearly release paint your lips, “until you’re begging to cum,” 

A strangled gasp caught in his throat, tracing the pretty veins and curves like it was made for you, “You’re so pretty, Sugu — all of this is for me?” Your fingers slowly stroking his length, his moaning music to your ears, as your other hand teasing his balls, “gonna cum down my throat already? Can’t cum this soon,” you cooed, his fingers digging into the armrests of his chair, and yet your fingers squeeze around his base, hips jerking into your touch. 

“Princess, stop teasing—“ his protests had fallen on deaf ears, as you bring your pretty lips to his aching tip, only to trace his slit with the tip of his tongue, salty precum disappearing inside your mouth, and fuck, it’s enough for him to nearly cum there and then, “please,” 

“Didn’t know you could be so polite, Sugu, when begging for your student to swallow your cock,” and finally you let his cock part past your lips, and his head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as your tongue swirls around his length. It was already too much for him — so much, just as you were, your tongue tracing and teasing his dick, while your lips sucked along the base. 

And you weren’t doing much better, the weight of his cock against your tongue makes your cunt ache for him, and sneaking glances at his fucked out form — muffled moans of your name as he covers his lips with the back of his arm, as his dark gaze watches you sink his cock into your mouth again. Your hand is slipping into your throbbing pussy for some relief, as you bob up and down his length. 

But he doesn’t miss it, a groan at the sight of you swallowing his dick whole whole riding your own hand, “Does fucking your mouth feel that good, Princess? Feel that good that you need to touch yourself?” And you’re moaning around his length, vibrations of sending shivers up his spine and a groan of your name from his lips, “So fucking good f’me, Princess — too good for me,” he’s grunting, as you let his tip brush the back of your throat now, making pleasure rip up his body, “sweetheart, please, g’nna fuck your throat if you keep that up,” 

And you ease off, letting his cock slap against your tongue as it slips out, “maybe I want you, Sugu,” you’re kissing and licking along his length, “want you to fuck my smart little mouth,” 

Fuck. 

You’re sliding his cock back in, his hips jerking against you as you let him sink all the way in, tip brushing against your throat again. And fuck, the wet squelch of your fingers inside you breaks him, as he starts to give an experimental thrust, a light one that has you moaning around him. He’s gauging your reaction, only for you to force his length down more, barely not blowing his load there and then, as you look up at him, a smile in your eyes as if you’re daring him. 

And he can’t hold back. 

He’s fucking your mouth, your tongue massaging up and down his length as he thrusts inside your warm mouth, his nails digging into your locks as he holds you flush to his body. The sight of you on your knees, taking his dick as drool and pre drip down your chin, eyes nearly rolling back with pleasure as you do, making his cock twitch in your mouth. 

“That feel that good, Princess? Wanted me to fuck this mouth that bad? I should do it more often if that’s what it takes.” he’s almost drunk off the pleasure, thrusts growing a little rougher as he grows close, “fuck, I’m close, baby, where—“ and your hands are sliding around to his lower back, holding him in place as your answer, “shit, sweetheart, you’re going to be the death of me,” and you suck around him as his tip hits the back of your throat again, and that’s it—

He spills, hot cum flooding your mouth and down your throat, as you both moan in unison, large spurts devolving into smaller ones, as he comes down from his high. You don’t waste a drop, swallowing every bit of it, as you finally pull away from his cock with a pop, the sight of your ruined lips with strings of spit and cum still connecting you to his dick is enough to have it twitching again. 

“Sweetheart, you’re s’good to me,” he’s gently pulling you up into his lap, his fingers running through your hair. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t—“ and you’re cutting him off with a soft kiss that steals the words from his mind, your eyes shiny with tears. 

“You do, you do because I choose you, because I love you, and I know you’re sorry,” you cup his cheek, before lightly pinching it, “and if you ever do anything that stupid again, I’m going to kill you and I’ll be ethically and morally justified,” and he chuckles, burying his face in the crook of your neck to press soft kisses to your skin, before pulling back to look up at you. 

“You have my permission to do that, because if I ever leave my soulmate again — it’s only the consequences of my actions,” and he kisses your forehead, before he presses his to yours, “and I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not by my side,” 

You kiss him slowly, wrapping your arms around him, slowly heat building as the head of his cock bumps against the length of your cunt — the sparks grow into flames, threatening to engulf you both. And you would let them if only for one more second of his touch. 

“Sugu, please, I need you,” you murmur, breathing in his pants as your noses bump, “need you inside me,” he cups your cheek, meeting in another kiss, before you’re lining yourself up, weeping cock bumping against your needy entrance. 

“Are you ready?” You ask, and it’s for more than just this moment, it’s for everything that comes after — for every second that you both get to live together, “our phones are off right?” 

He snorts, “I turned it off when you entered my office,” and you laugh, shaking his head, as he places a kiss behind your ear. 

“I did the same before I came in,” his fingers cup your cheek, as you lean into his warm palm, “just you and me?” You echo from your first time together, and his lips curl into the softest smile. 

“You and me, sweetheart,” and you’re sinking onto him, tip parting your spread folds as your walls swallow him whole, inch by inch, and his fingers grasp at your hips, helping you ease onto his cock, pretty lips parted with a quiet murmur of your name. 

And when he finally bottoms out inside you, he’s almost forgotten how good it felt — pleasure ripping up his spine as your hips are pressed flush to the other, “So deep, Sugu, fuck,” your walls are fluttering around him pulling even deeper, clamping down as if he groans, “I’m gonna move,” you manage between pants. 

You lift up to the tip before slowly beginning to bounce up and down, your moans filling his ears along with the squeaks and rattling of his computer chair. His eyes flutter open only to watch your breasts bounce up and down as you ride him, his hands reaching out to squeeze at the pillowy flesh, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. 

“S’big, fuck, Sugu,” you’re moaning, a mess as you fucked yourself on him, but still not quite deep enough, and he begins to meet your thrusts with his own, making you fall forward holding onto him with a whine as he fucks up into you. The sounds of his balls slapping against your needy cunt ring in your ears, the grunts your pussy pulls from his mouth as he drives himself impossibly deep, “ngh, Sugu, fuck, s’good—,” you’re whining, back arching into his touch, nails digging into his shoulders, “please,” 

“That’s it, take my cock, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “so good for me. So tight, never going to leave this cunt at this rate, baby—“ 

And then they hear a door creak open and close nearby, freezing as they do, heart thumping against your ribs, but your wall flutters all the same, “think they’ll see us like this?” He teases, and his cock twitches in your cunt, “spread out and fucked by your former professor’s cock?” And you know he’s only goading you as the footsteps depart, but your walls squeeze at the thought, “want them to see how good you are for me? How well I’ve taught you to take this cock?” 

And he begins to fuck into you again, pistoning up into you, drawing more moans from your lips. He had taught you every inch and curve and vein of his dick, but this refresher would make sure you’d never forget. 

“Sugu, I’m close, I-“ and his hand is slipping between your bodies to rub at his clit right as his cock hits that spot that has you seeing stars as you cum hard around his cock. He watches the place your bodies meet, a white ring of cum around the base of his cock as your walls flutter around him. 

He fucks you through your orgasm, hips stuttering as he twitches inside you, “fuck, sweetheart, where should I—“ and you’re moaning as you manage to meet his thrust to notch him even deeper as he finally cums. 

His thick ropes paints your walls, as he rocks against you slowly, forcing his cum deeper and deeper, your name leaving your lips again and again — reverent whispers and promises muttered in your ear, as he finally stills underneath you. 

You’re leaning against him, mixed releases surely leaking onto his lap and the chair, both of your quiet pants filling the silence, until he’s breaking it. He kisses your lips again and again, before he stares at you — kiss bruised lips and the pretty sheen of sweat that clings to your skin, “It’s not fair you’re this perfect,” he murmurs, a thumb dragging down your lips, “how would I have ever resisted you?” 

“Luckily, the universe did that for us,” and he huffs a chuckle, “and you,” you add in a small whisper, and he frowns, nodding. 

“I did and I never will again, I promise, sweetheart,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your burning skin, pulling you impossibly closer to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck, “I’m yours — yours to keep, yours to use, yours to love — you have my heart and my soul,” he’s cupping your cheek when you lift your head, “and I’ll never let go, because you’re the only answer to life I need, if you’ll allow to be yours,” 

“You were always mine,” your forehead pressed to his, “that’s never changed, and it never will,” 

“You always one up me, don’t you?” And you roll your eyes. 

“The student has to surpass the master someday, doesn’t she?” his lips curl. 

“Oh you’ve done that a long time ago, Princess,” his lips graze yours again and again, and soon enough you’re shifting on his lap, until the chair buckles under the weight and the seat travels to the bottom of where it’s wheels rested. The two of you are silent a moment, before a giggle escapes your lips, “I think you’ll have to get a new chair,” you murmur, and he’s chuckling, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Why not the chair and the desk?” And you’re blinking before he’s lifting you up, before making you turn, pressing your front flush against the wood of the desk, “and if I’m getting new furniture, I might as well use this to its full capacity, shouldn’t I?” And he’s dragging his erection across your ass, “really make sure it’s broken,”

You gasp, walls fluttering as his tip teased your messy entrance, “don’t you need broken in—“ and he bottoms out in one thrust, as he presses his body against yours, lips pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, before his teeth dig into the sensitive flesh. 

And he smirks as he hears you moan under him, as he soothes the blooming hickey with his tongue, “No, I meant broken, sweetheart.”

“Suguru!” You called from his bedroom, as he smoothed his hair out in the bathroom mirror, a glance over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, “can you come help me?” 

And how could he refuse? He steps out of the bathroom to only find you struggling with your Hakama. The formal garment hangs uselessly around your front, your brow furrowed and lips pursed. 

He suppresses his laugh, forcing his tone to be even. 

“Does my incredibly brilliant girlfriend need help with her hood?” Your pout is enough for him to nearly break his promise that he wouldn’t kiss you when your makeup was done, but he doesn’t. Instead he takes the offending garment from around your neck, and you cross your arms. 

“I can handle reading Hegel’s works — The Phenomenology of Spirit was irritating but doable,” and you scowl at the Hakama in his hand, “but that thing was made to torture,” 

He snorts, “Consider it your last trial before graduation,” 

“No, my last is seeing if my thesis was peer reviewed and accepted for publication somewhere,” you sigh, “I still have to make the edits—“ 

“That can be a later problem, just focus on the moment right now,” he steps behind you after adjusting the Hakama and tying it around the back and front to secure it, before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “and now you look both beautiful and properly dressed,” 

His arms wrap around your waist from behind, “Sugu, we have to leave soon,” 

“Just a minute, just let this sink in,” he kisses the side of your neck, “have I told you how proud I am of you?” 

“Hmm, just about every second of the last few days,” you lean against him, and nothing ever felt so perfect — his arms were the only ones you belonged in. 

And yet, why did that thought also hurt? 

“What is iy, baby?” Suguru murmurs, ever too perceptive as always, “something on your mind,” 

“More like someone,” you mumble, and you’re laying your head against his shoulder, “I can’t help but feel guilty — Yuta and I just broke up and I’m—“ you’re shaking your head, “I’m so happy, and I hate myself for it,” 

Suguru frowns, “I don’t know Yuta well, but I know he did love you, the same way I do, and I can’t speak for him,” but then he’s squeezing your middle, “but as someone who loves you, I’d want you to be with someone who could make could make you happy,” you kiss his head, “and isn’t that why he broke up with you? You both deserve that chance — even if it’s not each other.” 

“When did you get so smart?” and he pulls you impossibly closer, kissing along the neckline of your kimono. 

“Somewhere between my bachelor’s degree and being your professor,” he adds with his lips curled in a smirk, “though I’d err closer to the time of being your professor,” 

Your head against his shoulder, you lean up for a kiss, as he blinks, before melting into your touch, as you pull back with a grin, “it’s ok if I initiate the kiss,” you chuckle when you catch sight of his pout, “don’t worry I’ll be giving you plenty after the ceremony — and maybe something even more than a kiss,” 

“Is that a promise?” And you tug him close, pressing another kiss to his lips — your lips were already smudged, so why hold back. 

“Always, for you.” 

Yuta knew it was for the best. 

It had been a few weeks that he spent mourning his relationship — but he knew that it was the right choice for him. He had chased after you, it felt as if he was dogging your every step, waiting for you to notice him. And when you did, he still felt as he was your second choice — and that he would live in Geto’s shadow for the entirety of the relationship. 

And he didn’t want that. He didn’t deserve that — and neither did you. More than anything, he wanted you to be happy — even if that wasn’t with him. 

It was for the best. 

And the start to the new semester just proved that. He was starting his final year of his program, he had become the head of the student government (after Maki decided to step down to a more administrative role to focus on her degree), and he had even become a teacher’s assistant to one of his favorite professors. He didn’t have time to focus on a relationship, not when he should be focusing on his future. 

He entered the classroom that day, a little early on his professor’s request to set up the classroom with handouts, only to bump into someone, papers spilling from his hands. 

“Sorry, I—” he leans down to pick up the dropped papers, before glancing up and finds himself looking at just that—

His future. 

A few months later. 

“You’re late,” Suguru Geto remarks, as he shows you his watch on his wrist — the very one you had bought him for his birthday a few weeks before, “but I should expect that by now, shouldn’t I?”

You give a guilty grin, as you find your way to his side, sliding your hands up around his neck, “Yes you should, especially when your girlfriend is a very important lecturer who was kept by all her students — jealous?” 

And he chuckles, his hair tied up in a half bun as usual, your fingers toying with a strand again, before he’s lacing with fingers with yours to press a kiss to the back of your hand, “Very — because your students are stealing my time with my very intellectual girlfriend,” and he leans down to press a kiss to the hollow of your throat, “it sounds like it was a success — I knew it would be,” he adds, “but someone else wasn’t so sure,” 

You roll your eyes playfully, “Yes, yes, you were right — the students found my work interesting, or at least interesting enough not to fall asleep and ask questions—” 

“High praise,” and your lips curl into a smile, “What?” 

“I love you,” he grins back at you, a chuckle on his lips, as he leans down to capture them, his smile apparent against you, as he parts from you, a heat still present in the pit of your stomach, a need for him burning as it always was, “I love you so much, Suguru,” 

“I love you too, princess,” he’s rubbing his thumb back and forth against the length of your cheek, “Good thing too because otherwise, moving in together would be more than a little awkward,” and you pout, and he’s laughing before kissing you again and again, until he’s kissing your pout away with a languid kiss that has you melting into his grasp — breathless when he pulls away, lips utterly kiss ruined and red, “they should be calling us into the viewing soon,” he bites his lip,and you’re nodding reluctantly if only considering whether if you could sway him for another few moments alone. Instead you settle for burying your face in the crook of his neck, lips brushing against his leaping pulse, “you’re sure about moving to Kyoto? I had only chosen Kyoto to give you space—” 

You cut him off with a glance up and a raised eyebrow, “You’re the one who said I could choose, and I chose Kyoto because not only is it a good opportunity for you here to build your reputation as the department head, but because it’s a fresh start for us,” 

His fingers lace with yours, “Well if they keep asking you to lecture in Tokyo, you might develop a commute,” and you roll your eyes, before shrugging. 

“I can handle it,” you squeeze his hand, “as long as I'm coming home to you.” 

“And a cat or a poodle,”and you light up, grinning even wider, “we should ask if they allow pets,” 

“Really? We can—” 

“I heard poodles are a good choice of pet,” and you’re leaning up to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, “I made an appointment for at an adoption center after this,” 

“Mr. Geto?” a person comes out of the leasing office, “we’re ready for you both,” 

And you pull away, your fingers interlacing with yours and squeezing his hand, “Are you ready?” 

His lips curl in a smile, “I think we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? Especially they agreed to take us for our viewing after you were late,” 

And you chuckle, as the two of you made your way inside, “I swear you’re going to leave without me one of these days if I’m late enough,” 

“No, I’d never do that. I’ll always wait for you, sweetheart,” he holds the door open for you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “we have all the time in the world after all.” And you grin at him as you walk past him, his fingers reaching into his pocket. 

He had found out his answer to life — watching you greet and speak with the agent, before glancing back at him with a small smile and tilt of your head — his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket— 

And now he just needed to know yours.  

END. 

Yuta’s own love story will be coming after Professor Gojo’s! 

✧a/n: wow i'm still in disbelief i finished this series. this is my first series on tumblr, and i truly hope you all enjoyed. this part was wayyyy longer than i expected. but i hope i did the series justice.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @dazailover1900, @aliyalala @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @lalacute03

[2hightocare]

PRINCESS TREATMENT ✷

“In a world of boys’ he’s a gentleman” mini series—

Synopsis: Jungkook simply does everything to make you happy..

Genre: established relationship!

Warnings: pure fucking fluff… (seriously makes me wanna jump in oncoming traffic) jungkook is a bright green flag, he’s love language is “acts of service” (can be read as a standalone but I recommend reading the first part)

a/n: we all deserve oc and jungkooks kinda love.. I’m turning this into a mini series since a lot of people enjoyed it🤍

for @ohsweetmimosa !!

Falling in love was always something that you wanted, your face has always been shoved into pages of books, wondering when it would be your turn to experience that type of love. Your mom would always tell you that your expectations were too high and that no man could ever be as perfect as a fictional man.

Until you met him.

There were no words in the dictionary to describe him. No words to describe how beautifully his eyes would sparkle whenever he would tell you he loves you, the way his thumb would caress you whenever you would hold hands, or the way he would kiss away the tears that would escape your eyes.

You a hundred percent believed God made men, and sent Jungkook as an apology.

“When did you learn to braid hair…?” You curiously ask, with a slight hint of jealousy in your tone, making Jungkook laugh behind you as his fingers thread the three strands of hair repeatedly. “Watched a YouTube tutorial,” he chuckles, trying so hard not to pull your hair.

“What for..?” You stare at the mirror in front of you with the goofiest smile plastered on your face, watching your boyfriend with no shirt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips as he carefully braids your hair with his lip between his teeth.

“You always braid your hair but then complain your arms hurt from keeping them up for so long soo… why not make myself useful.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

Your heart did a cartwheel, might have exploded in your chest from how fast it’s beating. But nothing new. You were so accustomed to the feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach whenever he would do or say something to you.

He drops the most beautiful phrases anyone has ever told you so casually, like it was normal. But that was your normal since you met him.

You would hear your friends talk shit about their boyfriends, how they did something or what they didn’t do, but you really just never had anything bad to say about Jungkook. He basically took "Princess treatment" to another level.

You never had to ask for flowers, never had to pull out a chair, never had to open a door, never had to enter a car freezing... because Jungkook being Jungkook went out twenty minutes earlier to turn on the heater before you would get in.

Never had to worry about leaving your wallet at home when the only thing in your bag is lip gloss. Never having to turn on your brain whenever he was around.

Locked doors? Where are the house keys? Did you leave your curler on? Jungkook got it.

“That’s so much better than mine,” you point to his ice cream as your eyes widen from how the creamy flavors melt into your mouth. “So bo—mb!” You muffle out from the mouthful of ice cream shoved into your mouth.

“Let me try yours,” he opens his mouth, waiting for you to send a spoonful of your cookies and cream into his mouth. “Here comes the airplane! Brrr,” you try making airplane noises as your hand does a weird twirl before inserting the spoonful of ice cream into your smiley boyfriend.

“Mhm,” he nods his head, humming loudly, watching you smile at him.

“I actually like yours better, baby. Let’s trade?” Jungkook hands you his small cup of ice cream as you nod happily, while you hand him yours.

Jungkook watches with the biggest smile on his face while inserting another spoonful of the creamy content as he watches you eating the new ice cream flavor enthusiastically, hearing you rave about the new book you have just finished reading and how dumb the main character is.

Jungkook's heart aches, sizing double its size, beating hard in his chest. Your cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold outside the car. You both didn’t care about eating ice cream in the middle of cold December; you guys took it as a challenge on who would get sick first.

He laughs at the lighthearted jokes you threw at him, while you take another big spoonful of the chunky ice cream that was his not so long ago.

Little did you know that he really didn’t like your ice cream flavor.

When Jungkook first met you, he knew from the start that he was a goner. The way you smile at him, how your eyes will have a small glint on them whenever you look at him, or the way you would scrunch your nose if you found something funny or cute.

It took him by surprise when you pulled the move on him, thinking you found something disgusting when you first did it.

“I will literally eat you right now!” You scrunch your nose at your smiling boyfriend who’s slightly kneeling for you to be able to see your initial carved into his haircut.

“So that means you like it?” Jungkook stands up and spins to face you. You stare up at him, his dimples on full display looking down at you with your cute outfit he helped you pick on FaceTime.

“I fucking love it baby!! I have the urge to crawl inside your skin,” you bite your lip containing the laugh you’re trying hard to contain, failing miserably when Jungkook raises an eyebrow with a smirk on his face. “That’s… cute,” he replies before kissing off the little nose scrunch he loves so much off your face.

“Is that like your ‘cutie mark’?” You quip, your arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders. “Cutie mark?” He asks, a hint of interest in his voice while he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“You never watched My Little Pony?” You fake gasp, eyes widening.

“I’ve heard of it, but me sitting down to watch ponies with superpowers… yeah, no.” Jungkook squeezes your waist as he explains.

“You suck,” you roll your eyes playfully sticking your tongue out before entangling yourself off his arms and making your way to the couch.

“Come big baby, we are watching My Little Pony.” You pat the empty couch space beside you.

He watched every season... all nine seasons with you.

Jungkook just wanted to make your life easier; you were always known for being “Miss Independent” in your family and amongst your friends, but here you were letting a man put your heels on for you.

“Too loose or…?” Your boyfriend looks up to you from his kneeling-down position in front of you.

“You look really good on your knees, sir.” You say instead with a sly smirk on your face, ignoring his question. “Pshh,” he rolls his eyes as he chuckles, tying a bow on your lace-up heels.

“Since when do you not flirt back?” You pout watching your boyfriend repeat his actions on the other foot. “Since we are late... and can’t be any more late.” He looks up with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Psh, okay.” You blow out in defeat as your boyfriend chuckles underneath you.

“Come on princess, let's go!” He stands up, giving you a hand for you to stand up off the bed.

The long rides to your guys' destinations were your favorite; Jungkook had given you the “passenger princess” award ever since you set foot in his car. He even installed a light-up mirror on your sun visor whenever you needed to fix your hair or makeup in the car.

Jungkook would listen to your little playlists. He still remembers when you explained to him that each playlist has a different emotion, which made him laugh. Now, anytime you played a song, he would ask you what emotion you were feeling right now.

“What emotion are you feeling right now baby?” He squeezes your thigh as he stops at a red light. The reddish hue illuminates your guy's face. “In love,” you turn your head to the side, staring at your boyfriend who’s already looking at you.

His eyes twinkle as he stares at you, a big smile adorns his face. As you mirror his actions before leaning in and giving him a kiss on the lips, his eyelids immediately flutter close.

“‘Cause I got my mind on you... I’ve got my mind on you.”

Plays softly from the car speaker; you smile into the kiss. “I love you.” He whispers softly. “I love you.” You whisper back.

[ln4smiamitrophy]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

𐙚 summary; the one where lando wins the grand prix on his girlfriend’s birthday weekend

ʚɞ pairing; lando norris x reader (established relationship)

ᡣ𐭩 fc; your beautiful self

⭒ type; irl (& a smidge of smau)

⟡ a/n; IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!! this is an incredibly self indulgent fic. low-key based off of a small town dr i share with my baby @xylinasdiary i’m sorry for not posting for ages, i’ve been really busy but i have more time now. i promise to continue my series’ as soon as i can. xx

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

Last lap. Last corner. Last push. And he’s done it. Lando Norris has won the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix. His second Formula One career win. He can hardly believe it.

You’d been watching the race from the Mclaren garage, biting your nails down to the quick. The nerves were building the longer you watched Lando lead the race. When it hit the 65th lap, so did your tears. You knew he was winning. And he did.

“Woooo! We did it!” He screams down the radio, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he can finally relax. He won. “Happy birthday baby, this one’s for you!”

Hearing his team radio only made you tear up more, the grin on your face widening as you removed your headphones, immediately making your way to the barriers. The mechanics and engineers letting you through to the front, knowing Lando will want to see you.

The adrenaline was still fluttering inside Lando’s heart as he climbed out the car. Getting weighed and then pulling off his helmet and balaclava, placing them down before scanning the crowd for you.

There you are.

The sparkle in his eyes only growing when he’s met with your beaming face, tears still running down it. He ran towards you as fast as his legs would allow him, stopping in front of you. He reaches forward and your arms go to his neck, expecting a hug.

The shock comes when his hands go under your shoulders and he lifts you over the barrier with surprising ease, a squeal leaving your lips at the moment. Your legs find their way around his waist, clinging to him. His hands rest on the underside of your thigh to hold you up.

Your lips meet his in a delicate, loving kiss. He grins against your lips, feeling like the happiest man alive. He’d just won a race and now he’s holding the girl of his wildest dreams in his arms. Why wouldn’t he be?

“I’m so proud of you,” The whisper leaves your mouth, though your lips don’t disconnect from his. “I love you.”

He didn’t realise his smile could get any wider but it did. He chases your lips, a small peck landing on them. “I love you so much sweetheart. Happy birthday.”

The cameras are loving this. Every single lens on the two of you. But you don’t care. Why would you when the only thing that matters is right in front of you?

“My birthday was yesterday Lan.” You tell him, your forehead pressing against him.

He can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips as you remind him. Of course he knows, he’d spent the whole evening after qualifying spoiling you every way he could. “Don’t ruin the moment,” He rolls his eyes at you though there’s nothing malicious to it.

His hands meet your waist as your feet meet the ground once more. You lean up to kiss him again, never wanting to leave him. But you can see his team waiting to congratulate him. “You have a team waiting for you.”

Lando’s head turns as he’s met with a sea of papaya clad mechanics waiting to grant him congratulations. He turns back to you, not wanting to leave but he knowing he has to. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing for a moment as he does.

“I’ll see you on that top step,” You whisper to him, hand sliding down his arm as you remove them from around his neck. He smiles at you before making his way to his team.

———————————————————————

Watching Lando on the podium was something you’d always loved doing. The way he shone was like nothing you’d ever seen. But there was something about him when he was on that top step. It was as if the Gods were bathing him in light. He looked surprisingly angelic for a man who’d just been sweating in a car for the past two hours.

As the British national anthem began, Lando’s eyes couldn’t help but scan the crowd for you. He found you almost instantly, stood next to his dad, grinning widely up at him. He kept eye contact with you the entire time it played, not wanting to look away.

Being on the top step of the podium, receiving that number one trophy was an indescribable feeling. Lando was caught off guard as his fellow drivers who joined him on the podium, Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, drenched him in champagne. He just managed to do his iconic champagne pop, getting his revenge as he sprayed them back.

Shaking the champagne bottle once more, he pointed it over the balcony, aiming down at the crowd below. His eyes falling upon his wonderful girlfriend as he tried to protect her hair from the champagne. This was unbelievable. There was a sea of papaya as the fans watched his podium celebrations.

He loved it so much.

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

y/nusername

liked by landonorris, yourbff and others

y/nusername the best birthday weekend ever!! i’m so proud of you baby, i love you

tagged; landonorris

comments…

user1 my parents 🥹

yourbff i miss you, my wife

⤷ y/nusername i miss you more babe

user2 lando’s radio was the cutest thing ever

⤷ user3 “happy birthday baby, this one’s for you” SOBBING 😭😭

mclaren our lucky charm 🧡

landonorris i’m so in love with you

⤷ y/nusername i’m in love with you

user4 if it’s not like them, i don’t want it

oscarpiastri this does not warrant garage pda, i don’t wanna see that

⤷ user5 not oscar exposing them 😭😭

landonorris don’t know how i’m gonna top this know

⤷ y/nusername better get to brainstorming

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taglist: @danielshoe @amorrziinho @urfavwelshie @xylinasdiary @cleaswn @soamericn @marknolee @shineforever19 @formulaal @manicpixiemom @lemon-lav

[earth4angels]

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

modern!jacaerys x ballerina reader ─── first clumsy kisses on the bleachers, fluff, MAJOR FLUFF, jace is a little piece of shit in the beginning, aegon is the best friend we all need sometimes, blind date, jace acts possessive - major simp too.

summary: it takes a very braggy best friend who says he is the best cupid to ever exist for you to finally accept a blind date. however, you did not expect to cross paths with the one male who everyone wanted, a reputation of a lady-man but what could be worse? right?

a/n: this one i do want to make a series but i'll see how it's treated first so pls lemme know. listen to lovesick by laufey as you read (trust me)

jace tag list: @jacaerysgf @star611, @jules420, @gracexthoughts, @astrxq, @reyndaisy , @hxtd , @smurfelle , @nanaldy @valdezthg @littleblackcatinwonderland @nixtape-foryou @starrgurl46 @ethereal-athalia @stelleduarte @canyonmoon-2 @ambrosia-v-black

"Y/n, again. You are not lifting your leg high enough!"

You turned your head to look at your dance teacher who stood behind you, with a scolding face. You sighed, already irritated that you had to skip your friend's home welcoming party for practice.

As the music started playing again, you twirled. Your feet glided through the marble floor, the music becoming you, and for a while, you created a storyline with every bounce, and twirl you made. The final note was played as your body twirled then bent upward with your hands elegantly stretched outwards.

You looked like a painting and the few lookers that were in the room with you stared in awe. You breathed heavily through your nose as you remained in the final position until your instructor spoke.

"Amazing y/n! I feel like you hit the emotion straight in the face! I think we're done here," your instructor said, "Get out of here, enjoy the weekend off, I will see you Tuesday morning for the last rehearsals. Your audition will be on Saturday, do not forget!"

You smiled giddy that you could go early as you missed your best friend. He was finally home after visiting his grandparents, and though you and he stayed connected through Facetime, you longed to hug him.

"Thank you, Miss Royce, I will be there!" You scrambled to grab your bag; you bounced in your ballet shoes as you fell onto the floor untying the laces at a rapid pace. Your phone rang then, and you sighed in annoyance yet still picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"I cannot believe the one person that I wanted to see the most is not here. What do you take me as?" Aegon whined making you smile widely.

"Aegon!!!! I promise! I finished practice early! I'm heading over to you as fast as I can!" You slipped on your ballet slippers moaning softly at the difference between your pointe shoes and your soft slippers that relieved the pain on your feet.

"You better! Helaena and Aemond are bitching off my ear how you're not here!"

At that, you heard the voices of his siblings yelling over the phone asking about your whereabouts. You laughed at Aegon yelling, "that's MY best friend you idiots! Quit bothering!"

"Hurry! You don't have to call or anything when you arrive, the door is opened, just come to the back!"

You laughed again, hanging up after saying your goodbyes. Your velvety nude sling bag bounced with every running step you took as you ran to your car.

The house was lit up in pretty lights, you figured it was Helaena's doing along with Rhaena's, they were always the decorators when it came to parties. As you parked your car in front, you moved towards the door finding yourself hit with strong alcohol and loud music.

A scream was heard and then you were suddenly surrounded by long limbs. You huffed as the breath was taken from you, "Ooof!"

"I can't believe you are here! I have missed you so much!"

You moved your head back to see who had hugged you and when you saw their face you squealed. Both of you now bouncing, squealing together like young girls.

"Oh my gosh! Hels! You look so beautiful!"

Helaena rolled her eyes, "You are so much more beautiful! I have missed you so much, I will never leave longer than 2 months I promise!"

You hugged her tightly again muttering into her chest as she was taller than you were - how much you missed her.

"Come, the boys would want to see you!"

As you were taken to the backyard of the house you found yourself with a large crowd of people, you realized this was no longer a small gathering but rather a party. You scoffed, ah Aegon. You arrived at a ping pong table where Aegon was playing against Aemond, cheers were thrown left and right every single time they landed a shot.

You quietly stood in the middle of the table, eyeing the brothers' match, grinning softly at them throwing insults at each other. You knew it was all child's play as you knew they loved each other, but they were competitive.

"Fuck! Seven hells! You cheated!" Aegon exclaimed as he missed the shot, Aemond smirked shrugging his shoulders.

"Tough luck brother, now are you taking the shots or are you too wuss to?"

Aegon sneered, yet he never backed down, he leaned forward and grabbed all six shots, one by one they went down his throat. He shook his head and lifted his arms up as the crowd went wild. Aegon screamed with them as he was smiling boastfully.

You cleared your throat, "It's come to my attention that the jackass has not left you."

Aegon turned towards you, his soft uniquely lilac, with green-tinted eyes glimmered with joy, "Oh how much I missed you!"

You laughed as he swung you around in a tight hug, Aemond ran towards you as you were now wrapped in a group hug.

"I missed both of you idiots."

Aemond clicked his tongue, "You missed me more though, right?"

Aegon scoffed, "Shut your big chin up, again, she is MY best friend."

Your head moved from his face to Aemond as they bickered, your smile never faltering, "I missed both of you, I can't believe you guys left me for so long... I hate your mom for sending you to Oldtown."

Aegon huffed as he stuck a tongue out to his brother who did it back, "Careful babe, mom will punish you by denying you any sweet treats she bought you from home."

You gasped, "No way?" Aegon smiled as he nodded, "She bought me back treats? Why!? She didn't have to!"

Helaena who snuck her way into the group with a shot glass in her hand shoving it to your hand and nudging you to drink, "Mom loves you. I think she still wants to hook you up with Aegon."

You swallowed the tequila down, feeling the burning sensation for a few seconds before you and Aegon exclaimed together, "EW."

"She's like my sister."

"He's like my gay best friend I can never!"

Aegon stopped, before he looked at you in shock, "WHAT?"

You smiled teasingly, "Kidding," you whispered to Helaena who was grinning from the playful jabs both of you were making at each other, "Maybe."

"Okay, enough of that, let's have fun and we will catch up later, y/n sweetie, you will stay over tonight! No exceptions!"

You groaned as you got pulled into the crowd towards the homemade bar by Helaena. You did not remember much from that night besides maybe dancing too much, and accepting a body shot from some guy named Jake, or perhaps it was Jace? All you remember was how soft his lips were and how his arms held your thighs as he held you against the ping-pong table.

You groaned sitting up from the soft pillows, your head spinning in endless swirls, "Oh god... I am never drinking again."

"Sure, you're not."

You blinked, your head in your hands as you spotted Helaena next to you smiling at you teasingly. You groaned again falling back into the softness of the bed, scooting closer to her, making yourself in a small ball.

"Tell me how much of an idiot I was last night."

Helaena softly patted your hair, her finger combing through the rough tangles of your hair, "Ay. You didn't do much, you kind of deserved to have some fun. You are always practicing or studying."

"You know how badly I want to be a professional ballet dancer, I can't be a complete mess," you muttered into her chest where she continued combing your hair.

"You are perfect, not being a biased person here because you know, we're almost like sisters but I think you will be the best ballerina to ever exist, everyone will love you."

You kissed her cheek, muttering a soft thank you as you groaned again, hot flashes appearing, "Really though... how much of a clown was I?"

Helaena laughed then, "You practically made out with my nephew."

You shot up from her hold, your head spun again but paid no mind to the swirls, "Huh?! When?! I don't remember..." You trailed off mid-sentence as you forced your brain to remember said situation. You scrambled your hazy memories until it finally hit you.

You moaned in embarrassment as your hand gathered your forehead, "Oh... I remember... this is so embarrassing..."

Helaena laughed, "Relax, I think he won't remember either, both of you were pretty locked in though, until you..." She started laughing harder, "You vomited on his shoes."

You stared at her as she laughed, she was clutching her stomach from the ache that began to grow from the hard laughter she released. You sat in embarrassment, all the while you moaned from the pain and the shame that came to you.

You slapped your friend on the shoulder as she was heaving from laughing too much, "Hels! That's not funny!"

Wheezing she replied, "Relaaaax. I don't think you will ever see him again; my sister does not come around too much, she's busy running the family's business. So, chances of you ever crossing his path are 1 out of 10."

You hid in the pillow as the moaning came from the headache you were going through. What you did not expect was how quick you saw him again.

The library was calming, if there was any other place anyone would find you that was not the dance studio, you would be found in the library, reading. You slurped on your smoothie silently as your eyes scanned the words of the book, intrigued.

A rough bounce beside you made you gasp out loud, dropping your book onto the floor, your interruption grinning at you teasingly.

"Call me the best cupid to ever exist, I just got you a date!"

You rolled your eyes, picking up your book and settling back into the couch, your legs tucking under your behind, "No one asked, and no I am not going."

Aegon clicked his tongue, "I was not asking, I was informing you."

You looked up from your book, finding your best friend looking at you with mischief in his eyes, "Why would I do that? I am too busy anyways."

Aegon removed your book from your hands, putting it up in the air out of reach from your grabby hands that began to fight him.

"Exactly why! You are always practicing! You need a little spice, some drama in your life!"

You huffed as you gave up trying to get your book back, falling back to the couch and crossing your arms, "I am fine, thank you very much! I am fine being on my own, it does not interfere with my dance rehearsals, you know how much I need to nail this audition to be accepted to the ballet academy."

Aegon smiled softly, his blonde curls falling over his hazel, lilac eyes.

"I love you, y/n, I really do. But you need to get out there, you never know what you can come across with. Maybe it will be the best decision, maybe it will not. But the fact that you went through something new, is exciting. So please, enlighten yourself, go on one date."

Both of you stared at each other before you sighed, "Just one date? Then you'll leave me alone?"

He nodded rapidly, "Just one. Promise."

You leaned your head back, closing your eyes in thought, you figured, it wouldn't hurt to try having fun.

"Okay."

"Okay? Okay as in I will do it?"

You peeked an eye open finding Aegon bouncing on the couch in excitement, "Yes. I will do it."

He did a fist bump in the air as he cheered quietly, "I promise you won't regret it."

"Hopefully so."

Maybe it was a bad idea. The person who sat in the booth was in fact the person who you thought you were never going to see again. He sat with a sly smile. You were clenching your hands together in irritation, you found him incredibly annoying, yet he was so beautiful.

"Ah. I am so glad I came instead of Cregan."

You snapped your eyes up in anger, "What?!"

"Cregan was your blind date. Not me. He was just occupied sucking face with his ex-girl again that he did not come here, so I came. I wanted to see what prize I would get for being a best friend. I admit it is quite a treat for me."

Your hands itched to slap him but held back the anger that was filling your stomach, you almost wanted to cry but again, you held back. The male sitting in front of you crossed his arms, he was lean but muscular at the same time, he had very nice curls, and small but bright brown eyes that were easy to get lost in.

You were too into the drinks the night of Aegon's party to remember him but his lips... that you did remember. You blushed.

"Well," you cleared your throat, your eyes darting to the exit door of the restaurant, "this was fun, but I got to go for practice." You stood up, grabbing your bag and phone before a hand stopped you.

"Don't go. Look, I am sorry for being an ass. We can make use of the time and chat a little. If you don't want to stay after 10 minutes, I won't hold it against you. But I want to know you, I have seen you around."

You had two choices. Stay and get to know this guy or leave and swim in the shame of being stood up. You decided to hell with it, as you sat back down the booth slowly.

He smiled widely, his slight bunny teeth showing making you grin.

"My name is Jacaerys Velaryon, but you can call me Jace, everyone does anyways," he rambled, your lips quirked at the personality seeping out of him slowly. You introduced yourself, feeling a little flutter when he repeated your name softly.

The waiter came by to take your orders, Jacaerys was kind to ask what you wanted, recommending you the best choices. You felt more relaxed in his presence, he made it easy for you to open up. The food came in then, but the conversation never stopped.

He talked to you about his games, and his connection to your best friend. You found out he was in fact the co-captain of the soccer team. You heard a lot about the soccer team, how they hosted parties just to hook up with girls, or the famous captains that every girl wanted to make their boyfriends.

You grimaced at the thought you were now on the list of girls who he had dated. Shaking your head you continued to listen as you took small bites into your food, replying when asked a question.

"I have seen you. You dance very... pretty."

You choked on your pasta. His eyes widened as he reached out with a napkin whispering 'Oh shit, are you okay?' Your eyes watered but you gave a thumbs up.

"You've seen me dance?" You asked shyly.

"Have I seen you? Y/n, you are all they talk about in the halls. The next big performer of Westeros? You do not realize how much popularity you actually have do you? I have seen you once, practicing. You quite literally took my breath away."

Jacaerys muttered the last bit, he scratched his neck in shyness. You were practically red-faced; you did not dare to face him. His hand was placed on your right hand that was placed on the table, "I believe it though. You will make it big."

The flutters in your stomach made your toes curl, you wanted to hide and scream by the way he was staring at you. Jacaerys was grinning, his dimples showing slightly. He was beautiful.

"Thank... you?" you whispered, holding his hand now, watching him smile his hand now holding yours fully.

"You're welcome."

You did not want to admit it, but the date was in fact fun. You got to know him better as did he, you. You laughed at his attempt at making a whipped cream beard only for it to fall into his shirt and as he groaned, your heart fluttered. Jace, like he begged you to call him, was in fact the prime example of not judging a book by its cover.

When the check came, he quickly paid offering to take you home. In the car you sat listening to the radio in comfortable silence, you did not realize how much his hand twitched to hold yours.

"Well, we're here now."

You glanced at your home, silently cursing the time for going too quick. "Thank you for the ride, Jace. I had a lot of fun."

He smiled before it started to fade, you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly hoping that maybe... he would beg you to stay longer. He hesitated, your hand going for the door handle losing hope he was going to say something.

"Wait... y/n."

You reacted too fast for your liking, "Yes?"

"Meet me after the game? I'd like to take you somewhere."

You sat stunned before you stuttered, "As in... another date?"

His lips quirked to the side, the frat boy side slipping, "No. Just to hook up." That caused you to open your mouth to tell him off when he rolled his eyes, "Yes a date y/n."

You blushed; you did not know how much of his teasing you could take, "okay." You giggled into your hands as you closed your door, your cheek on fire holding a soft kiss made by the guy you never expected to make you feel so giddy inside. You hoped to see him again soon, and as you slept you dreamt of a curly, tall male with pretty freckles and brown eyes that looked like gems in the light.

You found yourself sitting in the bleachers surrounded by hordes of people. You had your ballet slippers on, your silk ballerina jumpsuit being covered by a skirt and a hoodie. You rushed after practice, sighing in relief when you only missed the first twenty minutes of the game.

Your classmates began looking at you not expecting to see you at a game. You never did come, Aegon begged you many times to go, to support Daeron who was also on the team. You always put practice as an excuse, but this time was different, Jace was playing, and he invited you.

You cheered whenever Jace scored, and as if he heard you, he would always throw his celebratory victories to you. Whether it was a wink or lame gun fingers. You jumped up and down as the team won their home game.

You waited by the bleachers, your feet dangling enjoying the chill of the night until you felt a jacket be dropped onto your shoulders. Jace sat next to you, his hair damped indicating his rushed shower. You sat in silence, his hands holding yours, with his thumbs caressing the front of your hands.

"Did you enjoy the game?"

You nodded, feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

"Let's make a deal yeah?" He leaned forward bending his head to face you clearly, your face growing hot when you spotted his bright brown eyes, from this angle you saw his freckles more clearly.

"Come to every single game of mine, and I will come to every dance recital, and rehearsal of yours. We will be each other's cheer squad."

Your heart grew warm, the appreciation and growing adoration for him becoming more intense. You only nodded, muttering a sincere promise as your hand reached towards his curls, brushing it to the side to avoid the droplets of water from his hair falling into his eyes. He grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him, your noses brushing.

You did not move as you did not want to seem desperate. You felt the minty breath of his, his hand holding yours as the other reached to cradle your face. You closed your eyes the moment you felt him move, your lips were wrapped with warmth, melting away every worry, growing the mass of butterflies that flew in your stomach. You met every movement of his lips, pressing yourself closer to him.

"Yo Jace! Quit making out! Are you coming to the party or not?" Cregan yelled from beneath the bleachers

You felt mutter a curse as you giggled. He pulled away still holding your hand, now intertwined with his. "Not tonight, I will be with my girl."

Cregan stopped, his jaw slacking, "Wh-at?" You even looked at him shocked. Jace only shrugged when he faced you before he looked towards his best friend, "Oh, and tell jack-ass Lannister that if I catch him sexualizing Y/n, I will beat his ass so bad he won't be able to play the playoffs."

Cregan only stood with his mouth open, shocked to see the one playboy who never wanted to commit to serious relationships in a deep make-out with a girl who he was serious about. Jace pulled you who was also stunned to his car, as both of you passed the still shocked Cregan, Jace patted him on the shoulder.

"Thanks man."

That night you sat in the back seat of his car, deep in make-out sessions, going over ice cream cones and listening to both of your favorite bands. As you sat wrapped in his strong arms you decided to question him your doubts.

"Why did you tell Cregan that?"

Jace hummed and if like he said nothing wrong, he responded lightly, "That we were together?"

You nodded, "And Lannister? What's that about?"

You felt him tense before he let out a big breath, "I plan to make you, my girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about you since I've met you. Lannister..." he huffed, "... is a jackass. A douche with no respect for anyone, if you ever cross paths with him or any of his goonies, turn the other way, and let me know if he ever does anything, promise me."

You swore you felt your heart wanting to explode, you wanted to confess your true feelings as well but felt too cowardly to do so, you only responded with a soft 'okay.' He pressed a kiss on your head, pressing you closer to his chest, you closed your eyes, hearing the soft thumps of his heart.

You fell harder for Jacaerys Velaryon that night, but you will never know how much he already loved you from afar. How when he saw you the night of Aegon's party he was shocked to see you there with a pretty light floral dress - he just did not expect to get so hammered like you were. And you definitely will never find out how Aegon texted Cregan the night after to meet you for a date when Jacaerys himself was using Cregan's phone.

You will never find out how quickly he deleted the message and went to meet you instead because this was finally his chance to talk to you, since you never turned your eye to him every time, he tried on purposely to catch your eye. You will not find out how he always stood by the door of your dance rehearsals seeing you twirl, and bounce as if you were flying in the air so prettily.

Jacaerys Velaryon has loved you deeply for a long time and he planned to love you always, you were the person he wanted to take to his mother and proudly say he wanted to marry you.

[bunnys-kisses]

jailbird (3)

prisoner!simon "ghost" riley

the series master-list

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, smut & fluff, dom!reader, sub!simon, gentle sex, size kink, pregnant!reader, wife kink

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own!

you rubbed your back as you cooked up some breakfast. you then yawned into you fist. it was hard giving up coffee for the sake of your unborn baby, but simon promised that when your son was born, he'd buy you the fanciest coffee at the supermarket.

it had been over a year since simon got out of prison, and now you two were expecting your first child. right now he was the size of an avocado and simon couldn't help but put his hands on the small bump.

"mornin', love." he said as he came up behind you and his hands on the bump. his hair was a mess and his large tattoos hands were on your hips, "bacon for me?"

"it's turkey bacon. less fat." you reminded him.

he grumbled, "not as good." then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek, "how did you sleep." his hands linked under your bump as he held it gently.

you flipped the bacon and focused your attention on the eggs in another pan. you felt a shift of your child in your womb, "it was alright. i think i'm getting used to your snoring."

he kissed you again and grumbled, "i'm sorry."

you chuckled, "I don't mind. either you've gotten quieter or i'm just used to it." you tilted your head up and kissed him on the lips briefly, "if you can get the toast ready that would be great."

"anythin' for ya." he said as he pulled away and went to make some toast for the both of you. it was domestic, it was quiet. a woman and her much larger, tattooed ex-convict of a boyfriend.

-

simon called you his wife often, despite never actually being married. you didn't mind it. you shared a home were building a family, but you often wondered if you would ever get married. you were never keen on a huge celebration, but something would be nice. regardless you were his missus.

regardless of your pregnant size, he handled you with ease. there were times where he'd simply guide your hips as you rode him. he was he one in control. you held onto him and moaned as you felt his cock press up into you.

"beautiful wife." he smirked as he kissed your face.

you wondered if it was possible for to control the pace. to have your boyfriend give up control and let you work his body? while your bdsm together was short lived, he stopped any rough play when you announced you were pregnant, you wondered if the roles could be reversed? the tiny girlfriend in control of her beefy, scary boyfriend.

it was a rather arousing thought. to watch simon squirm while you made sure he was taken care of. it didn't have to be vicious or rough, which would make simon happy (for your sake), but tender and slow. you rubbed your thighs together while seated at your work desk, you had to focus on work! not on your boyfriend's cock inside of you.

you leaned back in your desk chair and rubbed your swollen middle as you gazed at the spreadsheet you had been working on. simon gave you the gift of your first born child, you believed it was time to repay him for it.

-

"simon." you said as you were curled up with him on the couch. simon's head was in your lap and his legs were hanging off the couch. you were running your fingers through his short blond hair.

"yeah, love." he said.

"i want to ask you about something."

he lifted his head and looked at you, he looked at your curiously. for a brief moment he was worried that he had done something wrong. but a closer study of your face revealed that you weren't upset with him, which settled him down. he simply said with a kiss on your bump, "ask away."

"i was wondering, if maybe... i can take charge when we have sex? just for tonight. i know you like being in charge, but i thought it could spice things up with anything too intense."

he said gruffly, "i don't want ya puttin' strain on yourself." as his broad hand rubbed your middle, "worried you'll get tired out."

you reached down and cupped his face, "well, then if i get tired then you can take over... it wouldn't hurt to try." you smiled, "i think it'll be fun."

simon learned very early on that he could never say no to his girl. he simply pressed his cheek back on your bump and rubbed it. he said, "alright, but don't push yourself too hard."

he lingered closely during dinner, his hands on your hips as he watched you make dinner. he was in charge of chopping vegetables, but when he wasn't, his hands were on you. he wanted to be close to his wife.

even though very few thought of him as a gentleman, the way he sat you down on the couch after dinner so he could wash the dishes of your dinner left you feeling pink.

when he came back to you however, he held out his hand. you took it and he helped you up off the couch. he stared down at you for a moment and you reached out for him. you framed his face in your hands and leaned up to kiss him.

"i'm fine."

once in the bedroom, he marveled at your body as you started to undress. he shirt was already off as he sat at the edge of the bed, ready to help you if you needed it. but you shooed his hands away. he admired the slope of your pregnant belly and the heaviness of your breasts. you had a figure his admired, a lil pregnancy fat to keep you and the babe warm.

"you're staring."

"can't i?" he asked, "i made you this way. my girl carryin' my kid. i think you look hotter now than before." he smiled.

you gave him a look as you got your underwear off, you stood there in front of him, naked with your hands at your hips. you said, "so you're into milfs?"

he shrugged, "only when i'm the ones who 'em a mama." he reached out for you and you went into his arms. he pressed his face against your bump and sighed, his cock twitched in his pants.

you petted his soft hair and felt him place kisses against your swollen middle. he had taken to being a father the way a fish takes to swimming. after a little worship to your belly, you nudged him at his shoulders.

"lie down."

he looked up at you and laid down. he watched you work as you got his pants and underwear off. his cock stood at full attention and you could already feel the heft of it inside of you. it made your stomach flutter.

there laid your convict boyfriend, the man who was in prison for some time. he was laid out on the bed you shared while you tried to straddle his waist. he made you his girl, and you made him a better man.

"gonna be comfy like that?"

"this is about you, simon." you tapped his nose, "the goal is to make you cum." then trailed your finger down his neck and across his chest that was littered with tattoos.

he held onto your hand and placed it on his cheek, "i know... but i still want you to have a good time, love." he kissed your wrist before he placed both hands on your hips.

"hey!" you smacked his hand away, "my job."

"sorry." he said softly. he was a hardened man, he often scared people. but with you, he was so supportive and loving. he adored you the way plants adored the sun.

he watched you with careful eyes, they felt heated on your warm flesh as you tried to move yourself (with the bump not helping). it took everything in him not to do it himself. but he had to trust you.

you slowly sank on his cock and pressed your chin to your chest as you exhaled deeply. you noticed that simon was holding onto the covers tighter. you said softly, "trust me."

"yes, love." he said softly, he tensed up when you started to roll your hips. you hand one hand on his chest for leverage and the other on your swollen middle as you moved your hips against him.,

"holy shit, love." he groaned.

"see, a wife knows how to please her husband." you replied before you smacked his hands away from you, "no. stay still." there was a bit of a command to your tone.

he liked it.

he continued to hold the sheets as you moved up and down on his length. his breathing got heavy as you started to really put work into riding his cock. he watched your breasts and belly bounce like a hypnotized man.

he made you this way. he never thought when he was in prison that he'd have a woman in his life that was carrying his child. he watched to reach out and worship your bump. but for the time being he'd just have to play the thoughts over in his head.

part of him wondered if he was still a bad man. maybe there should've been more time between when you met in person and your pregnancy. but you were happy. happy with him, of your situation.

he tried to move but you kept him pinned by the shoulders. you were without words as you rode him, all you could do was shake your head. he groaned and leaned back into the bed.

"please, love. let me touch you. i want to touch my wife." he was almost begging.

you pushed hair out of your hair and looked down at him. your hands were on his shoulders to give yourself more leverage. you moaned, "okay... but be good."

quickly his hands were on your hips and he rubbed your love handles. you felt so good under his touch, it made his brain buzz. what the hell did he do to deserve an angel such as yourself.

"like it, simon?"

he nodded, "you're doing great. my girl." his voice was practically a purr.

you continued to ride him. you felt hot all over but you held onto him. you tried to be sexy about your thrusts. but the burn in your soul to get to climax forced you to bounce on his cock.

simon's eyes were transfixed on your body as it moved. his cock ached, as did his balls. he bred you so good, he didn't know what he did in a previous life to deserve this.

warmth pumped through your bodies as you fucked. it felt so good, and the angle made your core ache. it wasn't long before you felt the curl of orgasm in your gut.

you placed his hands and yours on your bump as you moved on his cock. your moans filled the air of your bedroom. your mind became hazy and your thrusts were disorganized. you came first by holding his hands, your cunt clenched around his cock. and as you continued to ride him until he finished as well.

"shit."

"simon."

he laid sprawled out next to you for a moment to catch his breath. by the time he calmed down, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your face. he could feel your bare belly bump up against his abdomen. he felt relaxed against you.

he said quietly, as he assumed that you were dozing off in the after glow of pleasure, "you'll get your ring soon. just gotta find the right time to pop the question." his voice was a low rumble.

but you were still awake and safe in his arms. when he mentioned a ring your heart skipped a beat. you stayed still for a moment and let him bask in your love. soon you'd be his wife, for real.

the question was, where was the ring? <3

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve. 

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face. 

It was one of his own. 

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion. 

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.  

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over. 

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue. 

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm. 

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion. 

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

[ahqkas]

Ex bf theo who was really toxic and was a bad bf but after the break up he matures and tries tonget you back?

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ENIGMA, a puzzle that you never quite managed to solve. during your relationship, his brooding silence and sharp wit had initially drawn you in, but over time, they became the very things that chipped away at your happiness. he was toxic — possessive, distant, and emotionally unavailable. the relationship became a series of ups and downs, with moments of passion followed by long stretches of cold indifference. you spent too much time trying to reach him, trying to make him care the way you did, but in the end, it was clear that he wasn't ready to be the person you needed him to be.

the breakup had been inevitable. it was messy and painful, filled with harsh words and lingering regrets. you walked away shattered but determined to heal, to rebuild yourself without the weight of his darkness pulling you down. months passed, and slowly but surely, you began to find your footing again. life moved on, and so did you — or at least, you tried to.

then, one day, theodore showed up in your life again.

it was the warmest day of early september. you were in diagon alley, browsing through the rows of books at flourish and blotts, when you felt that painfully familiar presence behind you. your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of dread and curiosity flooding your senses. you turned, and there he was, standing awkwardly near the entrance, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

theodore looked different. although he was still the tall, slender figure with the same piercing eyes that once made your heart race, something had changed. his posture was more relaxed, his expression softer. gone was the constant scowl that used to mar his handsome features, replaced now with what seemed like genuine vulnerability.

“hey,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, almost hesitant.

you blinked slowly, caught off guard by his presence. “theo?���

he shifted on his feet, glancing around the shop before meeting your gaze again. the use of his nickname by you stirred up unforgettable memories inside him. “can we talk? in private,”

you nodded at his request hesitantly and followed the boy, now who seemed like a man. he hurt you badly, and there was no reason for him to talk to you ever again, so why was he seeking you now?

theo’s quiet voice broke the silence between the two of you as you stood in a smaller aisle of the shop. “i’ve been thinking about you — a lot,” he admitted. “there’s something i have to say to you or i’ll go mad.”

you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to expect. theodore had never been one to easily admit fault, and seeing him now, looking almost remorseful, was jarring. part of you wanted to turn and walk away, to avoid reopening old wounds, but another part — the part that once loved him truly and deeply — wanted to hear what he had to say.

“i know now i was a terrible boyfriend,” he began, his eyes not leaving yours. “i treated you horribly, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness. but i’ve changed. i know it’s hard to believe, but i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about everything i did wrong, everything i took for granted.”

he paused, as if searching for the right words. “i’ve been working on myself, trying to understand why i was the way i was. i didn’t realize how much i needed to grow up until you were gone.”

his words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the past. too many memories of broken promises and hurtful words still lingered in your mind.

“theo, i . . .” you hesitated, unsure how to respond. “i’m glad you’ve been working on yourself, really, but i don’t know if i can just forget everything that happened. you hurt me, a lot.”

he nodded and his eyes found comfort on your hands. “i know. and i don’t expect you to just take me back. i just wanted you to know that i’m sorry for how i was. truly. and . . . if there’s ever a chance, even a small one, that we could try again . . . i would do everything differently. i would be better for you.”

theodore nott’s words were raw, unfiltered, and they hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. this wasn’t the theodore you had known — the one who hid behind sarcasm and anger. this was someone who had faced his demons and was trying, really trying, to be a better man. but could you trust him? could you risk your heart again after everything that had happened?

“i need time, theo,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “i can’t just jump back into something that hurt me so much.”

the slytherin nodded again, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “i understand. i’ll wait as long as it takes. and if you never want to try again, i’ll respect that too. i just needed you to know that i’m sorry, and that i’m here if you ever want to give us another chance.”

with that, he turned to leave, but not before giving you one last, lingering look — a look filled with all the things he had never been able to say before.

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Eight

— Little Big Allergy

Series Masterlist

wc: 3.6k

Note: I am not a medical professional, so please let me know if something is incorrect

"Don't you dare think about cancelling, you are going on that date," your best friend's voice rang out of your phone on speaker while you were choosing a dress for tonight.

You turned to look at the phone, as if your best friend was standing there, "I'm not going to cancel, I just don't know what to wear," you responded, placing another dress against your body but frowning.

"Wear that one sexy red dress you have, who knows, you might just get laid tonight."

You shuffled through your closet, finding the red dress in the back, which was expected since you didn't wear it in a long time. You held it out in front of you, "don't you think it's too revealing for the first date? Maybe I could wear this next time."

It was a backless, short garment with two straps. While the back was revealing, so was the front, which featured two cutouts around the hips and exposed a bit of cleavage due to the lack of material.

Your friend hummed, "so we're planning a second date as well huh?" You could basically hear her smirk on the other end. "Well I hope this date goes well," you reasoned, but the jittery feeling didn't go away.

"You and Max are already good friends who happen to flirt occasionally, what could go wrong?" Then after a short pause, she added, "actually no, don't answer that. Try your blue dress, I bet he'd like to see you in blue."

After almost every interaction you've had with Max, starting from the grocery store, you've told your friend everything. Which is why when she suggested wearing blue, you weren't opposed to it.

Putting your red dress back in the closet for another time, which was hopefully soon, you held a navy blue dress in your hand, examining it before holding it up against your body.

While this one, like the red dress, had two straps holding it together, it was longer, reaching a few inches past your knees and including a little slit down the side for convenience.

"Alright, this is the one," you stated and continued conversing with your friend while you changed and began doing your makeup.

"So Bella is at Tyler's?" She asked, making you nod before realizing that she couldn't see you. "Yeah, she'll be there for the weekend."

"Oh how fun!" You could hear the sarcasm in her voice and chuckled, "it's fine, she should be spending time with her dad."

"The same one who called her overdramatic? Did you seriously have to have a kid with a guy like him?" This was a conversation you've had with her many times, and you would always reply with the same answer, "we were young and immature, but Isabella is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"She truly is, which makes me glad that she turned out like you more than him." You chuckled, "oh trust me, I am glad about that too. It would've been a nightmare if I had to see a little version of him all the time."

"So, speaking of Isabella, how are you going to tell her that you are dating someone who happens to be her favourite person in her favourite sport?"

You groaned, "I don't know, I really don't know. I can't stop thinking about it, because of what Tyler told me," you explained. "Are you still believing his words? Actually scratch that, why are you letting your ex determine your future relationship?"

"God, why do you have to ask such questions," you muttered, taking a moment to think about your response.

"I don't want to believe him, I have a feeling something else happened that day which he didn't tell me about. Plus he's not only my ex, he's the father of my child. I don't think of him as anything more than that."

"Honestly that asshole shouldn't even be considered the father of such a beautiful little girl," your friend stated, and you couldn't help but agree with her.

"Anyways, let's not talk about him, I don't want to ruin my mood before the night even starts," you comment, with your friend humming in agreement.

"You're right, let's talk about Max!" She exclaimed, making you chuckle. That's whom you ended up talking about for the remainder of the time you were getting ready.

Even though she knew all the details right from day one, she wanted another whole story time of how you and Max met, leading up to when he asked you out. Instead of opposing to repeat the story, which you don't even know how many times you've told her by now, you happily told her all the details as if it was the first time.

A few minutes after you ended the phone call with your best friend, your phone rang again which you initially thought was a call from Max. However, it was a call from an unknown number.

You answered the call, and you were met with a woman's panicking voice on the other end, "is this Isabella's mother?"

"Yes, who is this?" You asked first, calming down the inner voices that instantly thought about the worse possible scenario involving your daughter.

"I'm Emma, I don't know if you know me but I am actually at the hospital, with Isabella." You tightened your grasp on the phone, as it was close to slipping away from your hands at Emma's words.

"What happened and which hospital are you at?" You instantly began moving around your house, finding your car keys as you waited for a response.

Emma told you the address as you were leaving through the front door. "She had a severe allergic reaction, and I thought it would be best to bring her to the hospital. I am sorry for disturbing you, I wasn't able to get in touch with Tyler."

You took a deep breath in, knowing that it was bound to happen someday, even though you would rather not have it happen at all. "I'm on my way, should be there in ten minutes. Thank you for letting me know."

It would've been pointless to argue with her, especially since she was the one who informed you of the situation at hand and had the decency to take your daughter to the hospital.

You rushed into the hospital within eight minutes, a record time for you, and you might've broken a few speeding laws but it was for a good reason. It didn't take too long finding Isabella, considering she was in the ER, with a frantic woman standing nearby, whom you assumed was Emma.

As soon as she spotted you, her first words to you was another apology, "I am so, so sorry, I had no idea she had a peanut allergy." That led you towards one question, well more than one but you started off with just one, "what happened?"

She sighed, before telling you how she spent the entire day with Isabella. "One of my friends came by and dropped off some baked goods, I swear I had no idea that it had peanuts in it."

You reasoned that if you calmed her down, it would calm you down as well, because the increasing dread in your thoughts would not benefit you in any situation. You put your hands on her shoulders, "I'm not blaming you for it, you didn't know."

You looked at the doors leading to the ER, "how bad was it?" Emma hesitated before muttering words that made your heart ache, "really bad, she started swelling up everywhere and then passed out."

You tried to sit down, but the need to know her well-being caused you to walk back and forth in the hallway.  Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you were about to ignore it until you recalled something really important.

"Shit!" Max was calling. Of course he was, after all he was expecting you to be home and ready for a date tonight.

"Hey, I'm standing at your front door, are you home or?" He started and awkwardly chuckled, causing you to shut your eyes, imagining how the night was expected to go. He was probably holding a bouquet of flowers, looking like an idiot standing by the door because you weren't home.

"Max, I'm so sorry, I'm actually at the hospital." There was no reason to lie, but even after telling the truth, you didn't feel any less guilty.

"What happened? Are you okay? Is Isabella okay?" His response was quick, and slightly surprising but you've known Max long enough that his kindness wasn't as shocking anymore.

"It's Isabella, allergic reaction," you briefly described, and heard some shuffling around on the other end before he asked for the address. "You don't have to come," you told him as you normally did, but he didn't agree again, saying "I want to."

You didn't argue with him, as your heart warmed at the fact that Max wanted to see Isabella himself, and stay right by your side until she was completely fine.

Quickly telling him the address as you noticed a doctor walking towards you and Emma, you hung up the call. "Which one of you is the patient's guardian?"

You stepped forward, "I'm her mother, how is she?"

"It was an anaphylactic allergic reaction, however everything is under control. We've administered epinephrine but we will be moving her to the ICU for a few hours just for observation purposes in case the symptoms are back."

You let out a sigh in relief, as did Emma. "Thank you," you nodded towards the doctor. Once they left, you sat down, the anxiousness leaving your body.

Looking at Emma, who was standing against the wall in front of you, you had another question brewing in your mind. "Where was Tyler when all this happened?" You asked, remembering that she called you only because she couldn't reach him.

"He said he had an emergency meeting come up," Emma spoke her words carefully, earning raised eyebrows from you. "He left you alone with my daughter?" You had to confirm the words you were hearing and scoffed once she nodded.

"It's not your responsibility to take of my child, it's his. You're not her guardian nor babysitter, you shouldn't have to do that." Emma shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, "it's not the first time."

"How dare he?" You muttered under your breath before standing up and stepping closer to her. "We both have epipens for situations like this, and I am assuming that since you didn't know about her allergy, Tyler didn't tell you about the epipen either?”

Emma shook her head, "no, he didn't."

His lack of attention, led Isabella right to this moment. If he had told Emma about your daughter's allergy, or even what to do when she has allergic reaction, neither of you would be this worried about her health.

Emma, having realizing the depth of the situation, sighed, "I haven't been able to get a hold of him and if it weren't for Isabella constantly talking about you and telling me your phone number to the point where I had it memorized, I wouldn't have known what to do in this situation."

You pitied the woman standing in front of you, especially as you also knew that it was not her fault. You cracked a smile, "she talks about me huh?"

"Oh yeah, she considers you the best mother in the world, and based on her stories, I agree with her."

Then, you heard Max calling your name, walking towards you in a rush. He instantly wrapped an arm around your waist as if it was an instinct, "is she okay?"

Emma stepped away, picking up her phone for another useless attempt of calling her boyfriend.

You wrapped both arms around Max, bringing him in a hug, "yeah, she's okay."

Once he pulled back, he cradled your face with his palms, "are you okay?" You smiled, and your eyes filled with unshed tears because of his question. "Much better now."

Then, Max noticed your outfit which happened to be the dress you were supposed to wear on your date. "Wow," he breathed, his gaze unwavering, taking you in.

He was also dressed up, wearing a suit with a bow tie, and you couldn't help but reach up to touch it, "cute," you commented, making him raise his brows.

"Cute?" He repeated with a questioning tone. You nodded, biting your bottom lip to prevent a smile. "Cute and handsome."

"You are beautiful," he replied, watching as you avert your eyes because his gaze was intense.

"Oh, Max, this is Emma," you decided to introduce them, and added, "she's the one who brought Isabella here."

Max raised an eyebrow in question, "I thought Isabella was with Tyler?" He asked, directed at you more than Emma.

"Well, he wasn't home when this happened, only Emma and Isabella," you stated, and Max gauged your emotions for a moment, quickly recognizing the underlying rage you had directed at your ex. Max knew you'd be discussing this later, in the safety of your own house, so he didn't ask you to elaborate. 

A nurse came by, "Isabella is now conscious, and asking for her parents," they stated, along with the room number.

Emma looked at you and Max with a fond smile, before turning towards you, "I think I should get going now that you're here."

A genuine smile graced your lips, "thank you, Emma, for bringing her here and for staying with her even without him."

"Of course, she's the cutest little girl and I'm glad to get to know her." Both of you stood still for a moment, debating on whether or not you should hug her. Then, without thinking twice you initiated a hug that was easily welcomed by her.

You waited till she left your sights before looking at Max, "let's go?" You held out your hand but he shrugged, "she's asking for her parents, you should go."

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand, "you're coming with me," you decided for him. Although Max didn't pull away, he asked, "what if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Trust me, she'll be happy to see you," you convinced him and walked towards the room she was admitted in while holding each other's hand.

When you entered, Isabella's smile widened once she spotted you and Max. "Mama, Maxy!" She cheered, though quieter than usual.

A nurse stood by her side, monitoring her health and checking the IV drip inserted into your daughter's arm.

"Oh my angel, how are you?" You dropped Max's hand and walked closer to her, lightly kissing her forehead. Instead of a verbal response, she formed a thumbs up with her hand.

Then she looked at the door again, "is daddy coming too?" Isabella asked, sounding hopeful. You shook your head, "no sweetheart, daddy is not coming."

Instead of the usual deflated mood, she shrugged, "it's okay, Maxy's here." She held her arms around asking for a hug, only flinching for a moment since she forgot about the drip connected to her arm.

Max quickly stepped forward, bending over to hug her. "All good, Bella?" He asked, once he felt her arms wrap around him tighter. She nodded for a moment then shook her head against him, "it hurts," she whispered.

He brought his hand up to ruffle her hair before pulling away, "you are a very brave girl."

"Really?" She asked, and scooted over a little so Max could sit beside her. He nodded, "of course! Very brave."

She beamed, snuggling closer to him before looking at you. "Mama, come here," she patted the other side, and surprisingly the three of you were able to fit on the very small hospital bed.

A nurse was constantly in the room, checking in on Isabella's health from time to time and since there weren't any repeated symptoms of an allergic reaction, the three of you were out of the hospital in a few hours.

Max followed you in his car, and carried your sleeping daughter inside the house. Instead of taking her straight to her bedroom, he laid her down on the couch in case she wakes up and needs her mother.

It was safe to say that you were not going too far away from her any time soon.

You were in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water when he returned. He stood behind you, with his hands trailing down your sides before resting on your waist, and his chin on your shoulder. "Did I tell you how stunning you look?"

You hummed, "maybe a few times but I don't mind hearing it again."

He turned you around in his grasp, "well, you look breathtakingly beautiful."

You blushed, "you and your compliments," you chuckled. "What's wrong with it?" He asked, but you shook your head, "nothing, it's just I'll never get bored of hearing it."

He smiled, "good, because you'll be hearing at least one every day."

You tilted your head to the side, "every day? Are you sure you won't run out?" He shook his head, "not unless you keep finding ways to make me speechless."

Both of you remained in that position for a moment but then you frowned, "I'm sorry,"

"For what?" He tilted your chin up as soon as you averted your gaze away from him. "We weren't able to go on the date."

Max let out a sound in protest, "I'm pretty sure your daughter's health matters so much more than our date night. Plus the night isn't over," he added with a smile, confusing you even further.

"What does that mean?" He parted away from you and it quickly made you miss the warmth that his body provided you. "Why don't you go change into something comfortable," he suggested, almost pushing you out of the kitchen.

You weren't opposed to the idea, so you went upstairs to change after checking on your daughter. You found the most comfortable pair of sweatpants and a shirt, and removed your makeup as well.

Walking back downstairs, you saw Max waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you. He had removed his blazer and bow tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt as well.

He held out his hand, waiting for your hand to hold his, and although you were confused, you wouldn't pass up an opportunity to hold his hand.

"It's not much, definitely not up to first date standards but we'll manage," he commented as he led you to the kitchen table where he had prepared two packets of instant noodles.

"I haven't been on a date in forever so anything you do will set my standards." You smiled when you noticed the lit candle.

"Well, then I will raise your standards next time by taking you out on a proper date." He held the chair out for you, waiting for you to sit before rounding the table and sitting down himself.

It took two minutes before Max moved his own chair right next to yours because he didn't want to sit on the opposite side. You chuckled at his antics but it was much appreciated.

"What's on your mind?" he asked once he saw you visibly thinking. You shrugged, "I don't think we should be discussing these thoughts on a first date."

"This is far from what a first date should be like, so there are no rules. I know you want to talk about what happened at the hospital," he prompted and he was spot on, so you agreed.

"I can't believe he actually left Isabella under Emma's supervision. Not that there is anything wrong with her, but it's not her responsibility!" Max nodded in agreement, "where was he?"

"In a fucking meeting," you exasperated, eating another forkful of the noodles. "It must've been very stressful for Emma," you sighed, finishing your short rant because you truly had no words for your ex's irresponsible behaviour.

Still, Max listened to every word. Once you were finished eating, he turned your chair towards him. "We can agree on the fact that he is an incompetent father."

"Yeah, I don't even know what would've happened if Emma wasn't there either. He surely wouldn't have left Bella alone right?"

Max shrugged, "hey, stop worrying about what could've happened. Bella's safe, she's okay." He placed a palm on your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

You nodded, "you're right." Making eye contact with him, you were quickly lost in his gaze. While it almost made you want to look away, you couldn't.

"You know," you started, wanting to divert away from the current topic. He hummed, urging you to go on.

"I don't really care for an extravagant date, all I really need is you. I'm happy with this, with us." He smiled, to the point where you could notice the creases forming at the corners.

"I'm happy with us too, but I will be taking you out on an extravagant date because you deserve it, as well as much more."

You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing that it would be hard to convince Max otherwise, but you could think of a few ways to try when the time comes.

"Thank you for being here with me," you added, needing him to know about your appreciation. Your words also hinted at all the moments he shared with you, and Isabella.

He seemed to understand your hint, "I'm glad to be here with you, both of you."

Taglist: (continuing the taglist in comments) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART II)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Smut (MDNI 18+), incest, step-sibling incest, gangbang (-ish?), nipple stimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, getting caught, mentions of death, alcohol consumption, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said.

WC: 5.0k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As war brewed in Westeros, the land of Dorne basked in the golden sun and its sweeping dunes. The ravens from House Targaryen had been met with little favour, and House Martell found their desperation rather amusing. 

In the Old Palace of Sunspear, Princess Y/n and Prince Elyas Martell lounged in the Solar, a secluded chamber reserved for their idle indulgence, always with a cup of wine in hand. The space, bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the thin organdy curtains, was filled with the scent of magnolias, a flower that so rarely thrived in the harsh conditions in the desert. 

The siblings had been raised under a veil of extravagance, tasted the rarest delicacies, worn the most exquisite fabrics, and known pleasures that most could never fathom. Yet, they sat in the heart of Old Palace, gazing out at the unchanging arid scenery before them, left with a lingering sense of disillusionment. The world outside their palace walls offered little more than echoes of what they had already experienced, and each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax.

The company of the siblings was never without their sworn protectors, the bastard sons of Prince Qoren, Casymir and Leoran Sand, whose presence was like the shadows of the Prince and Princess, mostly unnoticed, but part of them nonetheless. The twins were leaning on the double doors, their golden spears placed against the wall as they listened to the Prince and Princess' idle conversations with a hint of amusement on their faces. 

"Can you believe them, sister?" Elyas licked the wine off his lower lip. He was slumped on the settee with Y/n’s legs resting on his lap. "Asking for your hand through a raven? That boy of three-and-ten from House Briar showed more courage than those Dragonlords," he chuckled, remembering how the young lord showed up by the gates of the Old Palace with nothing more than the promise of a life free from hardships and an heir that will make Dorne even more prosperous than it already was.

"That boy looked like he still fed on his mother's tit," Casymir, the older twin laughed.

Princess Y/n merely rolled her eyes, too tired to jest with them. She took another sip of wine as her eyes lazily stared at Elyas' hands gently massaging her legs. 

"What bothers me is that Father is still taking his time to send ravens back to those Dragonlords," she muttered. "He usually wouldn't bother to respond to any plea for support involving other houses, so it's possible that he might be considering our alliance."

"You read both messages Father sent them, he clearly refused any deal they proposed," Elyas' hands crawled to her thighs, disappearing under the silken fabric of her dress and began kneading her lean muscles.

"Of course he did. He wouldn't want to make it seem like we yield so easily," Y/n traced the edge of her cup with her finger. "Father is many things, but he's not a fool. He knows that they're expecting him to refuse. The longer he plays this game, the more desperate they'll become, and... mayhaps he sees more value in keeping them on edge."

"And what about the Velaryon boy?" Leoran asked.

"What about him?" She sighed, growing irritated as the past few weeks' conversations seemed to circle back to the Targaryens.

"How does it feel to have the future king of the realm seeking your hand?" He asked.

"He's no different from the others. A man is still a man, no matter his title. And so far, they've all shown me nothing I haven't already seen," Y/n’s gaze drifted out the window, her expression indifferent. 

"Be truthful now, sister," Elyas teased, moving his hands even closer to her womanhood as he continued to massage her thighs. "Don't tell me the idea of marrying a dragon rider doesn't excite you."

"Those dragon riders tried to conquer our lands before, why would I want to marry one of them?" She asked with a hint of annoyance, realising shortly how Elyas was just trying to provoke her. She took another sip of wine. Although it was typical for her brother to irritate her on purpose, she still enjoyed the touches that came along with it.

"So you wouldn't even consider marrying him?" He parted her legs slightly, snaking his hand between her thighs as began to tease her clothed slit.

"No," she frowned, growing frustrated as Elyas kept teasing her, knowing all too well how to pull her strings and make her surrender under his touch. 

The twins' eyes were fixed on them, a smirk spreading across their faces as they watched her grind her hips against his palm. Y/n sat up and Elyas got on his knees, hiking up her dress and fully exposing her legs to them. Leoran began to palm his cock through his trousers at the sight of Elyas peeling away Y/n’s undergarments, his eyes never missing the thin string of her arousal that clung to the fabric. He pushed her legs further apart, making sure that the twins could see how her tight hole clenched and unclenched, welcoming even the slightest touch.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince?" Elyas purred. He felt his erect cock painfully straining against his trousers as his fingers sunk into the soft flesh of her ass, pulling her closer to him until her cunt was merely inches away from his face. He was tempted to delve his tongue into her needy hole, yet he resisted and began to nip and suckle on her inner thigh. "Answer me, sister," he demanded, his dark eyes looking up at the Princess.

Y/n huffed at his words, growing impatient as she knew that Elyas was going to keep up his sweet torment until he heard what he wanted to hear.

"Even if he's the Crown Prince," she echoed his words, her skin prickling as she felt his hot breath fanning on her entrance. 

The Prince seemed to have been satisfied with her response as his tongue lapped at her wet folds without a warning, tearing a moan from her as his nose occasionally nuzzled against her clit, making her buckle her hips against his face. 

She lazily tore her eyes from her brother and fixed her gaze on the twins, whose trousers and breastplates were already discarded on the floor, exposing their lean muscles akin to a bronze sculpture. They were pumping their cocks at the sight of her wet cunt being feasted on by Elyas, who was still fully dressed, as he was too lost in devouring the sweet taste of her juices. When the Princess made eye contact with them, they nodded and stood up, understanding her silent command. They sat on either side of Y/n, their cocks twitching as she placed her hands on their thighs. Then she turned to face Casymir, cupped his cheek and stared up at him with half-lidded eyes before leaning forward for an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue swirling around hers. 

Leoran tucked the Princess' hair back, exposing her neck. He began to trail wet kisses from under her ear and stopped at the hollow of her neck as he fondled her breast, teasing her erect nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric of her dress. Still unsatisfied, he pulled the strap down, partly exposing her chest. Leoran pressed his face against the soft flesh, taking in her sweet scent before he brushed his lips against her nipple and began suckling on it like a hungry babe. 

Casymir slipped the other strap off her shoulder, and her dress bunched around her waist, fully exposing her chest. The warm breeze caressed her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Imitating his younger twin, Casymir's lips latched on to the other nipple and pulled, almost painfully, and he released it with a loud pop before repeating his actions. When he was finished tormenting the sensitive bud, he took as much of her breast in his mouth, hungrily swirling his tongue around the soft flesh.

As the twins sucked on each of her tits and Elyas had his face buried in her cunt, Y/n reached down to grab the twins' cocks that jolted with her touch, already oozing with precum. She began stroking their lengths, feeling how the thick veins pulsated against her palms. 

Y/n’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, unable to bear how they feasted on her flesh as if she were a lamb being devoured by wolves. No one in the room was holding back their moans, filling the space with obscene noises. The Solar, which had just been meticulously tidied by the servants, had now turned into a chaotic scene of disarray: cushions from the settee were scattered haphazardly, some thrown onto the ground, whilst their cups of wine had tipped over, leaving dark red stains that seeped into the rugs.

Feeling the fire pooling low in her abdomen, she knew that it was up to Elyas whether she got to cum or not.

"Swear it to me, sister," Elyas stopped sucking her clit, only to slide two fingers into her weeping cunt. "Swear to me that I'll be your betrothed. You and I shall rule Dorne together."

He alternated between curling his digits and pumping them in and out, hitting her sweet spot with ease and causing her to arch her back in delight. At that moment, the Princess only sought the pleasure of her own release. Enslaved with the rush that was coming, she parted her lips, ready to seal the promise.

"I—"

Just before she could finish speaking, the doors of the Solar flung open with a loud crash. 

The four of them snapped out of their trance, their faces clouded with irritation that someone had dared to interrupt the high they were chasing. Ser Domeric Uller, the informant of House Martell, stood unimpressed at the wanton scene before him, already used to the siblings' shenanigans.

"My Princess, my Prince," Ser Domeric began, "Rhaenyra Targaryen is in the Hall of the Sun, and your presence has been requested immediately."

The unexpected arrival of the Targaryens on dragonback had been received as a threat of battle. When the Dornish sails spotted the winged beasts tearing the clouds apart, their hearts pounded with dread. The three dragons shattered the peaceful Dornish skies with their deafening roars, sending shockwaves of terror through the port city of Sunspear. The smallfolk, who had never seen such creatures so close, scattered back to their homes, their fear spreading like wildfire.

Princess Y/n muttered under her breath as she made her way to the Hall of the Sun, trying to compose herself as she had barely taken a moment to ensure she didn't appear dishevelled. Her previous dress had been crumpled, forcing her to hastily throw on another while urging her handmaiden to make her hair look presentable. With each step, she could still feel the uncomfortable cling of arousal on her thighs. She was closely followed by her brother and their sworn protectors, who weren't any less irritated than she was, as they fumbled with their trousers. 

Their youngest brother, Prince Farien, was already waiting for them outside the hall with Ser Domeric, who couldn't stand still.

"Is everything alright, Farien?" Y/n asked the boy.

"D- dragons..." he whispered. "They brought dragons..."

Y/n and Elyas exchanged a look of concern, but her eyes widened, catching how Elyas' chin was still glistening with her arousal. 

"Wipe your chin," she hissed.

Elyas complied, wiping his face with the sleeve of his tunic, staining it in the process. The siblings and the twins stared at each other, ensuring that there was no trace of what had just happened moments ago. With one final nod, Casymir and Leoran pushed the doors open, clearing a wide path for Prince Qoren's children.

The three Martells, adorned in their house's colours and draped in golden jewellery that chimed with each step they took, resembled the radiant rays of the sun. Y/n and Elyas sauntered across the hall with their heads held high, feeling the piercing gaze of the Targaryens they had yet refused to look in the eye. Elyas' eyes swept over the hall with a dismissive air, trying to mask the dread running down his spine as he heard the dragons' deafening screeches nearby for the first time, while Prince Farien ran across the hall and jumped onto his father's lap.

There was no way to read Prince Qoren's expression. How must he have felt at that moment? The Targaryens, their rivals, had arrived in Sunspear unannounced with three dragons, no less, inciting fear among his people and sparking rumours that they had come once again to conquer their lands.

"Father," Y/n greeted Prince Qoren with a quick peck on his cheek. 

Prince Qoren hummed in response as he rubbed his youngest son's back to soothe him. Even at his advanced age of five-and-sixty, Prince Qoren's striking features weren't any less noticeable. If it weren't for the shadows in his eyes that had seen countless battles and tribulations, and his silvering curls that were once as black as ink, he would've been easily mistaken as his son Elyas in his youth.

Y/n perched herself on the armrest of her father's seat, while Elyas casually leaned on the other side. The four Martells stared at the Targaryens, their poised, disinterested stance akin to a nest of vipers, coiled and ready to strike at anyone who dared come too close.

"House Targaryen, you stand before the presence of Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear, Prince of Dorne; Princess Y/n Martell of Sunspear; Prince Elyas Martell of Sunspear; and Prince Farien Martell of Sunspear," Ser Domeric announced, his deep voice reverberating through the hall. 

Ser Domeric finished introducing the Martells, their faces refusing to betray their racing thoughts, showing nothing more but contempt in their dark eyes. 

"House Martell, you have been graced by the presence of Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men; the King Consort, Daemon Targaryen; and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Crown Prince, who have travelled all the way from Dragonstone."

The Targaryens strode to the centre of the hall, followed by three guards who never stopped pointing their spears at them, though that didn't prevent them from exuding the same air of superiority that marked their bloodline. Rhaenyra took a step forward, and Daemon and Jacaerys dutifully bent their knees in reverence to their queen.

A suffocating silence fell over the hall as the Martells remained motionless.

"Bend the knee and show respect before your Queen," Daemon commanded, his gaze defiant against the Martells.

Y/n and Elyas shared a quick look before bursting into laughter, their father joining in until his face turned red. 

"Have you forgotten where you are, my King Consort?" Prince Qoren asked with a deep, mocking chuckle, unbothered by the palpable tension brewing in the hall. "We Martells refuse to bend the knee for you, Dragonlords. Never have, and never will."

Daemon Targaryen's face twisted in indignation, not tolerating the blatant disrespect. Had they been in Dragonstone, their heads would no longer be attached to their bodies. His fingers tightly curled around the grip of his sword, but Rhaenyra's subtle gesture made him stop. 

"Has your independence also prevented you from learning manners, Prince Qoren?" Daemon asked through his teeth. 

"Mayhaps our independence has spared us from the Targaryen's arrogance that comes with sitting on the Iron Throne too long," he raised his cup at him.

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken..." Rhaenyra recited House Martell's motto, trying to defuse the tension. "Prince Qoren, we are well aware that House Martell has proudly stood on its own. We have respected your sovereignty throughout the years, and we have no intention of disturbing that peace. We did not come here to conquer, but to forge an alliance."

"Yet you arrive in our lands with three dragons, ready to reduce Sunspear into ashes at your command?" Y/n raised her brow, her gaze locked with Rhaenyra's, each daring the other to look away.

"If we intended to burn Sunspear, Princess, we would have done so already," Daemon retorted.

"Oh, so now we're to be grateful we're still alive?" Elyas scoffed.

"Prince Qoren, let me ask you, you would not want history to repeat itself, would you?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Is that a threat?" Prince Qoren asked back, any trace of amusement in his face now gone.

"I am merely stating that once the Greens win this war, they will seek to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, and Dorne will not be spared."

"We have successfully stood our ground in the First Dornish War. What makes you think we can't do it again?" Prince Qoren asked.

"No house will be safe from Aemond's wicked hand, my Prince," Daemon stated. "That boy honours nothing but cruelty, and is seduced by the promise of his own ascent."

"Doesn't sound so different from the rest of you," Prince Qoren scoffed. He reached for another cup of wine, taking a swig before he continued speaking. "Greens, Blacks... What does it matter? Why would we want to get involved in this war in any way, if we could just sit back and watch you burn your own house to the ground?"

As they bickered back and forth, Y/n and Jacaerys shared a look. The Princess couldn't deny the Velaryon boy was rather pleasing to look at, but she already had her fair share of good-looking lords who met the same fate as the rest of her suitors. 

"Prince Qoren," Prince Jacaerys spoke for the first time, "I know that with the history of our houses, it is easy to dwell in the past, but we did not travel all the way from Dragonstone to reopen old wounds. We came here to heal them. We intend to make amends for the past and to forge a new path forward, one that begins with my request for the hand of your daughter, Princess Y/n," he rose from the ground, his eyes defiant.

"And you couldn't come alone, boy? Did you need your mother to hold your hand while you do so?" Prince Qoren chuckled, his eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "Prudent of you, I suppose. But Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions. However, if it's the hand of my daughter you seek, she will be the one to decide whether or not you are worthy."

Prince Jacaerys clenched his jaw, trying to ignore Prince Qoren's attempts at ridiculing him. 

"I know the Princess must have faced countless suitors and is growing restless about their never-ending courtship, all promising her wealth, power, and lands she already possesses in abundance. But let me ask you, Princess, have any of them offered you the chance to become the Queen?" 

"How bold of you to ask for my sister's hand without first proving yourself worthy," Elyas spoke in his sister's stead, seeing how she didn't seem completely opposed to the Velaryon boy's proposal. "The Princess wouldn't entertain any proposal without a trial by battle, as you may have noticed from the rotting corpses of her suitors in the desert," he taunted the Velaryon boy.

Y/n shot her brother a sharp glance and he merely shrugged back, as if to say that it was his duty to put the arrogance of the Crown Prince in place.

"It's a tempting offer, my Prince, but I don't care much for titles. I'm of sun and sand, and my duties lie here in Dorne," Y/n said, examining the young prince before her. He stood with confidence and poise, yet there was a naive glimmer in his eyes as if he believed his proposal would be accepted without question. "However, if you wish to seek my hand, I won't deny you the chance, but as my brother said, you must prove your courage in battle if you wish to be taken seriously. You've shown me what you're willing to offer, but what are you willing to sacrifice?" She smirked, challenging the young prince.

Jacaerys stiffened at Y/n’s words, feeling the weight of her challenge. He recalled the lifeless body of a boy from House Briar in the desert, just one among countless lords from other houses who were once known for their swordsmanship skills but had been reduced to nothing more than a feast for crows. His expression faltered for a moment, the confidence he had displayed wavering under the pressing gaze of the Princess. He glanced at his mother and Daemon, seeking reassurance, only to realise they also shared the same look of uncertainty.

"I came here to forge an alliance, not to shed blood," he replied, his voice steady despite his heartbeat thundering against his chest. "But if it is courage you seek, then I will show you that I am not one to shy away from a challenge," he said, forcing himself to meet Y/n’s gaze. 

"Very well," the Princess replied, a satisfied smile curling on her lips. "The trial shall commence on the morrow. I trust the Prince is weary from his long journey, so let him rest well."

It was the hour of the wolf, and the unease in the Old Palace was palpable. The restlessness wasn't only confined to its walls as even the smallfolk were on edge, since word had spread that war was imminent. The distant screeches of winged beasts echoed through the night sky, stirring memories of the First Dornish War.

Prince Elyas kept glaring daggers at the back of his sister's head as he followed her to the Council Chamber, where their father awaited them.

"What was that?" Elyas grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to face him. "What happened to not considering his proposal, sister?" 

Prince Farien, who walked hand in hand with his sister, cocked his head as he watched his older siblings exchange words heatedly. 

"Are they going to feed us to their dragons if you say no to the Prince?" He asked, looking up at his older sister. 

"You'll be the first one they'll be eating," Elyas muttered, causing the boy to shudder. 

"Don't listen to him, Farien. I won't let that happen," she cupped the little boy's cheek and glared at Elyas.

"I could see it in your eyes, sister. You were tempted to agree," Elyas kept pressing her, trying to mask the pain in his voice with anger.

"Mayhaps your jealousy is clouding your judgement, brother," she said, continuing her stride and not giving him the satisfaction of engaging with the argument. "The Prince is merely another suitor, like the many lords who have previously sought my hand. It's only fair that I give him the same opportunity as the others."

"Then let me fight for you this time, and once I defeat him I shall finally take your hand like we've always planned. I've waited far too long, sister."

"This isn't your battle to fight, Elyas," she muttered, entering the Council Chamber as Casymir and Leoran remained outside, guarding the doors.

"Father," they said in unison, taking their seats around the golden table. 

Prince Qoren rubbed his greying beard, lost in thought, with an empty cup in hand. Y/n caressed Farien's wild curls as he plopped himself on her lap, his legs barely able to reach the ground. 

"I wish to speak with Y/n, alone," Prince Qoren said.

After a moment of silence, Elyas stood up begrudgingly, never tearing her gaze from his sister, who didn't shy away from glaring back.

"Very well, Father," Elyas replied, taking his younger brother in his arms, and trying to not let his father's dismissal affect him. 

The doors closed behind them, leaving father and daughter alone in the Council Chamber.

"Is something the matter, Father?" She leaned back into her seat, taking the cup of wine that her father poured her. 

"I must admit, I'm at a loss," he sighed, defeated. "Gods... how has everything come to this? These bloody Targaryens have nothing better to do than start wars they can't finish on their own," he sighed as he shook his head. "We always used to laugh at the Old King Viserys, but he would've never allowed this to happen. Twenty-six years! That old man has given us twenty-six years of peace, only to be disrupted by his children's tomfoolery!" he took another swig from his cup, wiping the droplets with his sleeve. "I truly had no intention of taking part in this war, but if the Triarchy is involved, then we are left in an extremely vulnerable position."

Y/n nodded her head, listening intently to her father, already knowing where his argument would take a turn.

"Tell me, daughter. What do you think the Greens offered the Triarchy in exchange for their support?" He asked.

"The Stepstones," she replied firmly. "Up until Daemon's conquest, the Stepstones haven't belonged to anyone. But if the Triarchy ends up getting a hold of it, then they would have the leverage to disrupt our trade routes and invade our territories."

Prince Qoren hummed with satisfaction at his daughter's words. 

"What are you implying, Father?" Y/n asked.

"There is no way out for us in this war, Y/n," he said in resignation. "It only leaves us with two options. Join Rhaenyra, or face the Triarchy once their war is over."

The Princess pursed her lips, refusing to accept either of the choices they had.

"We'd be fools to wage war against the Triarchy," the Princess shook her head. "And if they have the Greens' support, whatever fate befell them in this war could easily become our own. As the Blacks have blockaded the Gullet, they could just as easily set a blockade in the Narrow Sea."

"So that leaves us with—"

"There must be another way. How could you even think of that, Father?" She cut him off, unable to control the anger that was bubbling in her chest. "You wish to aid the house that tried to burn ours to the ground?"

"And you think I haven't dwelled on that already?" Prince Qoren asked. "They're offering us to make an alliance, and we have the upper hand—"

"They want to make us think that. We don't have the upper hand if they're doing it on their own terms, Father. It should be us who set the conditions, since they need us more than we need them," Y/n slammed her fist against the table, standing up, not expecting her father to give up so easily. 

The Princess took a few deep breaths, feeling guilty after raising her voice at her own father.

"Forgive me, Father. I overreacted," she looked down. "I appreciate your trust for only letting me hear your thoughts, but I don't think Elyas nor the rest of the council would take your stance well, either."

"Your brother needs to learn from you. He has a long way to go, but his unruly temper will be his demise."

"Truth be told, we aren't much different from one another," she smiled sadly. "But please, Father. We must tread carefully. I know these are dire times and we can't keep running away from conflict forever, but there must be a way around this."

"Listen to me, my dear daughter," Prince Qoren looked at the Princess with solemn eyes. "Your great-grandsire had told me about the First Dornish War when I was merely a boy of five. He still recalled how his father, Prince Nymor, told the events as though they were a tale of glory. But he saw things differently. He saw things as they truly were. Our people paid in blood, and the sands of Dorne were stained red with the lives lost during those dark years.

When Aegon Targaryen and his sisters came to our lands, they brought a storm of fire and death. Countless were burned alive in their homes as they ran for their lives. The dragons did not distinguish between soldiers and children, between the rich and the poor, and mothers watched their children burn as fathers tried to protect their families in vain.

And yet, despite all this, we endured. But at what cost, Y/n? At what cost did we keep our independence? Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost, families were destroyed, and our lands were left in ruins. The legacy of that war is not just our freedom, but the memory of the suffering our people endured. That is the burden we carry, the price that was paid. 

And if what they say about that boy Aemond is true, if he plans to bring the whole of Westeros to heel, then I fear that'll be the beginning of the Second Dornish War... and as your father, that is something I don't want you, your brothers, and our people to ever live."

Once Prince Qoren stopped speaking, his eyes were filled with sorrow, and Y/n couldn't help but reach for his hand.

"Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"You are to become the Princess of Dorne once I pass," Prince Qoren smiled sadly. "I wish I could carry the burden of this choice, so you won't have to bear its consequences but..."

"Father, I—"

"Tomorrow's trial will determine more than just your marriage with the Velaryon boy. It will shape the future of Dorne. We may well find ourselves bound to a war that is not our own, or face the Greens and the Triarchy, marking the start of the Second Dornish War. I'm truly sorry that you have to bear this burden, but the decision rests with you."

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I want to thank you all for the overwhelming support on this fic. I already have a couple of ideas for Chapter 3, and we will be seeing even more action!

Some of the lines might sound a bit familiar, for example, 'each new day arrived with the inevitable savour of anti-climax,' which is inspired by TGG when Nick was talking about Tom Buchanan, and I thought it perfectly described the life the Martells siblings had been living.

Another one is 'Dorne has danced with dragons before, and I would sooner sleep with scorpions,' which is actually Prince Qoren's reply to Otto Hightower's letter when he was asking for support during the Dance of Dragons (according to the asoiaf wiki).

Also, idky but at first I was imagining Qoren Martell as Mario Cimarro (Pasión de Gavilanes, anyone?) because I can just totally see him playing the role of someone being a super sarcastic bossbitch ruler while having a soft spot for his daughter. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on which actors the rest of the OCs remind you of, especially the twins and Elyas! And if I have time, I might do one of those 'get to know your OC' posts hehe.

If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Until next time ;)

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a @yohanseyebrowmole @dracaryxzs @ladyofvelaryon @burningwitchobject @lovelyteenagebeard @redtragedyarcade @dragonrider-3000 @labellapeaky @winter-soldier-101

[annwrites]

a call to arms. part one.

— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: desperate to provide aid to your starving family due to the blockade, you venture, along with a great many other lowborns, to dragonstone, in hopes of gaining something—anything—which you might bring back to them; something to fill your little sister's belly.

things turn out quite the opposite as planned, as what you now believe to be a mad queen, locks all of you in her dragonpit, and you're forced to run, hide, & fend for your lives against two hungry dragons.

in the end, only two individuals are left standing: hugh hammer, who has now claimed for himself vermithor...and you—chosen by silverwing.

just when you believe things can't possibly get any worse, you then meet prince jacaerys.

— word count: 1,674

— a/n: do i have a fuck-ton of other fics & stuff to work on? idk, bc we are not going to talk about it. ok? <3

— tagging list: @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @emilynissangtr

He grinds his teeth together, filled with utter contempt—disgust—that whatever you are—bastards, lowborns, flea-ridden rats—are now, above all else, dragonriders.

And he is meant to share common spaces with you now? Such as the Great Hall? Meant to pass you in the halls and tolerate the sight of you?

To ride alongside you?

To treat you with...what? Kindness? Generosity for having 'come to his mother's aid'? He will most certainly not be treating, nor addressing you as an equal. Either of you.

To be a dragonrider...it is a sacred bond. And now he is meant to believe that even the lowest scum Flea Bottom has to offer has the same right as he to sail the skies, unleashing fire and blood upon the enemy?

Never.

He will never.

The rest of them got what they deserved for thinking they had any right to claim that which is meant only for those like him.

Queens and kings, princes and princesses, lords and ladies alike.

He is better than both of you.

Even if he is similar in ways he does not want to admit...

Boots echo against stone floors, dark curls falling over dark eyes, a brooding temperament within.

Jacaerys emerges into the Great Hall, Hugh promptly rising from his seat, bowing his head. "My Prince."

Jacaerys studies him for but a moment, briefly judging the plain-colored clothes he dons, before turning his sights across the room to you, who is seated between two stained-glass windows, arms wrapped around your bent knees, while you cast your attentions outward, instead of on him.

Your Prince.

Your superior.

He clenches his jaw at the sight of your long, silver hair that moonlight casts in an ethereal glow, making it appear as if it is sparkling. Cascading down your back like molten silver in soft waves.

"You there—girl—do you know how incredibly rude it is for you not to stand and curtsy when in the presence of royalty?"

You jolt—torn from tormented memories of but a couple days past; of people running, screaming for mercy. Dying choking on their own blood as dragonfire burns them alive.

None of you had anticipated—had imagined—that the very queen you were coming to, under the guise of offering your aid to in the war, would lock you in a room to be eaten by terrifying beasts.

Aegon deserves the throne in comparison to such a monster.

You have made a great mistake, mayhaps. Then again, becoming a dragonrider has already filled your belly, provided you with clean sheets to sleep upon, a guard outside your door, hot baths.

But it is not you who needs these things. You want them for your family.

There is no turning back now, however. You knew as much with certainty when that silver dragon laid her head at your feet before leaning forward, brushing her warm snout against your abdomen while you struggled to contain your bladder and bowels. While you sobbed hysterically, begging for mercy from a being that you do not so much as share a common language with.

You know not a word of High Valyrian, though you will now be expected to learn, you suppose.

Among many other things. Such as how to ride the animal...

Your stomach twists nervously at the thought.

You turn away from the window, slide off the ledge, then grab your skirts in either of your hands before tucking a foot behind your other ankle, bowing. "My Prince."

He scoffs, coming closer. "That was the worst curtsy I've ever seen."

You fold your hands in front of you, keeping your eyes downcast. "Forgive me, My Prince, it is...the first time I've attempted one."

He rolls his eyes, settling his arms behind his back before glancing over his shoulder to Hugh, jerking his head toward the hall he's just come from, and he quickly makes himself scarce.

He looks back to you.

"And what is your name?" He demands.

"Y/N," you state quietly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You are to look at me while we're speaking. Do you understand?"

You nod, trailing your eyes upwards—over a red-and-black velvet tunic, the three-headed symbol of his house embroidered upon the breast—until they're looking into hues of chocolate-brown.

He clenches his hands into tight fists behind his back.

You've every trademark of a pure Targaryen: silver hair, lilac eyes—with flecks of violet—skin so fair it's near-translucent, delicate features.

He fucking loathes you for every asset which you possess and he does not.

He would never—will never—state it aloud, but you look far more Targaryen than he ever will.

He wishes one of the dragons had taken you down its gullet as well. That way, he would not be forced to suffer the nigh-daily sight of you now.

He looks you over, circling you like a dragon does its prey—desperate to find something he may use to mock you with; some imperfection—before standing tall before you again.

"You think wearing rags before your Queen's court appropriate?"

Your expression quickly settles into a scowl.

Good, he thinks. Give him an excuse to introduce you to the Queen's justice. He is silently begging you for as much within his malice-filled gaze.

Your small hands clench into fists at your slender sides. "My mother made this dress for me."

His jaw ticks. "From now on, you will wear more suitable clothing when outside your private chambers—which means conservative in nature; not whatever men found desirable upon the Street of Silk. You are a representative of our house now. A dragonrider. A soldier to our cause. You will look the part."

Tears sting your eyes as yours bore into his own hatefully.

"I am not a whore," you reply contemptuously.

There is a beat of silence, his brows furrowing slightly. Surely you are lying. You have the look—more than.

And then you continue.

"And with what coin, My Prince?" You sneer.

He takes a step closer, causing you to shuffle backward, catching yourself against the window-ledge, the stone digging into your palms as you grip it to steady yourself.

He leans in close—your faces mere inches apart. "I beg your pardon?"

You do not shrink away from him.

Gods, you already hate him with all that you are.

"I came here for coin. Desperate for—"

"So greed is what sent you? Not to aid us in winning back my mother's throne? Her rightful seat. You come to steal away a dragon, and then what?"

"My family is starving!" You finally shout, at the end of your rope from the last few sleepless nights that've been filled with nightmares instead of rest; your temper having reached its limit. "My mother and little sister both! How would you feel if it were you? If your loved-ones were suffering, while all you could do is sit back and watch them waste away before you? So, yes, I came. I claimed a dragon—even if my intentions had only been merely to host audience with a clement queen who would provide aid to her suffering subjects. Not burn them alive for coming to help her!"

He grits his teeth. "You will watch your tongue, you insolent little wench. My mother sent boat-fulls of food to King's Landing. She has provided—"

You begin to laugh, with a lack of humor behind it all, cutting him off. "Oh, yes, how very kind of her to give aid to the very subjects she is responsible for the suffering of in the first place. The blockade is all your all's fault! People were fighting like dogs in the streets—assaulting—killing each other for a small sack of grain! I risked mine own life for a peck of potatoes! That's it! Even then, I was forced to wrestle a full-grown man off myself to get it. I was fortunate to escape with my life—with any food to speak of for my struggles!"

You step forward, forcing his royal highness to take a step back, and he swallows thickly.

"You've never known hunger a day in your life, have you? Never known what is it to wear 'rags' while you don your silk and velvet, while you sleep on thousand-thread count sheets, while you flout your jewels, and your fancy titles, and your gilded castles while the rest of us bow and scrape before your feet for a mere morsel of respect! You are meant to take care of us!"

Once you've finished, your heart pounds in your ears, your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, and it's then that you notice Prince Jacaerys' hand is tightly gripping the pommel of his sword—his knuckles having now gone white from the force.

Your eyes flit back to his, tears filling your own. "And I am meant to one day call you king, given we are 'successful' in our endeavors to win your mother back her glorified chair," you say, spitting the final word at him.

The two of you stand tall before the other, refusing to be the first one to break—your chins held high, even if your stomach is now twisting painfully into knots while your bowels turn to water.

If he puts you to death for your unimaginable disobedience—your disrespect...who will help your family then?

Your little sister... Your little girl.

She became as much when your mother went away in herself after your father's passing. It did not matter that you were still a mere child yourself when it happened. She became your responsibility to look after and tend to from that day forward.

And now...you feel as if you have failed her.

"Go to your room," he orders lowly, his body shaking from anger, brief pauses between each word.

You curtsy one last time.

"My Prince," you mumble, brushing past him, wanting to break something.

He stalks off in the opposite direction, feeling much the same: wanting to burn something—or, rather, someone—alive.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 You Says.

Post prison Reid x Reporter!reader

Read part one here!

Summary: After a rough night and some misunderstandings, Spencer needs to do everything he can to make things right with you and get his relationship back on track. The problem is, things aren't so easy for you, and he's willing to do anything you ask, even take care of you when no one else will.

Words: 3,1k.

TW: mentions of crime and trauma (normal warnings in the serie. angst+comfort. the reader gets sick (nothing serious, just a normal cold). a little mention of spencer's past traumas. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Ok, I didn't think of doing a second part before, but reading my own work made me so sad😭 the cat deserves happy parents (we are the cat) but I warn you that I do not believe in magic apologies.

As an interesting side note, both parts of this story are named after children's games. In this case, it's for "Simon Says," which I thought was pretty cool because in this part, Spencer literally does whatever the reader wants.

I also want to thank you for the support you gave to the first part and for the 300 followers💝 I could not say it before but it makes me very happy.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Spencer had been losing his mind since the last time he saw you in person, and it was all his fault. From the moment the door to his apartment closed behind you and the oven beeped, he began to feel the broken pieces of his heart that you had once held together unravel and shatter even more. He hated himself for letting his insecurities get in the way of the one good thing he had managed to have over the past few years, and for pushing you away when you didn't want to. You had been his exception among all the bad things that had happened in his life for as long as he could remember, the only one that didn't seem to want to be temporary and left him when he least expected it. And he himself had forced you out of his life, even when you didn't want to, begging him with tear-filled eyes for a little remorse that he didn't give you.

Just a few hours after the incident, he tried to go to work as if nothing had happened to clean up the mess the leak had made and put the killer in jail. He brought Penelope the promised cookies and your computer for her to examine because it felt right at the time. Part of him needed her to find real proof of your betrayal so he could stop feeling bad about making you cry and saying such ugly things to you.

Then he found out that you were telling the truth and that your computer contained nothing but photos of the two of you, all the articles he had ever written or been mentioned in your searches, and a few writings in which you poured out all your love for him in the cheesiest and most poetic way possible. You loved him, you really did, and there was no evidence to the contrary, because even Garcia could later assure him that the information had come anonymously and had been bought for five hundred dollars. But it was too late, because he had given you a conviction without even knowing it.

That's when he started to fixate on making amends for what he'd done. Every time you left work, bouquets of your favorite flowers with notes asking for forgiveness and wishing you a good night began to appear in your car. He also made a point of stopping by to talk to you and repeat how sorry he was. You knew this would happen when he realized his mistake. You had told him before you left, and that's why you refused to see him. It was good that the security guards at your workplace didn't let him in, even with his FBI credentials. The tricky part was your building because the doorman already knew him and let him in normally thanks to the excuses Spencer made up, even though you said a thousand times that he shouldn't have.

And that was happening again, for the fifth or sixth time in the last few days.

“Please, just let me talk to you and tell you how sorry I am. Listen to me for a moment.” You could hear Reid's voice from the other side of the door.

You didn't say anything. You just sat with your back against the door and one hand on your heart, as if you were trying to hold it. It didn't even cross your mind that he was in the same situation.

“Just a few minutes, please."

Once more, you remained silent.

Silence was the worst answer someone could give. You knew it, and it hurt to have to do it with him. But you had no choice because you knew that by looking into his eyes for just a few seconds, all the bad things would dissipate and maybe you would even forgive him without thinking just because of the love you had for him. You didn't like being this vulnerable and having so many feelings for someone who didn't trust you.

Lately, you've been spending every waking moment wondering what you could have done to make him believe that you were really capable of betraying him in such a cruel and selfish way. You were the one who woke up in the middle of the night to try to comfort him every time he had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. You drove to his apartment no matter what time it was to make sure he was okay. You lost your breath repeating that he was safe with you. You drank many cups of coffee the next day so you wouldn't fall asleep on the job every time the situation repeated itself. That's why you started sleeping in his apartment, wrapped in his arms because he said it made him happy to wake up and see you. And even with all that, Spencer was able to believe that you didn't love him.

You were running your hands through your hair and sighing, trying to block out all the thoughts running through your head, when you heard his phone ring. You could tell it was important by the way he spoke and changed his tone of voice, so you got up from the floor at the same time he did to put your ear to the door.

“I really have to go now, but could you open up a little bit so I can take a quick look at you?” He asked in a pleading tone after hanging up the call. “Please, I know you can hear me. I can see the shadow of your feet under the door.”

You really thought he didn't know you were there, feeling like a fool for listening to every word he said.

“If you want to see me, turn on the TV.” Your voice finally reached Spencer, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. It was the first time you had spoken to him since that night, and even though there was a door between the two of you, you were talking to him.

“It's not enough.”

“And it's not my problem.”

That was more hurtful than your silence.

“I know, it's mine.” He replied after a couple of seconds, trying to process everything. “And I will do everything I can to fix it...I have to go now, but take care of yourself. The nights have been getting colder lately, so wrap up warm.”

You knew it was a bit silly to think of that now, but his attention to detail was impressive. Since you did the evening news, you used to get off work very late, and the change from air conditioning to the city cold was quite a lot. Spencer had cited scientific studies to you many times to make you aware and know what kind of clothing materials to use to avoid a cold. You missed that a lot.

If he had the same attitude as the night of the conflict, it would be easier. You could hate him and stop loving him so strongly.

“I love you, William misses you and so do I.”

You frowned because you didn't know anyone by that name.

“William?”

“Our cat.” He answered simply. “When we talked about how we would name him, you said that a lot of people name their pets after their favorite characters. You love the movie ‘Notting Hill’ and whenever we watch it, you always say you like Hugh Grant's character named William. It also means strong-willed warrior. I just thought you would like it.”

You didn't say anything at the time because you had to cover your hand with your mouth to keep from doing so, but you liked it and you liked it too much. Once again, he focused on the details.

“You can change it if you want because I don't know if he likes it, but what I do know is that he misses you. He lies on your blanket and starts meowing, and he also looks at the door. I certainly think that every time I come home he expects it to be you.” He kept talking as he received no response from you. “It sounds like I'm talking about myself. And it's true because it happens to me the same way.”

When he paused, a tear escaped and fell down your cheek. It wasn't fair for him to say those things now.

“If you want to see him and me not being there, you can send me a message...but I'd really like to be.” He paused again, as if searching for the perfect words.

What did it cost him to have searched for the perfect words the night he distrusted you?

“I must go, I love you.”

The last thing you heard before he left was Spencer's footsteps heading towards the elevator.

Just two weeks later, you realized that maybe you should have listened to Spencer when he said the nights were getting too cold. If you had, now you probably wouldn't be lying on your bed with an unbearable flu and no one there to bring you soup or a cold washcloth for your forehead because your mother was taking too long to get to city.

When you were younger, you thought it was a great idea to get as far away from your hometown as possible. Now, however, you realize that you need a familiar face to take care of you because you can't do it alone all the time.

You felt a sense of relief when you heard the door to your apartment open.

“Mom? I'm really hungry and the soup is all gone.” You spoke in a tired tone as you heard footsteps approaching. But at that moment, you watched as the cat you shared with Reid jumped onto the bed and started purring at you.

You thought you were hallucinating from the fever until you saw Spencer walking into your room with a couple of bags.

“I know you were expecting your mother, but we brought you soup and medicine.” He said, sitting up in bed to look closely at you and put a hand on your forehead. “You're burning up.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

“Your mother called me because she couldn't find a flight today and was very worried. She asked me to take care of you.”

Of course she did, because she adored him and didn't know that things were bad between you two.

“I don't need you to take care of me.” You barely settled into bed and petted the cat. “Go to work, make sure no one leaks information.”

Oh, that was a low blow for him.

“I asked for a few days off because you have a high fever and someone needs to take care of you.”

“You don't have to...”

“I want to.” He said, interrupting you and putting a cold cloth on your forehead.

“Just because you're looking out for me doesn't mean I'm going to forget everything and forgive you.” You clarified right away, trying not to lose focus because of the relief you felt thanks to the cold compress.

“I know, and I don't expect you to. Just let me take care of you now, forget you hate me until you get better. I won't take advantage of this, I swear.” He looked at you with a serious gaze, as if he were swearing an oath. “Please.”

God, not puppy dog eyes now.

You used to love it when he looked at you with those sparkling eyes. Now, though, you felt manipulated by it.

“Fine, give me the soup.” You finally agreed, knowing you didn't have much of a choice. “Just a warning, please don't answer any calls near me. I can listen in and use the information to hire a nurse.”

He ignored the comment and didn't bring it up to make you uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, and his eyes searched yours as he spoke.

“Is there anything else besides soup I can bring you? More tissues, or maybe some medicine?” He asked in a soft, soothing voice.

You shook your head, still a bit dazed by the situation and your stomach rumbling. You watched as Spencer disappeared into the kitchen, and you could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the house, followed by the clatter of pots and pans and the sound of the stove being turned on. You could only lie back on your bed, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over you.

A few minutes later, he came back with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down next to you on the bed, being careful not to spill anything.

“Are you planning to feed me soup?” You asked, with a hint of irony in your voice, as you watched me hold the spoon and watch you.

“If you wish, I'll be happy to.” He replied simply and brought the spoon gently to your mouth.

“I'm not a baby.”

Especially not his baby.

“You hate me, I know. But I really want to take care of you, and I won't leave until at least your mother arrives.” He paused for a second, as if to catch his breath. “If you don't want me around, that's okay, I'll just sit in the corner of the room or in the living room in silence. It hurts, but I'll take whatever you want.”

You remained silent for several seconds, dedicating yourself to stroking the cat to avoid Spencer's gaze.

“I don't hate you.” Was the only thing you could say at the time.

Something inside you was expecting a more exaggerated reaction for letting your guard down a bit, or maybe you were just too feverish. The thing was, he had only given you a small, almost non-existent smile.

“I know.” He finally spoke and gently adjusted the cold compress on your forehead. “And that's why I hate myself.”

At that moment, while you were trying to make sense of how things had changed so much in just a week, he was watching you.

Spencer was waiting for you to explode, to tell him how sorry you were for getting involved with him and his complicated world, that it was all one big mistake that you would regret forever. He was expecting disaster, pain, tears, and a lot of chaos.

But you didn't give him any of that.

Just a sweet nothing.

He could tell at that moment that even though you were in a feverish state and had many reasons to be cruel, you would not be. He realized that you would never yell at him or do anything to hurt him, that the most painful thing you could give him was your silence. And it was then that he confirmed that you loved him the way he thought he did not deserve to be loved: honestly and genuinely.

“Why?” You whispered after a few minutes of silence. “Why are you with me if you don't trust me?”

“I trust you.” He looked you straight in the eye as he spoke, trying to show that he was being completely sincere. “I just don't trust myself.”

You frowned and let out a groan from the discomfort in your forehead. You weren't sure if you were hallucinating because of the cold or if Spencer was really shivering.

“I don't think I'm good enough for you, or deserve you, or that you love me because you want to.” He finally admitted, his voice slightly shaky. He seemed to be in a worse state than you. “It's silly because you've never given me a reason to distrust you.”

“I know you thought I was going to leave. But I didn't want to leave until you asked me to.” You were close to crying, so you pretended to sneeze to hide your watery eyes. You didn't want to show how vulnerable you were. “It was easier to distrust me and blame me like I was just another bad person you catch.”

“Yes, but...” He replied, trying to answer your question.

“Don't talk. It's my turn.”

He nodded after a few seconds, watching you with concern. “Just be careful, you're still sick.”

You already knew how sick you were and how deplorable you probably looked, but you wanted to say it all and stop feeling a lump in your throat.

“You say you trust me, but you really don't, and I've been trying to understand you for almost a year, Spencer. It's been eleven months of trying not to invade your space, avoiding topics that make you tense or your eyes glaze over.” You had to stop to catch your breath and drink some water with his help. “And you think I don't understand you or really know you, but I do. I know how all your dishes are arranged, I know how you like to fold clothes and eat toast, I know that chess reminds you of someone because your eyes get watery every time we see a board, I know about the book signed by Maeve that you hide in your closet and about which you tense up every time I'm near, I know about your nightmares about prison that you don't like to talk about, and about your mother's favorite colors that change every day. I know so much about you, and yet you think I know nothing.”

Once more, there was a long, quiet pause.

“I'm so sorry.” He held your hands as he repeated the same thing, this time with a truly sincere tone. The whole room was still tense as his knees touched the floor, and the apology he gave you seemed like a plea. “I'm really sorry. I know you don't want apologies, you want trust, and I'm going to show you that.”

You didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on the bed.

“I trust you, that's why I always tell you about my cases. And I will tell you about all my past, if you want, because for me you are my present and my future...of course, only if you still want to.”

The eyes of both of you were fixed on the cat you shared, who was purring and lying very comfortably in the middle of the bed. It was nice to know that at least one of the three of you was happy.

“Tell me.”

And just as you asked, he told you everything because he wanted to show you that he trusted you.

This time he really trusted.

[livwritessometimes]

King of My Heart

: Mason Mount x singer!reader

: Y/n realises that she’s finally ready to let go of the past

: Prev | Next

: Begin Again Series

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note: Were you able to guess the title? If not well there will be a next part 👀

…

liked by masonmount and 95,728 others

👤: kellypiquet, maxverstappen, joaofelix79, masonmount

Yourname: Life at it’s finest ✨

view all 80,628 comments

kellypiquet: We should go to photo booths more often!!

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: Yessss!!! Next time we’ll take P too 💕

*liked by kellypiquet*

maxverstappen: No more game night that’s for sure 👍🏻

→ Yourname: You’re just saying that because you lost at UNO

→ maxverstappen: I got 4 plus 4’s FOUR Y/N!!!! DO YOU THINK THAT’S A JOKE!

-> joaofelix79: seems like someone is still not over last night 🤭

-> Yourname: ikrrr like can you imagine 😂

-> User66: are you seeing Y/n and Joao’s CHEMISTRY!!! 😍😍

User02: why is mason not commenting???

-> User11: maybe because he doesn’t want to get involved with her and honestly good for him! She’s way to problematic for him anyways

joaofelix79 added to their story!

seen by Yourname and 53,490 others

liked by masonmount and 90,629 others

Yourname: Enjoying some down time 🕰️

view all 62,305 comments

joaofelix79: I wonder who bought that book for you 🤔

-> Yourname: don’t know, some fan maybe 🤷🏻‍♀️

-> joaofelix79: is that so 👀

User00: Istg why are they playing with my heart like that JUST TELL US IF YOU’RE DATING OR NOT????

User44: you’re so pretty 😍

User69: Is that text from Joao 😏

liked by kellypiquet and 105,829 others

Yourname: This football thing is not that bad ⚽️

view all 91,628 comments

masonmount: Maybe that’s because of a certain player 🏟️

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: hmm 🤔 I doubt that

-> User65: MASON AND Y/N OMGGG

-> User12: I ran THREE traffic lights to see this comment because my friends called me and started screaming 😭😭 I’m so glad that I did ✊🏻

joaofelix79: Wow I see how it is. How come you’re never at my game ????

-> Yourname: Now now there is no need to feel sad. Yk you’re my fav EA sports 😚

-> joaofelix79: WHYYY?? just let it gooo already 🥲

-> Yourname: never ✌🏻

liked by User84 and 59,727 others

👤: Yourname, magui_corceiro

CelebGossip: Battle of the Ex’s! Y/n L/n and Margarida Corceiro were spotted having a heated argument in a club in Portugal. Y/n was at the club with some of her friends, who also happen to be acquaintances with Magui. It is believed that Joao was the one who introduced them to Y/n. According to bystanders, Magui saw Y/n and started making sarcastic remarks about her friendship with Joao. The two were later seen engaging in a heated discussion with wild gestures from both sides. Sources say that Y/n soon left the club. It is still not clear exactly what the exchange was about, but all we can say is that we’re eagerly waiting for their next encounter. 

view all 37,618 comments

User66: I was so expecting to see Y/n throw hands!! I’m disappointed 😔

User00: I just wanna know what Lando and Joao have to say about this 😝

liked by masonmount and 122,780 others

👤: joaofelix79

Yourname: Why you so obsessed with me, girl I wanna know 😌

view all 102,728 comments

joaofelix79: 😎

*liked by Yourname*

User21: Oh you shady lil thing!!!! AHHHH

User09: imagine being M***i!!!! I can’t 😭😭

User57: you’re so desperate! Can’t let go of Lando can you. Now you have to come for his girl as well 🙄

User32: oh I bet Y/n and Joao had so much fun taking these pictures!!! I WISH I COULD WITNESS THAT!!!!!

User77: You’re so petty. This is why things didn’t work out for you and Lando. Like I can’t imagine how happy he would have been after he left you. Poor Mason or Joao or whoever you’re dating. Best of luck to them cause they are sure as hell gonna need it. You’re so pathetic, get a life!

masonmount added to their story!

seen by Yourname and 175,929 others

liked by masonmount and 103,882 others

👤: kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux, joaofelix79, maxverstappen, charles_leclerc

Yourname: My broken bones are mending 🏖️

view all 89,628 comments

kellypiquet: Best part was giving Max and Charles sand boobs 😂

*liked by Yourname*

-> charles_leclerc: I still can’t believe you guys did that :(

-> alexandrasaintmleux: boo hoo Charles! Go cry me a river

-> charles_leclerc: You’ve been spending too much time with Y/n

-> alexandrasaintmleux: ik 🥰

-> Yourname: ily bbg 😘

-> charles_leclerc: NO BACK OFF 🤺

maxverstappen: I should have expected this. It was my fault I fell asleep 🙂

-> User58: NOO 😭😭 max is so used to this with Kelly and Y/n that he’s not even fighting it anymore

maxverstappen: @/joaofelix79 and @/masonmount why didn’t you stop them???

-> joaofelix79: they threatened to tie us to the ice cream truck 🥲

-> User23: waittttt did Max just confirm that Mason was also with them????????

liked by masonmount and 158,628 others

👤: masonmount

Yourname: And all it once, you are the one I had been waiting for ❤️

My new single King of My Heart out at midnight 🕛

view all 79,721 comments

kellypiquet: I’m SO HAPPY for you!!! Words can’t express how happy I am

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: I love you so much kells

alexandrasaintmleux: Finallyyy!! Double dates whennn??

-> Yourname: For you, I’m ready to drop everything right now! Just say the word

-> charles_leclerc: @/Yourname 🤺🤺

joaofelix79: Wow! He had you at his game before me and now he has a song before me TOO!!!! Seriously Y/n it’s like you don’t wanna be friends or something

-> Yourname: You’re such a drama queen 👑

-> joaofelix79: Loud and Proud!!! 👸🏼

masonmount: I love you

-> Yourname: what a sap 😏

-> masonmount: I love you a little less now

-> Yourname: fine!! I love you too 💕

-> masonmount: ☺️

…

Tags: @jobesbabe | @fifantasys | @evans-dejong | @msliz | @lokideservesahug | @jpg3 | @jxnellat | @spoodergirl | @themirrorballgal | @sarah-thatstings-ann | @newlifeforus | @eiaaasantha | @hotgirlslikemax | @2pagenumb | @avni-sarai | @wobblymug | @lunamelona | @boredmadamoiselle | @reidsworld | @evasmlp | @saachiep81 | @prettypink11 | @larastark3107 | @bowielovesyou | @dilflover44

[sailortongue]

Scandal

pairing: kenji sato x reader

summary: with the news of kenji's impending fatherhood -despite being unmarried- now public information, his PR team must come up with a way to salvage his reputation

wc: 1.5k

an: this is part 3!

navi | prev | series mlist

-------------

“Giants Player Kenji Sato Seen with Mystery Woman” was the headline that greeted you one fateful morning. You skimmed the article as quickly as you could, wincing when you saw that there were even pictures included to back up the story that Kenji was officially off the market. And not just taken, oh no—but a father-to-be. 

You immediately called Kenji, your heart pounding with the realization that your face had been shared with the public. He picked up the phone, his voice still groggy with sleep as he answered.

“Someone wrote an article about us,” you blurted out, not bothering with pleasantries. “There's pictures of us leaving the clinic, and it says an anonymous source came forward with information that we’re expecting a child. How did they find out so quickly? Did you tell anyone?”

Kenji blinked slowly on the other side of the phone, taking in the rush of information you had spewed at him first thing in the morning. “Uh, no. Haven’t even told my dad yet. You?”

You were about to deny having told anyone, but then you remembered. Ami. But she wouldn’t do that to you, right? “Ami knows.”

Kenji sucked in a breath through his teeth, grimacing. “Do you think she’d . . .” he trailed off, not wanting to make any outright accusations. He knew Ami personally, and that she was a good friend, but he also knew that scandals meant more money for reporters and that Ami has her own child to take care of. 

“I don't want to believe she would,” you started. “But I'm not sure how anyone else could have possibly found out so quickly.”

Kenji hummed. “You should talk to her today. Or I can, if you’d prefer?”

You sighed. “I'll do it. It’s just not going to be an easy conversation.”

“Call me with an update later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

You ended your call with Kenji and wasted no time dialing Ami’s number, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you listened to the ringing. No answer. You tried again. And again.

 “Are you ok?” was the first thing she asked when she picked up. “It's not like you to call so many times.”

“Did you tell anyone about Kenji and me?”

She fumbled over her words for a moment, not expecting to be interrogated as soon as she answered your call. “Of course not. Has something happened?” she asked worriedly. You must have had a very good reason to sound so frantic. 

“There's an article,” you explained simply. “About Kenji and I. Are you sure you didn’t say something to anyone else? Even the smallest detail that might have been figured out?”

“Yn, I swear to you that I would never. I don't know how it got revealed so quickly, but I promise it wasn’t me.”

You sighed for the umpteenth time. “If not you then who?” You asked despondently, not truly expecting an answer from her but lamenting your misfortune all the same. 

“I don't know,” she answered softly, her voice laced with concern. 

Meanwhile, not even twenty minutes after you had called him, Kenji received yet another phone call. This time, it was his PR manager, Muramatsu. He groaned, knowing he was in for an earful. He answered the phone with all the false bravado he could muster, pretending he was none the wiser to the current state of his reputation. 

“Is it true‽” His manager demanded.

“Is what true?” Kenji asked, deciding to play stupid. 

“Did you or did you not get a girl pregnant?” 

“Straight to the point as always, Muramatsu,” Kenji chuckled, throwing off his covers when he decided to finally get out of bed since it seemed he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep this morning. 

“I'm serious, Ken. We need to get in front of this ASAP. Your reputation is on the line which means so are your brand deals.”

Kenji paled. He hadn’t thought of that little consequence. “Look, it was an accident, ok.”

“Dammit, Ken! What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?”

“I was drunk! I didn't intend to do it, it just happened!”

Muramatsu was pinching the bridge of his nose in his office, wishing at this moment that he’d been hired by any other celebrity other than Ken Sato. “Is she a girlfriend we didn’t know about? Because we can work with that.”

Kenji remained silent, biting his lip while trying to think of a way to gently break the news that on top of accidentally knocking up a girl because he was drunk, she was also a woman he had never met prior to taking her home. “Picked her up at a bar,” Kenji mumbled. 

“What? Can you repeat that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“She was a random girl from the bar and I thought she was pretty and now she’s going to be the mother of my firstborn!” Kenji all but shouted into the phone, his stress levels rising rapidly as he paced the wooden floor of his bedroom. From the other side of the call he could hear something slam into Muramatsu’s desk, presumably his fist. 

“Give me the full story. Your team won the championship, you celebrated with drinks, you met this girl at the bar and took her home, yada yada. I know the first half now tell me the second.”

“Well, I got a call from a friend of mine. Turns out she’s a mutual friend of Yn—“

“Yn?”

“My . . . baby momma?” He clarified tentatively,hesitant to use the term. It was accurate, but friend wasn’t enough and girlfriend was too much. For now, anyway. 

His manager hummed, signaling for him to continue. “So Ami told me we need to meet immediately and I went to the cafe I suggested but it wasn’t Ami that met me it was Yn and that’s when I found out,” he said in a rush of words, not taking a single breath. 

His manager sat at his desk, stunned. “And the pictures?” He dared to ask. 

“We talked, and I told her I would be there every step of the way. Every appointment, every craving, every mood swing. All of it. I want to take responsibility and be a good dad to this baby.”

“Would she be open to pretending to be in a relationship?”

“Might not need to pretend at all. We have a date planned.”

“Good good,” his manager said. “And what if we took it a step further? If we present the two of you as a married couple, then it turns a scandal into regular celebrity gossip and your reputation—and your girl’s—is spared the judgment of having a child out of wedlock. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

Kenji positively preened at hearing you referred to as his girl. He was so taken with the thought that he agreed to Muramatsu’s proposition without even bothering to ask what you thought of it. But it wasn’t like you had a boyfriend that would object, right?

“Great!” His manager said. “I'll talk with the team and we’ll have this sorted out by nightfall. Now, let’s backtrack. You said it was Ami that called you to meet. Ami Wakita? That reporter who interviewed you?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“So let me get this straight. You knock up a girl and one of the very first people to know is a reporter, and now suddenly there’s gossip rags talking about your promiscuity?”

“We’ll talk to Ami. She’s a friend to us both and I just can’t believe she’d actually cross both of us just for a story.”

“You’re gonna give me grey hair, kid,” his manager groaned. “We'll give her the benefit of the doubt for now, but find out if she’s the leak. We’ll talk later.”

It wasn’t until he heard the click of the call ending that it sunk in what he’d agreed to. He’d made a decision all on his own without consulting you that would deeply impact your life even more than it already had been. He sat on the edge of his bed and sunk his head into his hands, groaning at him having dug himself in an even deeper hole. In the last 48 hours, you two have gone from a hookup to eventual co-parents to make-believe spouses. How was he supposed to explain this to you?

The buzzing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He checked the screen to see a message from you and swiftly unlocked his phone. 

yn: are you free later? ami wants the three of us to talk

yea, where at?

yn: her place for lunch? around noon?

sounds good. just got off the phone with my

PR manager. he’s working on damage

control but it will require some acting on

our part 

yn: ???

i’ll explain when i see you later

see you soon :)

-----------

next

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