#asking all these questions and straight up leaning into me

[tomhollandsblog]

am i complex to you prt three ~ joost klein fanfic

part one // part two

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Description: From first meeting the blonde musician to sharing headphones and very intense eye contact, this was not how you anticipated your evening at your friend's party panning out. 

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Final part of this small series! If you like it please show your support by reblogging ❣️

I accept Joost requests btw! [do's: female!reader, smut; don'ts: established relationship, toxic relationships]

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only, oral (f!receiving), not proofread

You woke as you felt warm sun beams across your face and you found yourself in a bed unfamiliar to you. You turned your head to see that Joost's face was close to yours. He was still asleep, his mouth slightly agape and his hair messy. You didn't know if you found it more endearing or sexy. Joost's arm was sprayed across your torso, holding you close to his body. You touched Joost's arm lightly where you were tracing one of his tattoos. Joost's face twitched at the sensation and you watched as he woke up, eyes squinting in confusion before he saw your face and his eyes widened.

"(Y/N)." he rather stated than questioned.

"Yes," you said as he was rubbing his eyes.

"What happened?" Joost asked, his arm still holding onto your torso.

"You fell asleep," you filled him in.

"Oh shit," he laughed. "I'm so sorry," he said. His smile dropped as he looked you up and down quickly and presumably only now noticed that you were laid beside him with only your underwear on, the duvet only barely covering your body. His eyes locked with yours and you tried desperately to understand what he was thinking. "So we never got around to...," Joost stated.

"No," you confirmed and a pause ensued. Joost looked down at your body and you couldn't deny that you didn't enjoy his gaze on you. With his finger, he began to slowly draw circles on the side of your hip.

"You wanna show me where we left off last night?" Joost asked with a grin.

You replied by returning the grin and placing your hands on Joost's shoulders to push him to lie on his back. You got on top of him and straddled his hips just like you did last night. You leaned down until your lips were pressed on top of Joost's again. His hands grabbed at your hips and you could feel Joost's hard-on pressing against your clothed vulva. With one of your hands buried in Joost's messy hair, you sneaked the other slowly down his body until you cupped Joost's penis on top of his boxers. Joost groaned against your lips and you could already feel your panties getting drenched from all the arousal that had built up since last night. It was almost getting too much already. You broke from his lips to slowly kiss down Joost's jaw and to his neck.

"You feel so good, (Y/N)," he murmured as he traced his hands all over your body.

You impatiently tugged at Joost's t-shirt which he was still wearing. Joost quickly complied by swiftly taking the shirt off and throwing it somewhere to the side. Joost sat up straight on the bed, you still sitting on his lap, chests touching. Your hand rested on his jaw and you looked into each other's eyes before you went in to kiss him again. Joost's arm wrapped around your body before they found the clasp of your bra. You noticed Joost's effort and concentration as his lips stopped moving against yours until you finally undid your bra which you quickly discarded to the side. You let out a pleased moan as one of Joost's hands cupped your left boob, your hard nipples begging to be touched for the longest time. Joost slowly kissed down your neck and as you arched your back his mouth found the skin of your breasts and his lips wrapped around one of your nipples while his hand caressed your other boob. Your hands were buried deep in Joost's hair as you let your head fall back in pleasure. Joost alternated between sucking and lapping his tongue over your sensitive bud. Slowly you started grinding your hips down against Joost's, desperate to feel more of him.

"More, pleaseee ...," you moaned and Joost looked up at you with a grin.

"You want more of me?" he asked slyly and you nodded eagerly. Joost softly grabbed your chin and made you look at him before bringing his lips to yours for a short kiss.

"Lay down, Liefde," he said and your heart skipped a beat at hearing the nickname.

You complied and laid down on your back. Joost put his hands at the side of your head and looked down at you. You wrapped your arms around Joost in a desperate attempt to get him closer to you again. Joost complied by leaning down and slowly kissing from your neck down to your stomach. His hands found the seam of your panties and he slowly pushed them down your thighs as his lips further trailed down your body. You couldn't keep still as your body was overcoming with the anticipation of what was about to come next. Joost placed his hands on your knees and spread your legs to open you up for him.

Painfully slow he now placed kisses on your knee and slowly up your thigh. When your eyes met you almost felt vulnerable. But his kiss was so soft, his touch so careful and without knowing him too long, you fully trusted him to take care of you. His hands trailed up your thighs until he placed them by your hips and his mouth found your core. Slowly and carefully he started licking and sucking at your clitoris which made you overcome with pleasure.

Your back arched, teeth clenched and your hands buried in the bedsheet, it took everything in you not to come right then and there. While Joost's tongue was doing the dirties things to your pussy, his hands were softly caressing the skin by your hips, making your heart beat just a little faster. The moans were falling from your mouth uncontrollably, begging Joost to give you more of him. Joost removed his right hand from your hip and placed it by your entrance. You were so slick with pleasure that Joost's fingers immediately slid into you without any resistance. Curling upwards to your stomach, Joost soon found that sweet spot inside you which drove you crazy. You knew you wouldn't be able to last much longer.

Joost took pleasure in your pleasure as he moaned against your pussy while still lapping at it and the vibration of the hum finally sent you off the edge. With your body tensed up and your eyes tightly squeezed shut, the wave of pleasure crashed over you. As your moans grew louder, Joost continued to suck at your clitoris to help you ride out your high until you finally came back down, panting heavily. With your hand, you softly touched Joost's head to signal him to stop eating you out. Joost removed his lips from your clitoris and instead kissed the insides of your thigh again as he carefully watched you.

"Everything alright?" he asked with a soft grin and you huffed out a laugh.

"More than alright," you reassured him. There was a moment of silence between you as Joost admired your naked body.

"Can I fuck you?" Joost finally asked and your heart fluttered. Being wanted and desired like this by Joost was an indescribable feeling.

"Please do," you said.

Joost grinned and got up from the bed to get a condom. You propped yourself up by your elbows to watch as the blonde man finally pulled down his boxer briefs and put on the condom before he crawled back onto the bed again. Your legs were already spread and perfectly positioned for Joost to fit in between. He pressed his forehead to yours as you looked at each other and you swore that in this moment you were in love with him.

With one arm propped by your side, he used his other hand to guide himself into you. Slowly he slid into you. He paused for a moment, carefully checking for your reaction before he started moving in and out of you after you gave him a small affirmative nod. You wrapped your arms around Joost's body as he buried his face into your neck, the moans coming from his mouth stifled by your hair and skin.

"Harder," you moaned, your nails digging into the skin of Joost's back.

He groaned against your neck before swiftly fulfilling your wish by pounding into you even harder. You wrapped your legs around Joost's hips to allow him to penetrate even deeper into you. Suddenly Joost slowed down his thrusts and pressed a kiss to your neck.

"Do you wanna ride me?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Yes," you nodded with a smile and Joost pulled out of you before laying down on his back.

As you positioned yourself on top of him, his hands immediately found your hips. Slowly you sunk yourself on Joost's length, fully taking him in. You watched Joost's face as you started moving your hips in delicate motions, knowing which angles would feel the best for him. The sight of him below you was heavenly. His blonde hair messy, his eyes shut, mouth slack open as the moans tumbled out between his lips. Your hands were positioned on his chest as you worked yourself on Joost's dick, giving both him and yourself the pleasure you wanted.

"Come here," Joost almost begged after he opened his eyes again.

You leaned down, Joost wrapping his arms around your body as your chest was now pressed against his. With this angle, he was now able to thrust up into you. So the both of you moved your hips in sync, chasing the perfect rhythm. With your mouth, you planted kisses along Joost's neck until you realised his moans growing louder and his hips' movements getting more uncontrollable. You bit down on his neck softly and continued moving your hips in sync with Joost's until you could feel his hips falter and his breath hitch as he came as well.

You carefully brushed the hair from his forehead as you watched him come down from his high. After Joost caught his breath he turned his head to look at you and grinned.

"Was this alright?" you asked.

"More than alright," he replied.

You giggled and plopped down beside Joost on the bed who quickly got up to get rid of the used condom. You closed your eyes, the warm morning sun kissing your face, the feeling of your previous orgasm still lingering in your body. The bed dipped beside you as Joost laid back down. There was a comfortable silence between you, Joost softly playing with your hair as he watched you.

"Jij bent zo mooi," he said. You turned your head to look at him with a questioning but amused look on your face, curious what the meaning of those words were.

"I hope that wasn't something bad," you said.

"Oh, quite the opposite," Joost smiled. "Do you want breakfast?" he asked before you could ask anything further.

"I'd love that."

[dira333]

It is what it is - Tendou x Reader x Ushijima (platonic)

Another one of my "this is my boyfriend and this is my boyfriend's best friend" fics. This has been going round and round in my head the whole weekend, I hope I could put all the feeling into this that I felt about it. Tell me what you think.

Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and @satorisoup because in a way, it's Tendou

“Aren’t you worried people are going to call you out for this?” Satori asks, teasing lilt in his voice. “Flying all the way to Paris for a haircut?”

“I don’t care,” Wakatoshi exclaims, bathing in your joyful giggling and Satori’s amused snort.

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you after work, okay?” The redhead brushes a hand over his buzzcut before leaning over to kiss you - Wakatoshi averts his eyes on instinct.

“See you later. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hold Satori’s hand all the way to the door, watch him step into the elevator before you turn back.

“Alright, now that we’re on our own. What do you want me to do with your hair? Some color? A buzzcut?”

“The usual,” he asks, closing his eyes when you pat his shoulder. 

There’s so much understanding in your words, your action, the simplest touch.

Oh, how he’s missed you.

-

“Wakatoshi, stand straight,” his mother orders. His father’s hands are warm on his shoulders as he stiffens, posture perfect now.

“This is my good friend,” she explains just seconds later and Wakatoshi can see it, in the harsh lines and the absence of a smile.

“And this is her daughter. It would make us very happy if you two would marry one day.”

“Love-” His father says in that tone he uses when he asks his mother to change her mind on something. She rarely listens.

“Of course, nothing will be settled until you are older,” she speaks over him yet again. “But I am sure you two will be fast friends.”

The adults leave them alone after that, with nothing but a plate of healthy snacks and glasses of water.

You are nice to look at, he thinks. Unlike your mother, you’re curves and softness, eyes glittering as you shyly ask what he likes to do in his free time.

“My father plays Volleyball with me sometimes,” he explains, “Or I read.”

“Could you show me?” You ask, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you wait for his answer.

“The books or Volleyball?” He asks, not really understanding. He’s not good at reading between the lines, as his mother calls it. He hopes you won’t mind.

But your face lights up at his question, a sight he wants to see again.

“Both?” You ask and when he nods and turns to show you to his room first, your hand shoots out to curl into his, warm and small and soft.

He can’t remember the last time he held someone’s hand, but he squeezes yours like his father used to do with his and your smile tells him what he did was the right thing.

-

“Is this okay?” You ask, soft voice floating around him as you drag a comb through his hair.

“It always is,” he answers, stilling as you move to assess your work.

“It looks good,” you decide finally, smiling as you grab a mirror, making a show of presenting it. “You look good, Toshi.”

“You look better,” he insists, but it sounds foreign in his mouth. 

He’s not one to compliment someone’s appearance and he can see the surprise in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately, “It’s something I heard Satori say.”

“I thought it sounded familiar,” you agree easily before patting his cheek. “I sometimes lend sentences from him as well.”

“Pray tell.”

You smile, handing him the mirror again. “First you have to tell me how it looks.”

“Perfect,” he says, because it is. He looks the way he’s used to, the same haircut he’s had for years. You embrace routine as much as he does. Maybe that’s why the two of you clicked so well.

“Now,” you smile, “I’ll make us some tea. I’m sure I still have some sweets hidden where Satori won’t look if you want them.”

“I’d rather have something healthy,” he admits and your smile doesn’t flicker, it grows.

“Like the old days,” you agree easily.

It warms his heart that you remember the beginnings of your friendship as well as he does.

-

“Are you leaving?” Satori asks, looking up from his Shonen Jump.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi agrees, tying his shoelaces. “I will be back before lights out.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Satori laughs, “I’m curious. Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting with a friend.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, you don’t know her.”

The surprise is loud on his face, dark eyes widening.

“A girlfriend?” Satori gasps, hands pressed against his lips in excitement. 

“A friend that’s a girl,” Wakatoshi corrects. For a second he stills, doorknob in his hand. “Do you want to join us?”

Satori blinks. Once, twice, three times.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I think she might like you.”

“In that case… give me five minutes.”

“I’ll inform her that we’ll come in later.”

“We won’t be late if we run,” Satori sings, diving into his closet to pull out something to wear that doesn’t wear the Shiratorizawa emblem.

.

Wakatoshi is usually blind to social cues, no matter how much he studies them. He still can’t read between the lines, but he can’t say he’s given it much thought lately.

He’s good at Volleyball and he’s excelling in his studies. What else is there in life?

You’ve never complained about him missing something either, clearly content with the state of your friendship. And if there’s someone’s opinion he cares about, it’s not his mother's, it’s yours.

But he can see it now, written in bold letters on your face, your eyes, the shiver of your hesitant smile.

You look at Satori like the girls from his class look at him before he begins to speak.

Your hand twitches as if to hold his but you hesitate.

He turns to look, surprised to see his only other friend just as changed.

Satori is supposed to be the confident one. Loud and unapologetically himself.

This Satori, however, is blushing, staring at the tips of his sneakers only for his eyes to flicker upwards and back to you for only a second before looking back down. 

Is this, Wakatoshi thinks, a little dumbfounded that it’s happening in front of him of all people, is this falling in love?

-

It’s cold, even for Spring in Europe. You curl further into the warmth of your jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets to keep warm.

The day had been bathed in a grey light that’s now dimming fast, street lamps and the warm glow of shop windows battling against the coming night.

Wakatoshi’s hand reaches out without a thought, folding around yours like he used to when you were little.

You look up with surprise and he’s not sure if he should regret this or not.

“You’re worried,” you tell him, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “I can see it now. I was wondering what was wrong, but you wouldn’t say and I didn’t want to push.”

He opens his mouth to insist that he’s fine, a lie he’s been telling himself for weeks now, almost mastering to make himself believe it.

“Don’t lie, Toshi,” you ask and it’s the nickname that unravels him, a memory from long forgotten times resurfacing.

“I love you,” he admits, words spilling out of him like Volleyballs out of an upturned cart. They’re unstoppable, now that they’ve been set free.

But your smile doesn’t fade and your hand only squeezes his.

“I know, Toshi.”

His eyes flicker to the dark asphalt and back up.

“But Satori-”

“You don’t love me like Satori loves me, do you, Toshi?”

Your voice is warm and comfortable, like a blanket he wants to curl into.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because this is you. He’s always been honest with you.

“But I do,” you tell him softly, reaching up to cup his cheek with your other hand. “You’ve never looked at me in that way. We both know it, Satori and I, we both know you. What is worrying you?”

The question hits him like one does a tuning fork, everything in him vibrating to the point he fears he’ll fall apart. 

“I miss you,” he says, his voice carrying something he cannot begin to describe.

Hurt, loneliness, despair, insecurity. Will I ever be enough?

“Oh Toshi,” you rub your thumb under his eye, catching a tear that must have slipped out. “We miss you too. But we love you, okay? And even though it feels like that sometimes, you’ll never be alone.”

He considers it, smoothes it over the open wound inside of him like one does with a balm.

Another voice pops up, cuts through the noise inside his head like a warm knife through butter.

“There you are. I was looking for you.”

They both turn and Wakatoshi isn’t sure what he anticipates to see in his best friend’s face.

Anger, maybe, or betrayal. 

Not this kind of soft worry he isn’t used to.

You say something in French he doesn’t quite catch and Satori steps closer, wraps one impossible long arm around his shoulders, and curls into him.

“Can’t fool us, big boy,” he says with a voice so warm it feels like hot chocolate tastes, “Knew something was up when you asked to travel all the way here for a haircut.”

It might look strange to someone looking in, the three of them hugging in the cold night on the middle of the sidewalk.

But it’s not strange to Wakatoshi.

He should have known. These are his friends. His family. 

His home away from home.

-

“Is this really okay?” Satori asks, kneeling on the floor next to Wakatoshi’s bed. “You’ve got to be honest with me here, okay?”

“I am.”

“I am going to marry her if you let me, you know this!”

“I’d be happy if you did,” Wakatoshi insists. “If she wants you, that is.”

Satori snorts but it sounds more like a sob. “You think she likes me?”

“She said so, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” the word is more a dreamy sigh than anything else. Satori puts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t know people like her existed,” he says, voice far away. Wakatoshi turns to look at him. 

“Girls?” He asks, a little confused.

“Kind people,” Satori explains, “with a good heart. Who don’t judge about someone’s looks.”

“Did that happen to you?” Wakatoshi asks, thinking about himself and his mother and you.

There’s something in Satori’s eyes, something vulnerable and open that he hasn’t seen before.

Wakatoshi pats the bed next to him before he can pull himself away again. Satori is nice. He wants to know him.

“Tell me about it?” He asks.

.

“You’re not good with social cues, are you?” Satori asks one day after lunch, walking back to Class.

“No.”

“The girl that was talking to you, she wanted me to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because she likes you. She wanted to be alone with you.”

Wakatoshi stops, freezing in place.

“What?” Satori asks, walking back to him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you want to be alone?”

Satori understands immediately. “Sometimes, yeah. But I’d tell you that, you know? Right now we barely manage to hold hands without our faces combusting. And I like having you there. She does too, I know.”

“How?”

“She said so,” Satori pulls out his phone, drags his thumb across the screen for a minute before he holds it up for Wakatoshi to see.

It’s an entire conversation he’s not been part of, your blocks of texts interspersed with the emojis Satori likes to use.

But he can read it, black letters on a white background.

“Wakatoshi is the most important person in my life.” It warms his heart like hot chocolate on a cold night.

“And since you’re my best friend too,” Satori singsongs, “You’re not getting rid of either of us.”

“Good,” Wakatoshi nods and repeats it once more for good measure. “Good.”

-

“Poland is not that far away,” you point out over morning coffee. Your hair’s a mess and you sit in Satori’s lap, leaning back into him every few minutes to remind him to feed you one more bite of the croissants Wakatoshi bought on his morning run.

“It’s not France.”

“Yeah, but the French team sucks,” Satori exclaims, “You’d lose all happiness playing for them just to be close. The Polish team sounds good if you ask me. And it’s really not that far. You could come over once or twice a month depending on your schedule.”

“I’ll think about it,” he agrees, buying himself some time with a sip from his coffee.

His wound is still open, though it has stopped bleeding.

“Do you think I’ll find someone,” he asks, yet again unable to keep the words inside before he has thought them through.

Satori and you both turn your heads to the side as you think, a habit that started with one person but he’s no longer sure with whom.

“Maybe you will,” you say, “maybe you won’t. You can be happy either way.”

“Don’t lose sight of what’s important to you,” Satori adds, “because it can be easier than you think. To give up on a boundary just because you think you have to.”

He considers that for a second.

“If I’ll never find someone-” Your hand finds his before he’s able to finish the sentence, squeezing as hard as you can.

“You’ll never be alone,” you insist. Satori’s larger hand wraps around yours until again, you are three.

- - -

The French Countryside is not a bad place to retire.

“Look what I found,” Satori raises a basket full of fruit, each looking better than the last, “everything from our own garden.”

“I thought you wanted to work less,” Wakatoshi comments, picking a plump apricot from the basket and biting into it. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Ah, this isn’t work,” Satori insists, but he puts the basket down, pressing a hand to his back for a second. “I just need to slow down a little.”

“You should,” Wakatoshi agrees, but makes no move to pick up the basket himself. His back is even worse than Satori’s.

“Boys, boys,” your voice comes from inside, “Leave the hard work to someone younger. I’ve made coffee and tea, what do you want?”

They turn and walk inside, Satori singing yet another made-up song about the market in the village.

When he reaches you, he kisses your temple first and then your lips, squeezing your hips under the apron.

Wakatoshi has gotten used to the sight after decades. He’s more interested in his coffee and maybe the morning paper.

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” He asks, squinting down at the paper. 

Satori laughs. “On your head,” he tells him, but stays where he is, glued to your side.

It’s like this everyday and if someone would dare to ask, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind living like this for another decade or two.

After all, one hasn’t lived before turning one hundred.

My Kofi if you'd like to tip me

[skullhorn59]

Heavenly Hell 2

A/N: second chapter! no spicey here just yet. sorry!~ im not that good at writing yet. xP Tags/Warnings are added progressively, design changed/fixed with time. mostly proofread! Summary: you have always been a fan of the show Hazbin Hotel in your life - and as you are spawned in a Hell identically matching the Show, you can't believe your sheer luck. you're immediately on your way to eagerly meet the celebrities (at least they are in your world), but your arrival hadn't gone unnoticed... Pairings: Lucifer, Valentino, Adam, Alastor, Vox, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Husk x Fem!Reader Warnings/Promises: self aware and insecure Reader, Spoilers for the Show, Vox, Attempted Manipulation, successful Manipulation

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Minors DNI 🚨🚔

"so, tell me, what useful information could you, someone this new to hell, possibly have?"

Vox sits down and leans back in his chair, watching you with a bored expression on his screen. urgh. right. he probably watched you spawning (arriving?) in hell. this is gonna be a hard one to explain. fiddling with your fingers anxiously, you look everywhere but at his screen.

you already regret coming here first, and not getting yourself a fidget toy first or something. or some pills to help keep your anxiety down. shit, you probably look scared out of your mind right now. he's gonna think you're really weird and rude if you speak up like this. or straight up lying. but for fucks sake - you can't bring yourself to look directly at him.

instead - you take in your surroundings. Vox's office. you only know it's impressive size from the Screenshots of the show, and literally sitting in it now is even more impressive. it consists of a gigantic room, an equally gigantic shark tank below, and a big round platform in the middle, which is connected to the door with a long passway. no idea how this could possibly fit into the tower without having it collapse from the sheer weight of the water alone - the only logical answer would be it being underground.

your eyes wander back to the platform, which is decorated with Vox's emblem. illuminated by a bright array of screens behind it, a round control pult sits at the back end of the platform. infront of it in a spinny chair with it's tips pointing upwards, is a rather impatient looking Vox seated.

oops.

you better get to answering his question.

you clear your throat and swallow, unsure how to even start. thankfully, you get your own chair - manifested with a wave of Vox's hand - to sit into. hoping you aren't sweating too visibly right now, you collect your thoughts. if you know one thing, it's not to sell yourself short.

"well, you see, that's hard to explain. and, you, as the head of.. technology.., surely understand that information is a valuable resource. I can't just.. give it away for free."

taking a deep breath, you lean back a little, trying to at least look more relaxed than you actually are. nervousness isn't even close anymore, like, are you panicking already?? well, at least you can mask it pretty well, you think.

"but I can say this much: I have so much information on Alastor," you think you hear a slight glitch coming from Vox at the mention of the name, "and the others in the Hotel, it's not even funny. Just.. I have a few small questions for you first."

a short glance up into the TV Demon's face tells you he raised an eyebrow. is he interested?? you hope he is. with all you got.

"go on, ask your questions."

wait. isn't he usually more talkative than that? nono, you can't spend a thought on that right now. you need to focus.

"When did the last extermination happen?"

"about a week ago."

"okay.. any interesting or unexpected turns of events? I just have to know what happened and what didn't. I-I know this sounds cryptic, and maybe even crazy, but I need to know at what time I got here."

silence fills the room for a moment. you dare to glance at the Overlord again, and he musters you with an expression you can't quite place.

did you mess up?

But Vox interrupts your thought before you can continue it. "... the hotel members fought back against the Angels, and won. that's all." relieved, you let out breath you didn't realize you were holding. okay. that's good to know. so the extermination already happened. it makes a good bunch of your information useless, but still. you can work with that. now you just need to-

"I think I provided enough information to you now," the Overlord begins, interrupting your thoughts again. his voice is oddly sweet. "its time you return the favor, my dear." - of course, he's trying to get the info out of you without paying for it.

how greedy.

you adjust your position on the chair, crossing one leg over the other, before looking directly at him. he's wearing his signature smile, his digital eyes looking  almost affectionately at you, but you know better than to trust the façade he put on.

"I told you, I'm not going to just give it away for free. And don't even try to fob me off with stuff like any of your products, pins, an autograph or similar worthless knick-knacks. That won't work on me. Trust me."

you glance at him again to gauge his reaction, and he seems surprised to hear you use his own slogan against him, but he quickly regains his composure. good. now just don't get any hypnotizing ideas, Vox...

"No, what I want is... actually quite simple. I want to be able to come and go to the entirety of this tower how and when I please. and.." you can't help a small smile at the thought of the Moth Man, "I want to see Valentino. preferably after our conversation."

and again, silence fills the room. you watch him tap the armrest of his chair with his fingers, thinking about your demands. you can't tell if he's going to give in to them or just declare you as crazy and throw you out, but you hope dearly it's not the latter.

just as the silence begins to get uncomfortable, the TV Demon clicks his tongue and stands up. your eyes dart up, and you automatically stand up too. what's happening? is he gonna throw you out now? - "alright. I accept. you may come and go freely, I'll get you your meeting with Val, and in turn, I get all the information you got on the Hotel and it's residents. Deal?"

Staring down at the hand he holds out, your mind whirls for a moment, overwhelmed with the action. you never thought he'd also make deals like Alastor - another detail they're matching each other in. you always thought he'd just somehow get peoples souls with sneaky contracts being signed when buying a Voxtek product or something.

as soon as you take his cold hand, he gives yours a firm shake, his smile widening to a grin as his face glitches momentarily. bright blue electrical currents and sparks begin to flow around the two of you for a moment, together with an intense blue light and a metallic screech. but as soon as it came, it's gone, and before you can waste a thought on it, Vox lets go of your hand, instead placing his around your shoulders as he guides you towards the door. "fantastic. now that that's done, how about we go check if Val's got some free time for you, hmm?"

you're confused.

doesn't he want your informations now?

on second thought - you don't mind too much. this way you have more of a reason to stick around and return.

─❲♡❳▷Hazbin Masterlist

─❲♡❳▷Main List

[orecana]

behind those walls.....

Lucas/wong yukhei x feminine male reader

(note: if you don't like feminine male reader or anything in this fic, please click off the fic.)

this was requested by a person i would to like to keep anonymous because the internet is cruel and i don't want that to happen to anyone as well. i'm finally back with another fic at least. i'm a bit too busy nowadays but i made time to write fics for you guys who keep supporting and reading them, which im grateful for btw. i hope you guys enjoy this one too!

lucas opens the door to his house, groaning in frustration as he puts his bag down onto a nearby chair as he sits on a sofa. he sighs before resting and shutting his eyes, attempting to doze off for a while.

"had a rough day? or did your hookups scatter away like the rats they are?"

hearing that annoying yet familiar voice makes him open his eyes again as he sits up straight and looks at them.

y/n was sipping his cup of tea wearing his white pajamas as he tilts his head at lucas as if he's asking for lucas to answer his earlier question.

lucas only groans another time as he was reminded of his failed hookup encounter. the girls all tried to hookup with him. even though he played along with them, they immediately left him when they saw the size they had to deal with, which is making him shake his head.

y/n listens carefully as he sips his cup of tea while leaning against the kitchen counter. lucas and y/n.........have a weird relationship. they met one day in school when lucas was going for a smoking session. y/n just straight up walked up to him and asked for a cigarette. lucas was hesitant at first but when he looked at y/n a bit closer at that time.

he was wearing the shirt of the school uniform but for the bottom part he was wearing a mid length black and red skirt paired with heels. he was still gesturing his hand towards lucas, asking for a cigarette as his other hand is on his vest.

lucas just tossed a cigarette to y/n who lights it up with a lighter hidden under his skirt. he stands near lucas and begins smoking as well.

lucas looks at y/n curiously as to why a person like him would be......... like this. he had almost thought gays would be annoying or stupid but from their encounter earlier, he can safely say that y/n is none of those. the way he carried himself and those enticing lips pressing itself into the cigarette.

"would you stop looking at me like a lovesick fool?"

lucas immediately noticed the sharp tongue the other got, but he didn't back down. throwing away his cigarette into a nearby garbage bin, he walks up to y/n and places his hands on both sides. y/n only looks up at lucas uninterested as he keeps smoking his cigarette. lucas leans in as he looks at y/n in the eyes.

y/n sighs as he takes out his cigarette and throwing it into a bin before he grabs lucas by his shirt, pulls him down and kisses him. they eventually found an empty and secluded classroom where they had sex. eventually this became a normal occurrence, lucas has a pretty high reputation for being the popular boy as well as a playboy who goes through girls like changing clothes. of course, some never work out and whenever that happens they would make out and have sex. no strings attached...............

y/n sighs again as he looks at lucas's face. it looks so hollow and so.....empty. even if it doesn't look like it, lucas and y/n have a close relationship. there are things that only they know about each other or things only they can tell about each other. just like now for instant, y/n knows that there is more to the story than a failed hookup. he knows lucas like the back of his hand, he would never get THIS upset over a failed hookup.

he puts his hand over lucas's chin and drags it to his face. lucas looks a bit surprised as if he didn't expect y/n to do this. y/n might be a girly fag or a disgusting disease or whatever the people call him, but that doesn't stop him from living life as he could.

"what's wrong lucas? even a braindead person could tell that you're not doing well"

lucas doesn't answer as he tries to pry y/n hands off of him with an annoyed face. y/n only sighs as he lets go of lucas's chin and goes to the kitchen so he could wash the cup. lucas follow him from behind, wanting to get something to eat. he looks at y/n calmly washing the cup he just drank from.

although lucas will never admit it out loud, he does find y/n pretty. his pretty face and those fluttery eyelashes and those (your eye color) eyes. lucas feels something rise up in his heart and he knew what it was. He denies it immediately though. he can't be............ he has a reputation to keep, he can't................

y/n places the cup into a cupboard before taking a glance at lucas who is currently mentally scolding himself. he looks away for a bit, feeling a bit of tears staining his eyes before he dries it with his fingers before going up and nudging lucas.

"come on, go to bed. we have school tmr."

lucas was about to protest but sees y/n gives him that "look" making him scared

"I said..............Go TO BED!"

"why are you at my house right now anyways?"

"because i can and i will bitch, now get your ass to bed before i make you."

"make me"

y/n only sighs and pulls out his hairclip before pushing a button on it. the hairclip increases in size a bit before a small needle appears from the clip. lucas felt a sweat drop down his face as y/n stares at him menacingly.

all you can hear in that moment is the sounds of lucas screaming and begging for mercy while y/n is just scolding and roasting the shit out of him.

the next day at school, lucas was going to school on his bike as usual when he looks at his right and saw y/n walking there with his earphones on. he never noticed it before but y/n features were even more prominent right now since he did some make up. his eyes looks even brighter that compliments his school uniform except this time he's wearing an extra long skirt.

lucas felt that feeling in his chest again as he tries to block it out and focus on getting to school. y/n could only notice that familiar bike as he sighs and walks a bit faster to school. a simple 'you fool' was the only thing he muttered as he also focus on getting to school as fast as possible.

lucas felt like he was on drugs or at least that what he felt like... he keeps noticing y/n's features that he didn't before and everytime he does it he felt that thing in his heart which he absolutely despises, he cannot feel like this. they were friends nothing more!

infuriated lucas decided to go to the club again after school, thinking that hooking up with people will lift up his mood, he walked into the club and looked around, searching for potential hookup. a girl approached him and he decided she would be that person as they made out and went into a room. he was ready to fuck the girl but.... he couldn't get erect. no matter how hard he tried and then... he remembered y/n's face. he was immediately erect which didn't sit well with him as he got frustrated again and left the room and the club entirely.

he storms into his house again in frustration as he marches towards his room. he sinks into his bed as he stares to the ceiling. he shouldn't feel like this at all! why changed?! why did he suddenly feel like this?

he groans and just showered, to possibly cooldown. after he was done, he puts on a sleeveless shirt and collapses onto the bed, unknowingly dreaming of y/n being next to him.

the next morning he rode his motor to school again but this time he didn't see y/n on the road, which was weird in his opinion. they leave home at almost the same time so lucas would have definitely noticed him. he has this itching feeling that something is gonna happen so he hurries to school.

the moment he parked his motor, he heard someone scream and the sound of an impact. quickly he rushed to the area and he saw y/n being knocked into a wall by a bunch of bullies. he was about to rush in but then y/n looked at his direction and secretly signals lucas to stay there before y/n kicks the bullies in the stomach one by one. the bullies fall to the ground, groaning in pain as y/n stomps the ground with his heels that made the ground below it breaks. the bullies were scared and ran.

lucas wanted to run up to y/n but y/n only looked his way one more time before he goes back into school, leaving lucas there to stare at him with a hurt heart.

after school ends, lucas was getting on his bike to go home today, before he heard a familiar voice.

"i haven't seen you go straight home after school in a while, lucas"

he turns back to see y/n standing there with his school uniform and heels. he looks at lucas with a look that lucas can't decipher. lucas felt that pang in his heart again..... it had became too much at this point. he tried to invite y/n to sit on the motor with him, but y/n was no where to be seen. he looked everywhere around him, but gave up after not seeing him at all and drove home, unaware of the pair of eyes that were watching him from behind the gardens.

2 months has past, lucas tried to date girls as he used to, but the lingering feeling of y/n always make him unable to continue dating those girls. he also slowly found himself accepting the deep feeling inside of him. y/n was the only person who knew the "real" him, who stayed and took care of him. lucas smile unconsciously as he leaves class again for the day and looks at his phone. his eyes widen at the date.

it's y/n's birthday today.

he actually got excited, for the first time in his life, he has something to look forward to. he drove his motor to go to the mall to get something for y/n, unaware of the approaching car because of his excitement.

y/n just got out of school after his dance classes ended when he heard a murmuring among the students. curious, he listened and he wished that he wouldn't have had to hear that.

"did you hear? lucas is in the hospital!!"

"he got into a traffic accident while going somewhere."

y/n skin crawled immediately after he heard that. he immediately dashed out of school before using his phone to both call the nearest taxi and to track down lucas's location. y/n was kinda protective of lucas even if he doesn't know it himself, he secretly placed a tracker on the earrings he bought for lucas on his birthday, one that lucas will always wear no matter what.

y/n rides the taxi as he looks at the tracking device on his phone and tells the driver the location of the hospital. he was sweating buckets, he cared for lucas very much, even if he never showed it.

"you fucking idiot!"

y/n finally arrives at the hospital as he hands over the amount of money the driver needed before running into the hospital. arriving in front of the desk, he asked for lucas's room number which the nurse provided as he rushed there immediately.

he pushes the door open and sees lucas on the bed. the monitor showing his heartbeat at a stable condition. sighing in relief, y/n sits down on one of the chair in the room as he watches lucas sleeping form.

call him terrible for thinking this, but he thinks that lucas getting into this accident was good for him maybe. lucas has been grumpy nowadays, it's good now that lucas is sleeping peacefully.

y/n holds lucas's hand as he continue to stare at lucas. y/n would never admit it out loud, but he is kinda proud to have taken care and fell for lucas. he was the only one who saw him for who he was.

lucas squirm as he felt pain all over his body and slowly open his eyes. he opens them as he takes in the white ceiling and the surroundings.

"finally awake?"

hearing that familiar voice, lucas looks at his left and saw y/n sitting on the chair, holding his hand. lucas couldn't help but smile seeing y/n.

"hey...."

y/n suddenly stands near his bed as lucas prepares for whatever is coming and closes his eyes, but he felt arms wrapping around him and a quiet sob. quickly, he wraps his arms around y/n as well as they just stay in that position for a good amount of time.

"visiting times are over!"

y/n sighs as he releases from lucas and looks at him in the eyes before giving lucas a quick peck on the lips before grabbing his bag and going to the door. lucas who was stunned by the sudden kiss, immediately shouts for y/n to stop.

"what are we now? that peck....wasn't like any of our previous ones"

y/n turns around and look at lucas dumbstruck face and only gives a smile. "whatever you want it to be" before going out of the door, leaving a dumbstruck lucas who can't stop smiling after hearing that.

(i know the ending kinda sucks but i think.......this suits their relationship. what comes after? .....you guys can fill in the blanks with what you want.)

[ozzgin]

Ozz I unironically love the idea of a fucked up not-quite-romance between a fire ant and an anteater and you have inspired me

the only thing in my head is that it ends in the anteater actually eating the ant alive (in a brutal and gruesome manner) and the last thoughts of the ant as the excruciating pain from being devoured while still conscious begins to fade to a dull ache are just "Oh this is an act of love, they're consuming me out of a desire to be closer than bodily possible so they're doing the only thing they can think to do" and the ant weakly tries to lean up for a kiss only for part of their head to get chomped off which finally kills them

and then after it's all done the anteater realizes they actually did love the ant but their hunger always got in the way of realizing it

bonus: make it a crossover and have the detective with the yan!eldritch god investigate the crime scene after the body was found (and the anteater is now holed up somewhere slowly losing their sanity from emotional agony because they ate the person they loved)

sorry if this is too fucked up for you, I like writing dark and twisted murder mysteries and describing the kills in detail (I am asking this on anonymous out of fear and shame)

My only observation to your otherwise perfectly splendid story is whether it's a final chomp we're talking about, or just one, big slurp. Given Reader is a straight-up anteater, or at least maintains some of that anteater behavior, there might be slight technical difficulties when it comes to chewing the yandere in the theatrical way suggested by you.

The Detective!Reader and Eldritch God embark on a gruesome journey that causes them to question their own morality and sense of love. The ancient monster gazes upon the scarce remains of the ant, and a thought suddenly strikes him: would he ever find himself in a similar position? When his beloved human reaches old age, would he not be tempted to devour their very soul while it's still throbbing with life and dreams? It has potential. Though for him, personally...he'd rather just kill the masses and trade their souls for yours.

Heh. It's a nice idea, and you absolutely don't have to worry about something being too gory. When it comes to cannibalistic tendencies, I do have one Hannibal x Reader short which I feel is very much on topic. It's a trope I enjoy a lot, but I never know when to insert it in a story. I actually have an empty draft for a Yan!Artist, and I'm now wondering if I should write it in a mildly horror-esque manner, where the Yandere keeps painting you as dissected and split open, fantasizing about your insides as the ultimate form of intimacy.

[lee-annwrites1]

dear quinn, part 1

quinn hughes x oc

note-

i plan on making this a long one because there isn’t many on here, but trust me i have big plans

warnings

swearing, angst, slow burn, more to come

June 25rd, 2016

the hughes always host the first dinner of the summer, where we all catch up on the year we’d missed. i’m sat between my mother, carrie, and quinn, the oldest hughes son as normal. i poke at my mashed potatoes as ellen tells my mom about how the boys were doing this year in hockey

“-and our quinn is going to umich this year” she gloats, smiling at quinn from across the table.

“awe, good for you quinn.” my mom rubs his shoulder in a congratulations over me.

“thanks” he says quickly, his mouth half full of stake jim had barbecued earlier.

“umich? really?” i look at him, eyebrows raised high.

“mmhm” he says, mouth closed as he swallows. “they have the best hockey program and i can stay close to home”

“ah i get it, congrats” i smile, before jack interupts.

“not like we had any doubts” jack says sarcastically as ellen and jim glare at him. “what?” he questions.

“atleast we won’t have to see his garbage pile of a room anymore” luke says with a sigh of relief and i take a bite of my veggies, nearly choking on them as everyone fills with laughter.

“c’mon it’s not that bad” quinn defends.

“yes it is” ellen agrees with a laugh.

“laugh all you want” quinn says taking another bite.

after the laughter dies down and plates start clearing up, i help ellen with collecting the plates and drying them as she washes. the faint sound of conversation heard over our own.

“how was school this year?” she asks, sparing me a quick glance before turning back to the dishes.

“it was good, volleyball even better though” i smile heartily at her.

“of course” she smiles, “your dad didn’t come this year?” she asks, though i know she already knows the answer.

“nope” i sigh, “he’s busy with work. i think he’s still mad about me sticking with volleyball and not medicine”

“awe chuck” she rolls her eyes, handing me a clean dish to dry. “your mom told me you made captain again this year, i’m proud”

“yeah, we went almost undefeated this year” i reminisce, “won the state this year too, never seen coach so happy”

“god, i remember that feeling” ellen smiles at me, i know she’s thinking of her hockey career years ago.

“that wasn’t that long ago, like 15 years?” i smirk, adults love when you think they are younger then they are.

“you humour me” she glared at me and i laugh. god i missed this and her.

—

me and luke are kneeling by the fire pit, desperately trying to get something to light.

“pass more newspaper” luke asks.

“the last thing we need is more paper” i glare, adding more kindling and blowing gently as the wood starts to crackle.

“paper burns the best though, does it not?”

“yeah, but it doesn’t last dumbass” he glared back at me and i throw a crumbled ball of newspaper at his forehead.

“hey!?” he yells and runs his forehead.

“what’s going on?” quinn asks, kneeling on my left.

“nothing” me and luke say in unison, and we glare at eachother.

“luke can you grab some lawn chairs for us?” quinn asks, his voice pleading.

“why me?”

“please” quinn says, sticking out his bottom lip.

“fine” luke grunts and makes his way back to the house.

i turn to quinn, “excited for michigan?” i beam and he smiles lightly.

“a little” the fire crackles loudly, i jump. “missed you this year”

“awe you missed me?” i smile, bringing my hands togther at my heart and sway lightly.

“don’t make it sappy” he tries to keep a straight face but he’s holding back a smile.

“okay fine, i guess i missed you too” i groan, leaning into his shoulder before standing up to help luke with the chairs.

—

the fire sparks and i scoot my chair in closer, wrapping my arms around my legs that i’d brought up to my chest.

“so, stevie, you got a boyfriend?” jack asks me. i’ve always hated that name, though i know it has something to do with steve-o, no one’s ever told me why he calls me that. now for the past two years it’s all anyone calls me.

“wouldn’t you like to know” i shiver, tugging at my hoodie. i regret wearing shorts.

“your funny” he says in a flat voice. “but really, no boy toy?”

“not at the moment” i shrug, me and nash ended things before school ended. i guess we wanted different things.

a shriek of laughter comes from inside where the adults are, and we all glance at the house. i look at luke, who’s already passed out on the lawn chair, mouth open. the sky is pitch black right now, and if i had to guess i think it’s almost midnight.

“what happened with that nash guy?” quinn pries, while still staring at the fire.

“don’t really know if i’m being honest” quinn shrugs at my response.

“well incase you wanted to know,” jack starts, “i-“

“no we didn’t” quinn interupts jack and jack looks at quinn appalled.

“ok mister ‘i’m too good for talking about how many birds jack gets and i’m a better hockey player blah blah hockey blah blah mare blah blah umich’” jack mocks quinn in a deep voice and i giggle, careful not to wake up luke.

“okay, okay we get it” quinn raises his hands in surrender and jack laughs soon does quinn. “anyone need a drink?” quinn asks once the laughter dies off, standing in front of his chair.

“no thanks, a blanket would be nice though” i suggest and he makes his way inside. as soon as the door shuts jack turns to me.

“this kid won’t shut up about you, all year it’s mare did this, mares captain now” jack groans in annoyance. “oh, and congrats by the way”

“thanks,” i say, “what do you mean with the quinn thing?” i raise an eyebrow.

“i don’t know, i’m just happy that i won’t have to hear about it all summer” jack says. “even my mom is almost as bad as him” i laugh.

quinn comes back with two blankets, one he draped over luke and the other he drapes around me and i thank him silently.

“what did i miss?” quinn asks, sittting down.

“nothing” me and jack say in sync.

—

a/n-

short chapter but i wanted to establish some things before i get rolling, next chapter will actually involve some plot and time skips, hope you enjoyed :)

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Falling on deaf ears

Cillian Murphy x Partially Deaf Reader

Summary: Cillian talks about how life is like with his partially deaf partner during an interview.

Wordcount: 1,960k

Cillian Murphy sat down in the plush chair, the bright lights of the studio reflecting off his sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. Despite the intensity of his gaze, there was a softness about him today.

The interview had taken an unexpected turn from his work on the "Dark Knight" trilogy to a more personal subject – his partner, whom he had met during the filming of "Batman Begins" in 2005. She was the partially deaf character in a certain scene and wore a hearing aid, a fact that had recently piqued the curiosity of his fans.

When the interviewer broached the subject, Cillian’s demeanor shifted slightly. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together, his Irish lilt carrying warmth and sincerity. “Aye, we met on the set of ‘Batman Begins’,” he began, a small smile playing on his lips as he recalled the memory. “It was all a bit of a whirlwind, ya know? She was just an extra in a scene with me, and there was just... somethin’ about her that caught my eye straight away.”

The interviewer leaned in, intrigued. “What was it about her that stood out to you?”

Cillian’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “It was the way she carried herself, with such confidence and grace. And then, of course, her laugh. It was contagious.” He chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to fill the room. “But more than that, it was her resilience. She’s partially deaf, wears a hearin’ aid, and yet, she never lets it define her or hold her back. She’s one of the strongest people I know.”

As he spoke, Cillian’s face softened, and it was clear how deeply he cared for her. “Ya know, she’s taught me so much about life, about listenin’ – truly listenin’ – and about bein’ patient. Communication is key in our relationship, and we’ve found our own ways to connect and understand each other.”

The interviewer asked how her partial deafness affected their day-to-day lives. Cillian paused, choosing his words carefully.

“Well, we’ve got our routines, of course. We make sure to face each other when we’re talkin’, especially in noisy environments. I’ve learned a bit of sign language, though she can read lips quite well. It’s all about makin’ small adjustments to ensure she feels included and understood.”

“Has her condition changed your perspective on anything?” the interviewer inquired.

“Aye, absolutely,” Cillian replied, his tone thoughtful. “It’s opened my eyes to the challenges faced by those with hearin’ impairments. I’ve become much more aware of how society can often overlook the needs of the deaf and hard of hearing. It’s made me more empathetic and more vocal about the need for better accessibility and awareness.”

The conversation shifted to his fans’ reactions. “They’ve been very supportive,” Cillian noted, a hint of pride in his voice. “I think they appreciate seein’ a different side of me, one that’s not just the characters I play on screen. And they’re genuinely interested in her and our life together, which is heartenin’.”

When asked about balancing his career and personal life, Cillian sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s not always easy, I’ll admit. The film industry is demanding, and there are times when I’m away for long periods. But we make it work. We make sure to communicate every day, and when I’m home, we cherish our time together. It’s all about findin’ that balance.”

The interviewer then touched on future plans. Cillian’s eyes lit up at the question. “We’ve got lots of plans, but the most important thing is just bein’ together and supportin’ each other. We’re passionate about advocatin’ for better hearin’ health awareness and workin’ with organizations that support the deaf community. It’s become a cause very close to our hearts.”

As the interview wrapped up, Cillian was asked to describe his partner in a few words. He smiled, a look of pure affection crossing his face. “She’s remarkable, resilient, and absolutely amazin’. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

With that, the interview concluded, leaving the audience with a glimpse into the heart of Cillian Murphy, not just as an actor but as a devoted partner. His words, delivered with an unmistakable Irish charm, painted a vivid picture of a love story that had grown stronger with time, marked by understanding, support, and a shared commitment to making the world a better place for everyone, regardless of their abilities.

Cillian stepped out of the studio into the crisp evening air, his mind still buzzing from the intense interview. As he walked to his car, the city’s sounds faded into the background, replaced by a warm anticipation to hear her voice. He reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar contours of his phone, and pressed her contact.

“Aye, love,” he began, his voice softening with affection as soon as she answered. “I just got done with the interview, and I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.”

He leaned against the car, the cold metal pressing through his coat, grounding him. His blue eyes softened, the sternness often seen on-screen replaced by a tenderness reserved only for her. He could almost picture her smile, the way her eyes would light up when she heard his voice. It never ceased to amaze him how her presence, even over the phone, could calm the whirlwind in his mind.

“How was yer day?” he asked, genuinely interested. He knew she had an appointment earlier to adjust her hearing aid, and he was eager to hear how it went.

As she began to respond, he listened intently, his mind painting a vivid picture of her sitting in their cozy living room, perhaps with a book or one of her beloved plants. He could hear the subtle shifts in her voice, the way she tried to downplay any discomfort. His brow furrowed slightly in concern, but he kept his tone light, not wanting to worry her.

“Did it go alright then, the appointment?” he probed gently, hoping she’d open up about it. His accent, a rich Irish lilt, wrapped around the words, carrying a comforting familiarity.

She assured him it was fine, but he knew her well enough to detect the slight hesitation. He made a mental note to talk about it more when he got home. For now, he wanted to keep the conversation light, to make her laugh.

“Ye wouldn’t believe the questions they asked me today,” he chuckled, recounting some of the more absurd ones. “One lad wanted to know if I ever wear my Peaky Blinders cap at home.”

Her laughter, though soft, was music to his ears, a soothing balm to the day’s pressures. He grinned, imagining her shaking her head in amused disbelief.

“Ah, love, I miss ye already,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. The longing in his tone was palpable, the fifteen-minute drive seeming like an eternity. “I’ll be home soon, alright?”

They exchanged a few more words, their conversation peppered with the easy familiarity of long-term partners. He reassured her he’d drive safely and promised to pick up her favorite takeaway on the way home. As he ended the call and slid into the driver’s seat, he couldn’t help but think about the look in her eyes whenever he walked through the door. The way she would light up, her whole face radiating warmth. It was a look that made every grueling hour on set worth it, that made every probing interview bearable.

Starting the car, he drove through the city streets, his thoughts still lingering on her. The world outside blurred, each stoplight and street sign a mere backdrop to the vivid memories of her laughter, her touch, the way she always knew just what to say to ground him.

“Fifteen minutes,” he muttered to himself, accelerating slightly, eager to close the distance between them. “Just fifteen minutes.”

As Cillian turned the final corner and his shared home came into view, a warm, almost boyish smile crept across his face. The modest, yet elegant house stood bathed in the soft light of the late afternoon, shadows lengthening across the lawn. His eyes immediately found her, his partner, sitting serenely on the front porch, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The sight of her, relaxed and content, seemed to ease the day’s accumulated tension from his shoulders.

He parked the car in the garage, the familiar scent of oil and metal mingling with the faint aroma of her favorite jasmine flowers, which she had planted meticulously along the driveway. As he stepped out and locked the car, the solid click of the door echoed in the quietness of the suburban street. Cillian paused for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, savoring the comforting smell of home.

The garage door groaned slightly as it shut, but the sound was barely noticeable to him. He walked towards the porch, his pace quickening with each step. The gravel crunched under his feet, and he could see her lift her head slightly, sensing his presence. Her face lit up with a smile that always felt like a beacon guiding him home.

“Hey, love,” he called out, his Irish brogue softening the words. The warmth in his voice was unmistakable, a blend of affection and relief.

She saw him and held up a finger and pointed to her missing hearing aid, then fishing in her pockets and pulling it out and putting it back on. She tanned to take hearing breaks when she wasn’t feeling her one hundred percent.

She turned to him, her eyes twinkling with the same joy. “Hey yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying a gentle melody that always soothed him.

Without missing a beat, Cillian opened his arms wide, and in a few swift strides, he was on the porch, lifting her effortlessly from her seat. She let out a surprised laugh, her coffee nearly spilling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her close, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair mixed with the faint aroma of coffee. It was a scent he associated with comfort and home.

“I missed ya,” he murmured into her ear, his accent thickening with the raw emotion of the moment. There was a slight tremble in his voice, a sign of the unspoken worries and stresses that evaporated in her presence.

She pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her smile softening. “I missed you too, Cill. How was your day?”

He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken thoughts. “Long. But seein’ you here makes it all worth it.” His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and vulnerable, reflecting the depth of his feelings.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them seemed to fade away. The distant hum of a car, the chirping of birds, and even the rustling of leaves became mere background noise to their shared moment. Cillian gently set her back down on the porch, but kept his arms around her waist, reluctant to let go.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Good. Now, how about we go inside and watch a movie or somethin’..”

With a nod and a smile, she took his hand, leading him towards the door. Cillian glanced back at the porch, the place where he had found her waiting for him, a sanctuary of peace after a day of chaos. As they stepped inside, the familiar creak of the door and the warmth of their home enveloped them, and Cillian couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. No matter how demanding the world outside could be, he knew that in her arms, he had found his true haven.

Author’s Notes:

I had this idea come to me while almost falling asleep, literally jumped out of my bed and started writing. Plus i’m also partially deaf as well.

Credit for the masterlist banner: Cafekitsune

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Hitting on me?? In the middle of a gallery showing?

[screampied]

JJK men reaction to us saying it’s impossible to make us orgasm/cummm? 🥹

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ SLUT STRETCH ME OUT ! ’﹒⺡

gojo & geto, toji, sukuna, choso

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, backshots, praise, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, gojo and geto eating you out at the same time, choking, overstim, squìrting, daddy kink, díck slipping, mdni.

✰ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuck are you even talkin’ about.” toji scratches his head, watching as you straddle his lap. you had a mere pout go against your lips before struggling to get your words out. his voice pitches, a deep and rough low. needless to say it turned you on, quite more than you thought it would. “speak up. don’t like when ya mumble.”

“i’m serious,” you chastise, eyebrows sweetly furrowing. “no guy’s ever made me um— finish.”

toji had an unreadable expression, your breath hitches once he grips your hips before giving you an intimidating stare. “riiiiiight,” and he’s clearly not taking you serious. if anything, toji finds it insulting. you nearly moan, scooting up against his lap just to feel his bulge prod underneath your shorts. “and i’m a virgin,” he scoffs underneath his breath—you gasp, watching as he makes you turn around, facing the opposite way. your chest hits against the soft padded mattress before he trails a hand up your ass. “we can fix that problem right now, princess. just watch me.”

“how?”

“how?” he mocks your tone. “don’t ask stupid questions,” he spanks your ass, and you moan from the sheer recoil. for a split second, it tickles. yet that’s when he softly caresses the palm of his hand against his skin and you bite your lip once you suddenly feel the plump tip of his dick graze against your slick entrance. “now now, bend that ass over ‘n i’ll show ya how. how ‘bout that, girl.”

he was so mean, so sassy too. the air around you grew so thick. it made your toes curl, just knowing toji’s eyes was leering towards your rear the entire time. “good girl. like that. ass up ‘n face fuckin’ down,” and embarrassingly enough, you were already so soaked. sopping right through your pretty panties. he gets ahold of your ass, making it scoot up high before seconds later he’s deepening himself into you. “mhmm,” he grunts, feeling your warmth swallow him whole. toji’s cock was so thick, the hefty girth— you could feel your tongue start to shamelessly salivate. “no one’s really made ya orgasm, princess?”

“n— no,” you whine, feeling your slick coat him from all the way down to his base. your legs spread just a bit, and he’s just about halfway in before your lips part, forming into a cute 'o'. “think it’s some kind of scientific—”

“okay girl don’t piss me off,” toji grits, and once he’s finally in, a single thrust was just enough to send you straight over the edge. you kneeled on the bed, the right sight of your cheek presses against the sheets before you moan. “ain’t nothing scientific about this. y’er gonna have an orgasm. just trust me.”

you mewl each time he gives you a spank, a mean spank that merely rings throughout your ears. toji’s thick cock brushes against your entrance, and once he starts up a pace— it’s over.

toji’s pace, his movements . . it was simply delicious.

such sloppy rude hips smacking into you, you’re barely even clinging onto the bed by this point. your back is arched and by this point you’re being fucked against your own mattress. it was always known, whenever toji fucked… he fucked hard.

he loved you, but his striking disrespectful hips always said otherwise. this entire angle was purely amorous. this was always his favorite point of view, you with your ass all up, face being pummeled into the whitened silky sheets. everytime, you start to whine once you felt toji deepen his hits just a bit further. so good that he leans up directly close to you. the back of his foot prods against your neck and you feel his sock rub further down against your skin— the cottony wool that runs behind the back of your head sends you chills.

“t-tojiiiii, fuckkk,” you’d whimper, feeling him literally fuck you with his foot just resting against the back of your head. he was so lazy.. so lazy and yet you never failed to throb from it everytime.

“that’s not my name when ‘m deep inside this nasty cunt, girl. let’s try that again.” he gruffs lowly.

“fucking..” you grumble, cutting yourself off. he always found your attitude to be so amusing. toji leans up close, a hand wrapping around your neck as he’s still pounding such thick inches into you, ruthlessly. “daddy, think ‘m gonna cum. i—i feel it.” you spat, cutely wriggling your hips against him.

such a cute whiney voice, his length stretches so deep within you that it makes your eyes roll and roam everywhere. he’s just gifting you with hit after hit. your jaw just drops down the moment your left leg starts to profusely twitch.

once a sudden wave of nerves bundle and brew up inside you, you whine out a sweet, “oh my g-godddd,” whilst he’s still maneuvering plenty of circles against your pussy. you’re just here, arched over, bent over for toji fushiguro like some slut. his slut.

“good girl,” he huffs out, slowing down a bit. “relax for me, yeah. shut that mouth ‘n listen to how sloppy this pussy gets just for me. all for me.”

those two weak legs of yours, they felt like mush. shakey and just utterly useless. he spanks your ass a final time before he rubs tender circles against your throbbing sopping pussy that’s just barely getting over its recent euphoric release.

“she’s got so much to fuckin’ say, listen to her with me,” he whispers, using the entirety of his wrist to rub between your legs— he’s still plugged into your cunt with his shaft, yet he’s multitasking by playing with your pussy. you whine, your legs trembling in arousal and he just lowly chortles.

“awww. no back talk now, huh?” he purrs before playfully tugging your hair back, leaning to lick a long stripe down your neck. “exactly what i thought. can’t fuckin’ orgasm my ass.”

✰ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

“hm? never orgasmed before huh? greedy fuckin’ girl. ‘n here i’m thinking my fingers was just enough for you.” sukuna teases and you’re just speechless. he’s holding them up for you with the most cunning grin plastered on his face.

you moan, feeling him sink two thick pairs of digits into your slick heat. he sneaks a chaste kiss near your inner thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, savoring the sweetened taste. “kuna that’s not what i mean— i just, i want you to make me finish.”

“nah. don’t try ‘n correct me, little girl,” he grouses. “you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your thighs twitch, “but fine. if you wanna orgasm that bad, i’ll give it to ya.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit.

your sheeny lips part and part from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out, lapping you up so sloppy like— his lips latch and lock against your folds and your eyes just roll all the way back, wayyyyy back into the depths of darkness that your skull provided. he was so filthy, he just couldn’t help it.

you kiss your teeth freely, feeling his two fingers vigorously insert deeply. in and out, in and out. he’s prodding against that spot repeatedly again and again. it was nothing but a mere sight, all of the stimulation combined had you tongue tied and cross eyed.

“f-fuckkk, ‘kuna— sukuna.”

“shut the fuck up ‘n give me that orgasm, woman,” and your head gets all fuzzy— he’s so mean, giving your cunt even more various spanks, the palm of his hand is coated in nothing but your wet arousal and it’s so cute. “i gotta spank again ‘n again just to have you finish on me?”

“don’t tell me what to d— do.” you protest.

“last time i checked, i know how to make myself cum…. unlike someone,” he grunts with a menacing glare. it was so unintentionally sexy.

his cruel eyes stare right into yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy. a wet long glob trickles down and it’s so messy, he’s so messy.

he runs his middle finger down your slit and his eyes never once leaves your cunt— not even for a moment, a split second even. you meet eye contact again and as you hold the bottom of his chin, his fangs poke out. sukuna’s entire chin was covered with nothing but your sweet wetness. he laps it up slowly with his tongue, making sure you watch his every move before going back to plant a kiss against your throbbing entrance.

your were so close, never once staying still. you just squirm and squirm. gradually, you felt something start to unhurriedly build up—you couldn’t exactly pinpoint the feeling…. however, both of your ears started to burn up hot, electricity’s pulsing through you all at once. “i feel something s-sukuna.”

“course ya are” he hums cockily with a low raspy laugh following shortly after. once you wrap a hand around his length, you moan once he smears his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your pulsating entrance. “messy little girl. so eager ‘n all just for me. can’t help but be nasty for me, huh.” and within quick moments, he already feels himself starting to bottom out. sukuna groans, feeling you selfishly swallow him up and it’s so warm. immensely, your walls grip around him tightly and you feel yourself reaching a specific shock waving peak. “let this pussy make a mess on me, don’t gotta be shy,” he hums. “it’s just you ‘n me here, girl.”

not only do you orgasm— you end up squirting all over him too. it comes out in a quick spray, and it’s so much that your maw drops and your eyes become insignificantly droopy.

it’s so adorable, at least in the curses eyes. sukuna barely gave you a few of his rigorous thrusts before you’re already losing yourself, your hearing turns into complete white noise. “o—oh my goddd.” you’d sob out, and he smirks.

sukuna gives you a chaste kiss, only to quickly pull away to teasingly lick against your bottom lip. “nasty little girl. didn’t no one tell you to fuckin’ squirt on me.”

“s— sorry,” you moan, feeling yourself still continuously throb. your orgasm took nearly everything out of you, you were panting and you watch him kiss you again and again, tasting the own flavor of yourself on his tongue. he pulls away, his pearly white fangs playfully biting near your lip before he brushes a thumb against your lip.

“that’s not what i wanted you to say, girl.” he rasps.

your body felt so tingly, for a moment you’re confused before you slump forward into his chest. “i— thank you?”

“and?”

“i love you, sukuna.”

“i love you too, brat,” he breathes, and as a thumb of his strums against the top of your lip, he snarls lowly, staring right into your eyes before squeezing your lips together. “now open your mouth. i want you to be more of a messy girl ‘n taste yourself some more. say ah.”

✰ SATORU GOJO & SUGURU GETO

“guys i’m not joking,” you protest between your words two best friends. you lie against between the two of them, basically sandwiched them both before a cute pout forms against your spit-glossed lips. “i literally can’t orgasm. i read somewhere ‘n think it’s genetic or something.”

geto chuckles. “genetic, hm?”

gojo leans near you to press a kiss against your neck.

“mmm. maybe you just haven’t found the right guy to do it right,” and you moan once gojo trails a hand down to part between your legs. “ooh i know. how ‘bout you let me ‘n sugu try to fix that with our tongues? maybe that’ll help.”

“for once, satoru doesn’t have a dumb idea.”

“shut up, man.”

once you tell them to go ahead, you suddenly found yourself being laid flat.

you mewl out a sweetened whimper, your ass raised all up in the air. geto runs a thumb down the slick part of your entrance before lapping his tongue against your cunt. his technique was always so filthy, eating you out like a starved man.

his tongue, it was so lengthy—you felt it skim all throughout your folds, occasionally sucking against your clit. your entire body tremors before you feel gojo lean in to slide his tongue against your puckering neglected hole. “so greedy. takin’ us both, right pretty girl?”

you whine at geto’s words, feeling the sensations of both of them eating you out— at the same time too, one focusing their attention towards your clit, another towards your ass. gojo moans, warm breath fanning against you before he repeatedly delves his tongue inside. he was so sloppy, breaking his lips away on occasion to spit before lapping it up for a final time. over and over, geto’s flicking his tongue against your sensitive nub for the umpteenth time and your body immediately starts to quaver. it felt too good, extremely. your mouth starts to grow dry and your toes just curl up with such quickness.

“f— fuckkk,” you’d sob out, wriggling your ass against geto’s face and he just snickers. he kisses the fat of your ass with a smack from his palm, and you moan. pretty soon, your thighs start to ache and you were merely drooling. “don’t s-stop, keep going pleaseeee.”

“taste so sweet,” gojo huffs out in frantic breaths, still running his pink tongue against your rim. you don’t think you’ve ever experienced something as lewd as this before—especially with the two of your best friends. the three of you fooled around a bit, practically inseparable, maybe occasionally eating you out every once and a while … but this? not by a mile.

geto smiles, already so pussy-drunk. your slick coats near the very bottom of chin—gifting it with your sweet wetness. how generous, as his tongue mindlessly hovers against your cunt, he gives it another long suck. each flick against your nub made you start to see stars— it was apparent, you were practically numb, although, you started to feel it. a sudden incoming wave approaching at a high chasing speed. you weren’t sure what it was but it was oddly unfamiliar.

“you’re being stingy, sugu,” gojo grumbles, shoving his best friend aside before rolling his tongue against your cunt also— you were just soaked, you heard a single slurp from gojo’s mouth and you had just about had it. a rippling tingle emerges, and static just pours right out of your hot-tempered ears. your orgasm was so cute, it was a mere squeak.

whilst you dissolve into pleasure, succumbing to whatever lewd voice that had you in a tight chokehold— geto’s still dragging his tongue against your clit before he turns toward gojo. “i’m the stingy one?” and right before gojo could reply with something snarky, he leans in and kisses gojo.

he moans, kissing back right away. the pure taste of your honeyed slick that ran down both of their chins, they tasted it. geto snickers, watching gojo suddenly form into a puddle, such an easy pushover. while they kissed, he pulls away before going back towards your cunt, spitting on it before pulling gojo’s head close to make out with him again— they both lock lips while fighting over over your cunt.

“s-suguru, ‘toru—” you’d moan, the arch in your back never subsiding.

“kiss me again, sugu—”

“no, satoru. this is about out girl. not you.”

“hmph, don’t gotta be so rude.”

✰ CHOSO KAMO

“you—you can’t orgasm either?” choso says with a sweet look of surprise. he has a genuine reaction, dark pools of eyes staring into you as you’re just barely hovering over his leaky tip. “thought it was just me.”

“really?” you murmur, not expecting that to be his reaction. choso had the cutest expression plastered on his face. he was sweating, a plethora of sweat droplets race down his bare chest before he clings onto your waist. with a nod, he skims his eyes down towards your body before shyly darting away. “you’ve never had a orgasm?”

choso replies in a timid tone, a weak grin forming on his lips. “no. that’s … kinda why i was gonna ask if we could make each other finish together,” and his face turns completely flushed—it’s adorable. “of course i-if you want to. i just … just wanna make sure you’re feeling good too ‘n not just me.”

you lean in to kiss near his cheek and he moans just from the simple touch. a sweet mewl departs from his lips, and once you gradually make your way onto his hardened length, he sighs deeply.

“let’s do it together then, baby,” and choso’s droopy eyes stare at you once more. it’s cute, he swallows thickly before feeling you slowly bury his cock right into your gripping walls. you lean in to plant a wet kiss near the crook of his neck before you started to move. “hey, look at me.”

“i— i don’t like when you call me baby,” he pouts, feeling you start to create a rhythmic pace. your hips moved so slow against him, pretty soon choso’s dark irises started to roll swiftly in harmony. “it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s cute,” you tease, rocking back and forth. everything felt like an illusion—just being engulfed in your wet heat, it was a dream. choso couldn’t even try to suppress the lewd moan that leaves his lips each and every single time. “you’re even more louder than me, baby.”

“shut up, ‘s not t-trueee,” and his words briefly drag before you quicken the movement of your hips by default. choso’s sat manspread, and he’s just about to lose it. your pussy grips against him tightly, and it’s so good that he’s huffing out white breaths of air each time. “y—you’re such a,” and he pauses before groaning. his left thigh starts to bounce, a cute attempt at trying to keep up with your pace and that’s when he feels his dick pound into you again and again. thwacking, it became repetitive, he’s captured in a hypnotic trance all because of your hips. “love how you fuck me s-so good, pretty girl.”

you continue to pepper his twitching mouth with kisses, and his hands roam up your waist before pulling you back against him.

“c—chosooo,” you’d hum out, although in comes out sounding like a soft purr. you were perfect in his eyes, even your smell. it was simply enchanting, so sweet. your perfume wafts against his noise before within seconds later the crown of his cock meets that particular spot. “do you— do you feel it too?”

“i feel it baby, ‘m gonna cum i— i think,” and he sounds unsure, his voice was so shaky and he holds you right into his arms. his warm embrace, choso’s breathing patterns became quaky, it was so cute. how his naturally low voice pitched, a fiery pools into the lower depths of your abdomen as you grind against him at a much more fast tempo.

choso’s jaw then abruptly tightens once his dick ends up slipping out of your cunt — he pouts, his tip now smearing against your cunt before he freezes and before he realizes, he’s already cumming, hard. “o-oh shit.”

even his swears were cute, choso grunts the moment his now flaccid dick sprays the entrance of your pussy with stringy ropes of his cum. velvety ropes, he’s feeling a spring coil tightly and you ended up following shortly afterward.

you moan, grinding against his now soft shaft that was just laid underneath, not even plugging you inside anymore—you shut his moans up with a simple candied kiss. choso trembles, parting his lips before gripping your ass. each moan that escapes from his lips sounded even more pretty and melodic.

once choso breaks away, a pretty sheeny cobweb of spit departs from his lips and yours. you watch as he brings a hand between your thighs.

“s-so much,” he pants, smearing the tips of his fingers with his own seed. he liked admiring his own mess he always created inside of you. it was lewd, yet he wanted more. more of you.

“let’s .. let’s do it again. please? i— i wanna be dirty for you, please. this time i… i wanna see how a human squirts, princess. teach me?”

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … Y/N & TOJI BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT… 537k views

⌦ 🎬 ⁺　　　.　　　　❀

꩜ actor! toji x actress! reader

⤷ synopsis : you & toji deny the dating rumours, but you’re both being a little bit too comfortable with each other for your relationship to be just “platonic”.

sfw, fluff, toji is a little ooc <3

. art credits to deltapork on twitter

.. inspired by this post

… part 2, part 3, part 4

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

꩜ first clip

you & toji are in an interview, one to promote the upcoming release of the action movie you both star in where you’re the main love interest. it is bound to be a huge success, judging by the interest and how everyone loves the chemistry you and toji have both in and out of film!

the interviewer asks you a question and while you’re responding you can feel someone staring at you. you turn to your left where toji is sitting, and he has his eyes dead set on you, not looking away for one second. you turn your focus back to the interviewer to continue answering, but you can’t help but turn back and see that he is still staring at you with his intense blue eyes. you repeat this a few times before cutting off your own sentence with a giggle and covering your face with your hands.

toji chuckles in confusion, looking at the interviewer and then back at you, bewildered. “what-whats so funny?”

you look at toji with your hands still covering your face. “toji, i can’t concentrate when you look at me like that!”

toji tilts his head, swiftly shifting his chair in your direction and leans closer to you, practically nose to nose at this point. “like what?”

“like that!” you laugh, covering your hot face once more as he and the interviewer laugh at your actions.

the interviewer chimes in. “i do have to say, your eyes can be quite intimidating..”

“see?!” you say to toji and then look to the interviewer. “thank you.”

toji huffs and just looks at you. and you look back at him with a small grin on your face.

you speak. “as i was saying…”

you repeat your response to the question and toji exaggeratedly stares at you and you attempt to ignore it (and fail).

꩜ second clip

this was a behind the scenes clip, where your cast member is speaking about his characters relationship with the other main characters but sadly for him, that is not where the viewers’ attention was.

in the background, they see toji sitting on a couch looking at his phone and then you walking into frame. toji looks up from his phone, and if you look very closely, he can be seen smiling at you. you walk over and plop down on the couch right next to him. you both talk to each other for a few moments, faces close together and then you lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and taking what appears to be a nap. toji, moving as slowly as he can, takes a blanket that is already on the couch and drapes of over you. you snuggle closer to him, prompting toji to rest his head on top of yours. he does just that.

꩜ third clip

during an interview with you and the cast members, including toji, in front of a live audience, you somehow found yourselves on the topic of the types of cars you all have. you then remember how toji had told you about a motorcycle he owned, but you forgot which kind.

“i think i wanna ride on toji’s..motorcycle! i think-”

you hear the audience laugh and hear a few wolf whistles and you turn to your fellow actors, who are also laughing, especially gojo. you seem confused, but then you think back to what you said a second ago and feel your face heat up in embarrassment.

“oh, no no nonono-” shaking your head vehemently, “that is not-”

“toji’s motorcycle eh?” gojo teases while raising his eyebrows and wiggling his fingers, which only encourages the mockery and your desire to punch him.

you cover your face with your hand and sigh. “oh my god.”

while everybody in the room makes fun of you, you look to the left to see toji’s reaction and the camera pans to his smug smirking face.

“i mean i’m free friday night so..” he trails off, winks at you and the audience goes crazy and you shove your face in your hands.

“forget i even said anything!”

꩜ fourth clip

you and toji were recording a little vlog like video for the fans, talking about what it was like on set when you get onto the subject of what working with the other cast members is like.

“yeah gojo’s is pain in the ass.” toji states and shakes his head, fondly almost. “never stops running that big mouth ‘a his.”

spits of laughter fall from your mouth at his frankness. “uhh..yeah that’s true, gojo if you see this don’t be offended!”

“yeah we still like you we just..wish you’d shut the fuck up more often.”

“toji!” you gasp and slap his chest, “you’re no spring chicken either you know.”

toji scoffs and looks at you with a raised brow. “yeah, you’re a handful yourself.”

“what? no i’m not!” toji tilts his head and blinks. “everyone says i’m great to work with. you’re such a liar.” you roll your eyes with a laugh.

toji chuckles and moves closer to you on the sofa, and leans towards your face. “no ‘s alright. i have big hands.” he places a kiss on your cheek.

“ew, you’re so corny!” you lean away and wipe away his kiss, trying not to smile and look flustered.

꩜ fifth clip

this was a big day for y/n x toji lovers, when a movie you were both in won an award. now, neither of you were the main characters, but the fans made sure to make you both the most popular ones.

while the director is accepting the award, fans zoomed in on you and toji standing near the back of the group of cast members, where you’re tearing up and trying not to cry. you’re wiping your tears and toji looks at you and does a double take when he realises that you’re crying. he looks down at you and hugs you from the side, which makes you lay your head on his chest and wrap an arm around his waist. toji accepts this invitation and full on hugs you, kissing the top of your head softly and rubbing your back.

꩜ sixth clip

toji posts workout videos on his instagram stories. they’re mostly of him lifting weights and they’re rare, so fans cherish them.

and then theres a short video of you laying on top of toji’s back while he does pushups like it’s nothing. you’re smiling, spreading your arms out like you’re flying. toji suddenly starts going fast as fuck, making you bounce and almost fall off. you gasp and start hitting the back of his head while the person recording starts to laugh (most likely gojo).

you fall off toji’s back and lay on the floor like a starfish. the camera pans to a proud looking toji before you kick his face.

a/n: thank u for reading ^_-

[pasukiyo]

BEAUTIFUL THING

mike schmidt x f!reader word count; 2,573 warnings; smut, no plot, just porn :D summary; there was nothing in the world she wanted more than mike schmidt. but what were the chances he'd ever make a move on her?

 She wanted Mike Schmidt.

 Don’t get her wrong, she absolutely adored Abby, she was sweet, funny, and overall not a hard kid to take care of. But she knew all too well what her intentions were when she agreed to take up the babysitting job— how could she say no when he looked at her like that with those big, deep brown eyes?

 It was another late night spent at the Schmidt house— Mike had just gotten himself a new job with unholy hours, some late night security gig he had no choice but to take. Her mouth opened in a yawn and through her bleary vision, she blinked down to the watch on her wrist. 

 4:30 AM. Mike wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half or so. 

 She sighed and threw her head back against the cushions, staring absentmindedly at the television as some old cartoon played, audio soft and muffled. She wasn’t sure why she even bothered trying to stay up for Mike— she’d been babysitting for him for months, (without pay, might she add) and still, neither he nor she had made any moves. She wasn’t even sure if he ever even intended to make a move on her. 

 But she was just so certain that he felt at least some sort of attraction towards her. She could see it in the way he looked at her, how his eyes would absentmindedly trail down her body against his better judgment, how he’d pull the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth while he did. She could see it in the way his body would react when she came too close, like when she gave him a handshake or playfully shoved his shoulder.

 It was the same way she reacted when he was close. 

 Surely it couldn’t all be for nothing?

 Her eyelids were falling heavy against her eyes and she slowly slumped further into the cushions of the couch, hands tightening around the blanket around her body. Sleep was so close that she could reach out and feel it, and she would’ve slipped into the arms of slumber if it hadn’t been for the opening and closing of the front door. 

 She grumbled and furrowed her brows down at her watch. 

 4:35 AM. Mike wasn’t supposed to be home yet. 

 At the notion, she jolted and snapped her head towards the entrance, her heart thrumming against her chest as she prepared herself for the sight of a total stranger, ready to make a run straight for Abby’s room. She blinked and narrowed her eyes at the dark silhouette of the figure as it hung its coat on the rack bolted on the wall. 

 “Sorry. S’ just me.”

 She knew that voice. It was a voice she always dreamed about, a voice belonging to someone she’d seen practically everyday.

 “Mike?” Her voice came out rough, having not spoken for hours, not since Abby had gone to bed. “What are you doing home so early?” She asked as she pushed herself further up the sofa while Mike made his way towards the recliner, wiping a hand down his face before plopping down into the seat. She could only make out his face through the light from the television but even then, she could sense something was off. 

 Mike tapped his fingers against the armrest of the recliner, “I… I just… needed to leave… I guess,” he replied and she frowned, scooting to the far side of the couch closest to him. “Is… is everything alright?” She questioned, unsure whether or not he needed consoling. Mike leaned further back into his seat and let his eyelids flutter closed, inhaling deep through his nostrils. 

 “Just… is Abby asleep?” He finally asked after a moment and she nodded, humming. “She went down earlier than usual. Actually managed to get her to eat something,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile but quickly faltering again when she realized Mike wasn’t going to reciprocate. He looked almost… distraught. 

 Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she pondered her options. She’d known Mike for some time but even then, she still knew little to nothing about him. He slept a lot, that was for sure. And he loved his little sister and was trying so hard to be exactly the type of person she needed. But she knew nothing about him, Mike Schmidt himself. She didn’t know what he did in his free time, what he liked to eat, if he had hobbies, nothing. 

 Hell, she’d spent so much time fantasizing about him and filling in all the holes herself, she hardly even acknowledged that he could be somebody entirely else. She didn’t know the first thing about him.

 But she could learn to try. 

 She leaned forward, a steady hand warily finding his on the armrest of the recliner and she flinched when Mike snapped his eyelids open, looking between her and their touching hands. Their gazes surged into one another and she made no moves, as if seeking any sign that she should stop.

 Mike’s heart thrummed so hard inside his chest, it was a miracle that she couldn’t hear it. She looked at him as if she were asking permission— permission to what, he hadn’t even the slightest clue. But in spite of the voices inside of his head telling him he shouldn’t, that he shouldn’t let her, that he was wrong for her, he did. How could he say no when she looked at him like that, as if he were the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon?

 His silence gave her the confidence to let her fingers creep further down to the back of his hand, flipping it around until they rested against the heel of his palm. Slowly, she soothed the tips of her fingers up his palm until they fell between the cracks of his, letting her digits curl around his knuckles. Mike shuddered at the touch and let his own fingers press down against hers and he watched as she raised their intertwined hands to her mouth, their gazes molded together as she pressed her lips against his skin. His lips trembled as they fell open and he narrowed his eyes, clinging onto the last bit of restraint he had left. 

 “You can relax with me, Mike,” she whispered against his skin, pressing another soft kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger. “You don’t have to worry while I’m around.”

 Mike pressed his lips back together and fought back the urge to groan at her words, his eyes wandering from their hands, down her arm, to her chest where it pressed against the edge of the sofa. His breath shuddered when he exhaled and the rubber band stretched inside of him finally released and with it, the last of his restraint. 

 Fuck it, he thought. It’s been long enough.

 Mike tugged her closer by the hand and her lids widened, a squeal slipping from her lips, in which he was swift to eat right up, pressing his mouth against hers. With his hand not intertwined with hers, he gripped her hip, working his way up to her waist to squeeze. The sound she made was muffled inside their admittedly messy kiss and he pulled her even closer, her knees having nowhere to go but on the outside of his thighs. 

 Mike groaned and pulled away to catch his breath as her hips ground down against his, already feeling frustrated with the growing erection in his jeans. He blinked up at the woman on top of him, her arms thrown over his shoulders, her chest heaving as she chased air back into her lungs. She stared down at him with hazy irises, still bleary from lack of sleep. 

 “Sorry,” Mike finally managed to breathe out, his palms resting on either of her thighs. “Probably a little much, wasn’t it?”

 He watched as the corners of her lips curved into a grin and she chuckled breathlessly, shaking her head. “Not enough,” she tittered as she surged her lips back into his, one of her hands on his shoulders slithering their way into his mess of dark tendrils, fingers curling and tugging at his roots. He hissed inside her mouth and dug his fingernails into her skin, a whimper falling from her lips, allowing him to take control of the situation. 

 He pressed himself forward and reached for the end of her t-shirt and she briefly broke away to allow the fabric up and over her head, her own fingers already working at the buckle of his belt. Mike leaned forward to pepper kisses all across the tops of her breasts and she threw her head back as he took over in undoing his belt, ripping it from his loops and throwing open the button and zipper of his jeans. 

 She clambered off of him as he raised his hips to tug his pants and boxers down just enough to allow his erection to spring free of its restraints, feeling her stomach do a somersault at the sight as she stripped herself of her own shorts and panties. Mike fought the urge to wrap his hands around his cock as she reached behind her back to undo the clasps of her bra and time seemed to slow as the straps fell from her shoulders, the lave toppling to the floor altogether. 

 He swore he could feel his mouth water and never before this moment had he wanted something, or someone, more. He blinked up at her, following her gaze down to his lap and at his erection that stood tall, waiting for her, dripping with pre-cum. 

 Mike cocked an eyebrow, “you just gonna stand there or you gonna take it?” He asked, voice low and husky and fuck, she thought she’d drop dead right then and there. Still, this was a dangerous game they were playing. “What about Abby?” She whispered, glancing towards the hallway where Abby’s room was. “What if she wakes up?”

 Mike pressed his lips together and bucked his hips, raising a leg to softly give her calf a kick. “You can be quiet, right?” He murmured in question and she felt herself clench from his voice alone. Here Mike Schmidt was, cock out and erect, all because of her. This was something she had only dreamed of— never did she think that this would become reality. 

 Mike cocked his eyebrow again and she shook herself from her thoughts, taking his hand as he guided her back onto his lap. Her body shuddered and her bones rattled as she began to sink herself down, jolting when the tip brushed against her cunt, teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip to contain her sounds. 

 “It’s okay,” Mike whispered. “I got you.”

 Her eyes about rolled in the back of her head at that as his hands kneaded at the flesh of either of her hips, guiding her further down his length, making sure to go agonizingly slow to ensure she felt every single fucking inch of cock inside of her. Tears brimmed the outskirts of her eyelids as she finally sat still on his lap, filled to the brim with cock. Mike let her head fall down against the curve of his shoulder, burying her nose into the crook of his neck as she allowed time to adjust to his size, simultaneously trying to keep her sounds to a minimum. 

 “You’re so tight,” Mike’s breath shuddered in her ear and his voice made goosebumps litter her skin, his fingertips like the icy breath of a ghost against her back. “You think you can handle moving now?” He asked in a whisper against the shell of her ear and she nodded, letting him grab her thighs and push her further up his cock until just the head remained. She cried against his neck when he sank her all the way back down his length, the lewd noise of their wet skin slapping together making her clench around him. “Fff… uuck,” he dragged his curse out as he snapped his hips up against her.

 “Shit!” She gasped as he thrusted again and again and again. And she let him. She let him use her in whatever way he pleased. 

 “Gonna be good for me?” He muttered next to her ear. “Gonna let me take care of you, hm?” She nodded, bobbing her head up and down against his shoulder as he snapped his hips up to hers again and again, daring the coil inside her belly to snap. “Think you can handle it?” He asked again and she nodded once more, crying and biting down on his collar. “Yes!” She cried, fortunately muffled against his skin. 

 So Mike thrusted again, harder and harder, chasing that high, that release he so desperately needed. He could tell she was close— it’d probably been so long since she’d been stuffed by cock like this. She’d probably been waiting for this moment just as long as he has. 

 With the pad of his thumb, he pressed down against her aching bud and Mike could feel a fresh new set of tears soak his skin as she cried, bucking her hips into his touch. His thrusts were as sloppy as they were powerful and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

 “Mmm… Mike… I’m… I’m gonna…” she hardly managed to stutter out, slowly feeling the coil inside her stomach as it began to unravel. 

 “Yeah?” Mike said, his other hand wrapped around her neck and pushing her forehead down against his, gazing up at her closed eyelids. He rolled his head against hers, “look at me,” he breathed out and watched as she slowly fluttered her lids back open, just as more fat tears beaded down her cheeks. The sight was enough to get him to teeter on the edge himself. 

 “Gonna come?” He asked and she nodded, sweat-slicked forehead lolling against his. He nodded too, already feeling her release around him as she spawned around his cock, relying solely on him and his body to keep herself up. She buried her face in the crook of his neck again as she whined and cried, Mike’s thrusts speeding up as he gave himself that final push he needed to send himself reeling, spiraling and shaking with the force of his release. 

 “Fuck,” he growled into the skin just below her ear, squeezing his eyelids shut tighter as he willed himself to keep his sounds on the low, for the sake of his little sister sleeping just in the other room. 

 Silence fell over Mike and the babysitter for a good, long moment as they both recovered from their highs, chasing air back into their lungs as the realization of what they had just done began to sink in. Mike should be mortified— she was his sister’s babysitter, he doesn’t have time for this, she doesn’t deserve him, he shouldn't have done this. 

 But the woman in his lap settled herself closer into him, nuzzling her nose against the crook of his neck, her lips like a crescent moon against his skin as she placed a soft kiss to his flesh there. 

 “I hope you’re okay, Mike,” she whispered and he threw his head back, an arm thrown around her body as he stared up at the ceiling. How could he push her away now?

a/n; so yeah!!! i watched fnaf on friday and it kinda sorta just brought back my whole josh hutcherson phase so enjoy!! this was just a quick little something i wrote up and there's like no plot at all and not proofread LMAO

[radiance1]

There was a boy walking towards the invading army.

There was a civilian child walking towards the invading army from the infinite realms lead by their tyrannical ruler. The Justice League tried to stop force their way through, save the boy.

Instead of that, however, they were blocked by multiple ghosts, all hellbent on not leaving them alone. Superman tried to get close to the kid? Piles upon piles of ghosts knocked him back. Wonder Woman? The same thing happened.

The thing was, that wasn't even the ground army who did it. But the ones in the sky.

So the kid was walking towards an entire army by himself. One hellbent on taking over Earth and have no qualms about ending the short life of a human boy.

Instead of watching a child die, a life they failed to save. Something else happened.

The army parted for him.

Just as Moses parted the Red Sea, the same happened with the ghosts. They made a clear-cut line for him to walk straight towards their king with no obstacle, even clearing the way of anything that could pose as one.

Again, the Justice League tried to go down to drag the boy away, only to again be denied by the ghosts flying through the sky. Only to stop chasing as soon as they retreated a certain distance.

The ghosts stood still, and only moved as they got close, unlike their previous acts of causing havoc and mayhem. So, the Justice League, as much as they didn't want too, stood still and watched.

The boy stood at a stop before the king, painfully tiny in comparison to the massive ghostly tyrant standing before him with his arms crossed.

"Yo, dad." The boy said, and the Justice League froze in shock.

===

"Yo, dad." Danny lifted a hand up in greeting, before dropping that hand to rub at his neck. "Funny seeing you here, I guess."

"Phantom..." Pariah Dark's voice was soft yet booming and seemed to echo throughout the battlefield. "We meet once again on the field of battle, come to challenge me again, little one? Without your armor, no less?" Pariah tilted his head to the side slightly, questioning.

"Oh that? Yea that got destroyed ages ago," Danny shrugged, as if not having it didn't bother him at all. "Parents couldn't exactly, you know, finish it. Plus, they had other things to work on, so they just decided to scrap the thing altogether." He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged again. "So, yea..."

Pariah looked the boy over, his eyes hardening and he clicked his tongue at what he saw.

"You come here, not with armor," Pariah began, strength in his voice and a fire (literally) in his eyes. "Nor a weapon, or a shield, and no allies of any kind-"

"Well those guys are there" Danny pointed behind him, straight at the Justice League.

"-Walk up to a hostile force with no gauge of their strength." But Pariah just barreled on as if the Justice League were an afterthought. "And face their leader and do not expect to come to harm!?" The Ghost King scowled, and the Justice League tensed.

But just tilted his head slightly. "Well, are you going to harm me?" He asked.

Pariah Dark blinked, then whispered. "I could, child. I could kill you." He put a strong emphasis on the word kill.

"You could," Danny nodded. "But are you going to hurt me?"

The Ghost King remained silent, but his gaze intensified.

Danny shrugged, this time with a smile. "See? You wouldn't hurt me so it's fine. Ya big softie."

Pariah's scowl intensified. "I am not soft, child."

"Oh really?" Danny leaned forward and his smile took on a more playful edge. "Then what's you're reason for visiting Earth, hmmmm?"

"To wage war and fight against this world's mightiest heroes." The Ghost King answered quickly.

"Annnnnnnd?"

The king remained silent for a moment and Danny stepped forwards before he face planted onto concrete. "C'mon, dad. Tell me the other reason you came here." Danny crossed his arms, mimicking the Ghost King's pose.

They stared each other in the eyes for a moment, before Pariah looked off the side with green dusting his cheeks. "You have not visited in 50 years, son..." He whispered, but everyone heard it.

"Hah! Knew you missed me!" Danny said shamelessly with a satisfied and smug smile.

"And your father forced me out of the realms because I upset him." Small embers started igniting themselves on the tips of the king's hair.

Silence echoed over the battlefield, before Danny burst out laughing. Pariah Dark's hair fully exploded into green fire as he reached a hand to cover his face. "Of course, alongside the shameless and cheekiness, you get Clockwork's sense of humor as well..."

The Ghost King, at least this very moment, seemed more and more like a tired dad than some fearsome, tyrannical Ghost King.

[rileyslibrary]

It’s lunchtime at the military base, and you can’t decide what to eat. Ghost is getting hangry.

———————————————————————

“It’s a simple question,” he says. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“Are you hungry?” He asks and lifts his hands.

“Yes, sir.”

“What exactly are you hungry for?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He drops his arms to his sides and sits at the corner of his desk. He touches the back of his neck with one hand while supporting himself with the other.

“Every fucking day, you do this to me,” he murmurs. “If you don’t decide this time, I’ll go eat alone.”

“Oh! Is that so?” You squint and hunch forward at your desk.

“Yes!” He yells as he stands up and walks towards you. “Yes, I will. In fact, I would love to.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and your jaw drops. How dare he? You’d been teammates for years, sticking with him through thick and thin, never betraying him once. But now he...

“...Would love to?!”

“That’s right!” He snaps and slams his hands against your desk. “So, for the last time: What. Will. It. Be?”

You lean back in your chair and bite your pen while considering your options. Ghost’s gaze darts from you to the pen, then back. He groans and grabs the pen from your hand, tossing it to the side.

“Pens are off the menu today,” he declares, snapping his fingers, “I need an answer. Now.”

Dumfounded, you stare at the pen on the floor. If someone else had done this to you, you would have slapped them in the face. Worse, if he had watched anyone else treat you that way, he would have ripped their limbs off their body.

But he’s hangry. As insignificant as this conversation appears, he doesn’t handle his hunger with the same poise he handles other, more complex situations. Not only that, but your indecisiveness doesn’t help, either. You need to make a decision quickly, so you sit up straight and place your hands on the table.

“What are my options again?” you ask.

“Pizza or burger.” He replies sternly.

“I don’t want piz—”

“Burger it is, then,” he says with a nod. He knocks his knuckles twice on the desk and strides towards the office door.

“W-wait, Ghost, wait!”

He sighs and leans against the door, his hand on the handle.

“I don’t like the base’s burgers.” You mumble.

“Nobody likes the base’s burgers!” he yells. “But we still eat them!”

“I was wondering,” you say and lower your voice, “if there is another choice?”

He’s softly bashing his head against the door, and you try to persuade him that there should be a third option—a vegetarian meal, perhaps. In response, he begins making whimpering noises. He’s the one getting on your nerves now.

“You know what?” you snap, “I’ll go check by myself.”

He extends a hand in your direction and shows you his palm.

“No, no, no, no!” he cries. “You join the others in the queue, and the entire base will starve until you decide!”

You scoff at his sarcasm, and he opens the door.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ll go check and call you, okay?”

“LIEUTENANT!” you shout, but he slams the door behind him. You peek over at his desk. “You forgot your phone...” you murmur to yourself.

The lieutenant was a very cold man when you first met him. His responses were limited to yeses and nos with the occasional shrug, and he never joined you in everyday job activities, especially at lunchtime. You’d always eat alone in the mess hall, and if your breaks coincided with that of Gaz or Soap’s, you’d sit with them and eat lunch together. Ghost would normally sit in the office or hide in a corner around the base and eat since he didn’t want anyone to see him without his mask. But slowly, he came to trust you all with his face, and you’d eat together, locked in your office.

You look at the time. Given his hunger when he left, he should have returned five minutes ago. What if he gave up on you and is already eating with the rest? Sure, your indecisiveness annoys him, especially since he has to deal with it daily, but he’d never let you eat alone, right? On the other hand... he may be trying to teach you a lesson.

You take another glance at the time. This doesn’t feel right. You start cleaning up your desk to head for the kitchen, but someone knocks on the door.

“It’s open,” you announce, “come on in!”

“I’ve got my hands full.” You hear Ghost reply.

You walk up to the door and swing it open. Ghost stands there with a serving trolley full of dishes.

“Thanks,” he murmurs while he pushes the trolley inside the office.

“You forgot your phone!” you inform him.

“I didn’t forget it,” he says as he stops the trolley in front of your desk. “I’d rather put my bare hand in a fire and let it simmer than add a third option to your dilemma and let you decide while there’s a queue of starving soldiers behind me.”

He removes the plates from the trolley and arranges them on your desk. “Here’s the fucking pizza, the fucking shitburger, and the tofu version of the shitburger.”

He places another plate with five pizza slices on his desk. He removes his mask and immediately slaps a piece in his mouth.

“That’s a lot of food, Lt.,” you whisper, scanning the plates before you.

He turns his head towards you and keeps chewing. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “better have all the options in front of you than squeeze any reserve of patience I have left.”

You take a slice of pizza from your tray and bite into it.

He stares at you, raises his plate to the sky, and rambles about how “you didn’t want pizza before.” You clarify that, while you still don’t want pizza, it appears to be the best option among the three.

“However,” you continue, “I would murder for a good burger.”

He swallows and takes a second pizza slice from his plate.

“I know a place,” he explains. “We can go tonight.”

“Lieutenant, you smooth operator!” you tease, “like on a date?”

He nods and takes another mouthful. He doesn’t even bother looking at you. He’s too preoccupied with nourishing his massive body to worry about your mocking.

“What kind of a place is it?” You ask.

“It’s a shithole,” he says, “but it does the best burgers you’ve ever had.”

“So, what should I wear?”

He stops eating and aggressively shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I won’t get involved in your woes again—I’ll give you the address, and you’ll be there at 8 p.m.”

“Are you going to email me the menu so I can decide what to eat ahead of time?”

He swallows and looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, taking another bite.

“Why?”

“Because there’s no menu at my place.”

———————————————————————

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 8

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Breeding - Bang Chan

Word Count: 8.4k

Summary: Your family’s yearly vacation is here and once again, you’re single. To avoid having your dating life be poked and prodded by your relatives, you decide to turn your best friend for a little help. Everyone already knows him! What’s the worst that could happen if he pretends to be your boyfriend for the week?

—————————————————————————

“It’s going to be a disaster,” you lament, leaning your head back over your couch. Your coffee mug gripped tightly in your hand.

A random movie is playing on your TV, but neither you nor your best friend are paying attention.

“It will not,” Chan chides and nudges your arm with his elbow.

He sips his own drink slowly, watching you throw your arm over your eyes.

“Yes it will! Every year my family goes on this vacation to the mountains, and every year I’m reminded that I’m the only single adult in the family.”

You sigh.

“You’re not the only single one, what about your cousin?”

“He started dating someone about a month after last year’s vacation. They’re still together, so she’s coming on the trip.” Your tone switches to something less dramatic. “She’s lovely, by the way, you’d like her. Very friendly.”

Chan laughs. “So, you’re single and alone there, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s your family. ”

“They make fun of me the whole time! And if I do anything my mom doesn’t like, she’ll go ‘this is why you don’t have a boyfriend, Y/N.’ Ugh!”

“Aren’t there only four ‘older’ cousins?”

“Yes, and I’m the only single one above the age of seventeen. I’m twenty four and I am going to die alone.”

Your arm drops from your eyes and you stare up at the ceiling.

The air in your apartment is warm and comfortable. Candles burn on the table beside you, filling the house with a pleasant warm cinnamon scent.

It was always one of Chan’s favorites.

“How long until the trip?” he asks.

“Next weekend.”

“Not enough time for a dating app, huh?”

You force a laugh, “No. Can you imagine? ‘Coffee was great! You wanna come on a week-long vacation with me and my giant, loud family?’ They would run for the hills.”

“Your family is great and you know it.”

“I know, they’re just… obnoxiously close, that’s all. I love them, don’t get me wrong.” Your arm slides off your eyes and you stare up at the ceiling. “But if I need to listen to my aunt nitpick my appearance in passive aggressive ways to ‘help’, I might kill myself.”

Chan takes a long sip of his drink. “They’re not that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “They love you so much, what would you know? Every time I bring you around them I always get tons of questions afterwards about you. I think my cousin is in love with you.”

“Which one?”

“Lily.”

“She’s twelve.”

“Twelve and in love with you.”

Both of you sit in silence for a moment. Chan’s attention slides back to the TV. He’s looking at it, but he’s not absorbing what’s really playing.

Same with you, you’re too busy wrapped up in your thoughts when an idea hits you all of a sudden.

“That’s it!” you yell, sitting up straight. Your voice startles Chan and he almost spills his drink all over your couch.

“What? What’s it?” he asks quickly, checking his pants to make sure nothing spilled.

“You can come with me!”

“You want me to go on your family’s yearly vacation in place of a boyfriend?”

“I want you to come on my family’s yearly vacation as my boyfriend.”

Chan’s head snaps over to you, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. You’re already looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Chan!” you beg before he has a chance to say no. “Please, please, please!” you repeat over and over again.

Placing your coffee on the table, you crawl closer to him on the couch, begging over and over again.

“They already love you so much! It would be so easy ! Plus, it’s all expenses paid! It’s a free vacation to a lake house in the mountains with your best friend!”

“Felix isn’t going.” Chan teases.

You whine and grab his free hand. “No, me! Your best friend! Pretty please Chan! I’ll owe you big time!”

He stares at you for a long moment, thinking it through in his head. You’re staring at him with big, pleading, sparkly eyes. He’s never been able to say no to that look.

He sucks his teeth, head cocking to the side for a second. The hand in yours twitches and he holds it, like a faux-shake.

“Fine,” he says. “But, you owe me dinner.”

Squealing, you throw your arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He wraps his beverage-free hand around you and hugs you back. “You’re seriously the best, thank you!”

“I know, I know. Now can we please finish the movie?”

——————————————

The trunk to your car slams shut, Chan dusts his hands off and then rests them on his hips.

“You look like a dad,” you tell him while coming up to the car with your backpack slung over your shoulder.

“A dad who packed the trunk of your car perfectly.” He eyes the backpack on your shoulder. “That goes in the backseat. I’m not opening the trunk again.”

Giggling, you open the backdoor and toss it in.

“Can you drive?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. “You know how much I hate driving.”

Chan sighs and holds his hand out for the keys.

“You’re the best!” you cheer and toss them to him.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Chan rolls his eyes and ducks into the driver’s side of the car. “Do you have the address?”

You duck inside the car and start typing on your phone. “I should have it in my texts, one sec.”

Scrolling through your phone, you try to find the text that your aunt sent you with the address. Your family has rented the same AirBnb every year since you were fourteen and yet you could never remember the address of the place.

As you’re searching for it, a phone call from your mom comes in.

“Oh, hold on.” You say to Chan and hit the answer button.

“Hey, ma!” you greet into the phone.

“Hey, sweetie! Are you on your way yet?”

“We just got into the car, actually. We’re about to leave.”

“I thought you would’ve left an hour ago.”

“Chan got held up at work, actually. Not his fault.”

At the mention of his name, Chan perks up and looks over at you, listening to the phone call intently.

“Ah, gotcha. I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you two finally started dating.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still kinda new,” you lie through your teeth. You look up and make eye contact with Chan. “We only became official about…”

His eyes widen and he looks around panicked. Quickly, he holds up three fingers.

“About three week-”

He moves about wildly.

“Months! Three months ago! Sorry, I’m a little distracted putting all the bags in the car.”

Chan reacts to your lie comically, his chin jutting forward, head cocking to the side. You wave him off silently. Your mother doesn’t seem to clock your panic about the situation.

“I always saw how the two of you looked at each other, it was only a matter of time, really.”

A blush crawls up your neck and turns your ears and cheeks red. Chan looks down at his lap and coughs nervously, a blush of his own making its way onto his skin.

“Anyway, we better get going, mom! You know how talking on the phone while driving is illegal and all.”

“Make Chan drive! He’s the boyfriend.”

“You’re so right… And he should do so without putting up a fuss.”

Chan motions down to himself, as if to say ‘I’m already the one in the driver’s seat’. You wave him off again, trying to focus on your mother’s voice.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you soon, but I expect some questions to be answered when I see you, Y/N!” Her voice is teasing, but it makes your blood run cold.

“Of course, mom. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye, love you!”

You don’t give her a chance to answer you before you hang up.

The silence in the car is so loud, the air is so still.

“So,” you say slowly. “We need to come up with a backstory, huh?”

“It seems so.”

Another bout of silence.

Neither of you are looking at each other, you’re both facing forward, staring out the windshield.

“I’ll uh… find the address.”

“Yeah.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and scroll through your phone. Chan waits a second before starting the car.

——————————————

Chan turned one of the final corners of the trip onto the street.

“Our first date?” he asks.

“Coffee at the cafe by my apartment.”

“Second date?”

“Movies, we saw Barbie. We went out to eat afterwards. A diner.”

“When did we become official?”

“Three months ago. May 6th. You asked me after our third date.”

“And?”

“You kissed me at my door.”

“Good.”

You both pause for a moment.

“How come I can’t be the one that kissed you?” you tease him.

Chan laughs out loud and turns the car into the driveway. “As if you would ever make the first move.”

You look at him incredulously. “I so would! You’re the one who gets too nervous to do anything. I say I kissed you, not the other way around.”

“No way, I kissed you.”

Chan puts the car into park.

“Absolutely not. I kissed you first.” you reply.

“Keep dreaming. I walked you to your door, we stood there and talked for a minute. You went to walk inside, but I stopped you and kissed you.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt.

“No, after we talked, there was an awkward silence and I could see how nervous you were and how you kept looking at my lips. So, I took the first step and kissed you.”

Grabbing the door handle, you wrench it open before Chan could issue a rebuttal again.

He calls your name from inside the car and lets out a loud groan afterwards.

“You can’t have all the firsts, now can you?” you call back, walking around to the trunk.

The front door to the house rips open and two of your little cousins come tearing out of the house with happy smiles.

“Y/N! Y/N!” they both call out, sprinting up to you.

Leaning down, you scoop both of them up into a hug with both arms, giving them an equally excited hello. Both of them hug you tightly.

They’re five and nine years old, girl and boy– the youngest of the cousins.

“Look who else I brought with me,” you giggle and look over at Chan, who was watching you from the side of the car. The door still opened, his arm leaning on the top.

Both of their tiny gazes turn towards him and just like that, you’re forgotten about.

“Chan!” They both cheer and run at him full tilt.

He wraps both of them up in his strong arms and picks them off the ground.

“Hello, you two!” he coos and gives them both kisses on their heads.

Something twinges within your heart seeing him interact with the two of them that way, it goes through you like an arrow. His brown eyes are so warm and sparkly holding your two little cousins close to him.

A genuine, bright smile pulled across his beautiful face.

Chan steps away from the car and puts them on the ground, they both complain. “Come on, I need to help Y/N with the bags. I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if I made her carry them all by herself.”

Your heart thuds again. Boyfriend.

The two kids groan and give in, running back into the house, telling everyone of your arrival.

Chan watches them for a moment before turning to look at you with a sheepish smile. You smile back and knock twice on the hood of your car.

“Come on then, boyfriend. These bags won't carry themselves.”

He laughs and grabs the bags from the trunk, arguing with you when you try to lift some of the heavier bags. Well, you weren’t going to argue about carrying something if you didn’t need to.

The cold air conditioned house was a familiar sight when you walked through the front door. One of your aunts was near the entrance when you first came in.

“Y/N, Chan, you’re here! We have you both in the room down here, I hope that’s okay.” she says, pointing to the room down the hall. It’s one of only three bedrooms on the first floor.

“Yeah! That’s totally fine, thank you.”

You smile and walk to the room, dropping your bags down on the bed.

The singular bed in the room.

Chan follows you inside the room with your bags, plopping them down on the floor by the door. You turn to look at him, he’s staring at the bed, most likely thinking the same thing that you are.

He closes the door behind you both.

“I didn’t think about this part.” you say quietly just in case someone was outside the door.

He shrugs. “Just don’t hog the blankets,” he jokes. Chan brushes it off so easily.

What you don’t know is his heart is racing just as much as yours is. His mouth has gone completely dry and he had to gulp down some nerves before jesting with you.

It’s just a bed, right? Both of you can share a bed, no problem. Not at all.

The two of you have fallen asleep on the couch together before. But, it’s not quite the same as sharing a bedroom for the next week.

“I didn’t think you would need any blankets since you’re a human space heater.” You open your one bag and pull out a few smaller things.

“You’re just jealous because you’re cold all the time.” Chan stands on the other side of the bed, plugging his phone charger into the wall.

“I’m not cold all the time.”

“You’re in a sweatshirt and it’s eighty five degrees outside.”

“We had the air conditioning on in the car.”

There’s a few knocks on the bedroom door. “Dinner!”

——————————————

Contrary to what you both originally thought, your family did not grill the two of you interrogation style about your relationship. Instead, you were met with a lot of “It was only a matter of time”.

Each time one of your family members said something along those lines, both you and Chan would grow extremely shy, faces flushing and hearts racing.

Dinner was held in the back room attached to the large kitchen, a long dining table sat in the room, benches full of your family members lined it.

There were so many of you: eight cousins, three aunts, two uncles, two parents, one sister, one brother in law, one grandmother.

This was not the first time Chan had been around your extremely large family, not at all. He’s around you all the time, especially when he can’t go home to Australia for holidays. You always invite him to your family celebrations, and each time he’s more than thrilled to be there.

Everyone was so happy that he was there; part of you thinks they’re happier to see him than you.

Dinner came and went, it was filled with laughter and stories, like it usually is. Your dad and his brothers all teased one another, bringing up stories of being young in the 70’s and 80’s.

“Let’s do a movie night!” One of your younger cousins turns to her older brother. “You’ve been promising me that we would watch Star Wars.”

“You want to watch Star Wars tonight?” he replies.

“Yes, please! Cousins movie night!" She cheers and grabs her plate. “We can set the couches up like last year!”

Chan leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Movie night?”

“There’s a den upstairs with a couple couches, we push them together to make a giant bed and all watch movies at night. Very common L/N Family Activity on vacation.” you answer, leaning closer to him. “The adults usually go to bed and all the cousins watch movies.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Both of you chuckle and smile at one another. His dimples showing. You two seem to be in your own little bubble.

Chan’s leaning so close his body heat is radiating through your clothes. The fabric of his shirt is brushing against your bare arm.

“You’ll find that there’s a certain schedule to each day, breakfast, play down at the lake, lunch, back to the lake, get ready for dinner, eat dinner, movie time.”

“I think I can get used to that.”

“You better.”

A throat clears by you. Your aunt is looking at the two of you with a playful smile. “Are you both going to help clean up or what?”

——————————————

“Dibs on sitting next to Y/N!” One of your little cousins calls out after you all finished pushing the couches together.

“No, I want to sit next to her!” Another yells out.

The youngest runs up and throws his arms around your hips, hugging you close to him. Both arms don’t make it around you all the way.

“No, me!”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. He holds you tighter and it knocks you off balance slightly.

“Come on, hon, you got to sit next to me at dinner, let someone else have a turn.” you coo down to him.

“No!” he pouts and hugs you tighter. You grimace and try to pry his arms off you.

Chan comes out of nowhere and picks your cousin off the ground in one fell swoop. “How about me, huh?” he teases and tickles your cousin with his one free hand.

Your cousin starts giggling like crazy.

“Don’t I get to sit next to my girlfriend?” he jokes and tickles him even more.

The biggest smile stretches over your face, heart warming once more.

Chan drops your cousin onto the couches, he bounces a bit, still laughing.

The tickle torture continues now that both of Chan’s hands are free. Giggles turn into cackles.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t fight the smile on your face and the feeling that stirs in your stomach. Are you ovulating? You have to be. There’s no other explanation for the flutter within your chest.

He just looks so natural like that. The teasing looked adorable.

It wasn’t until one of your older cousins came into the room before your gaze was taken away from Chan.

“Lovesick, eh?” he says in your ear.

“Oh, shut up.” You hit him in the arm.

“I know that look anywhere, Y/N. You can’t fool me.” He laughs and then walks to take his spot on the big couch huddle with his girlfriend.

Chan picks your little cousin up by the ankle and starts dragging him around. Both of their laughter was music to your ears.

“Okay, okay! Move time!” You call out to the two of them. Chan looks over at you immediately with the goofiest grin on his face.

Your little cousin groans.

“Give me my boyfriend back,” you tease and climb onto the couch.

After several minutes of figuring out seating and finding the movie on the TV, everyone was finally settled.

Chan sat directly next to you, his arm on the back of the couch behind you. Both of your legs stretched out in front of you and a shared blanket draped over you both.

The opening title sequence of Star Wars starts playing and silence falls over your cousins for the first time since you got there.

Absent-mindedly, Chan’s fingers lightly brush over the skin of your exposed shoulder from behind you. They trace small shapes lightly.

You can’t even focus on the movie in front of you, Chan’s touch is too distracting.

Your sister and her fiance sat on the other side of you. She leaned over and whispered in your ear about twenty minutes into the movie.

“You can cuddle with your boyfriend, you know.”

A flush crawls up your neck. “Yeah, of course I know that. I just didn’t want to–”

Chan must’ve heard her, his hand closes over your shoulder and brings you closer to him. Your body turns into his, head tucked underneath his chin. His body warmth seeps into you as soon as you press into him.

The cherry on top is when he presses a kiss to the crown of your hair before resting his chin on top of your head. A shockwave of goosebumps ripples through your body.

Thinking you were chilly, Chan wraps his other arm around you and holds you even closer.

Well, if he’s playing the part.

You intertwine your legs with his underneath the blanket. His heart jumps in his chest and he has to fight the urge to press another kiss into your hair.

Chan knew he was pushing his luck with the first one, but it just felt so natural, he couldn’t help himself. Every single time the two of you touch, he instinctually takes it further into a romantic zone.

Previously, he would restrain himself from advancing these moments with you, but now? He doesn’t need to hold himself back. He can let his body react naturally.

The movie continues on, whenever a younger cousin would ask any questions about the movie, one of the older kids would answer.

Whenever Chan was the one to answer, his voice would rumble deep within his chest. The later it got, the raspier it sounded.

Throughout the movie, you both just got more and more tangled up underneath the blanket. You slid an arm around to rest your hand on Chan’s chest; fingers mindlessly playing with the fabric of his t-shirt.

Chan melted into your touch so easily.

In all the years you’ve been close friends, you’ve never been this level of a human pretzel while hanging out. He’s relishing every moment of it. Your shared body heat mingling is intoxicating to him.

He’s such a tactile person, physical touch is definitely his love language.

Chan can’t remember a time he was ever this cozy while watching a movie.

One of his hands moves from your shoulder and into your hair, running his fingers through the strands gently.

Every muscle in your body relaxes when he starts scratching at your scalp lightly. His soft exhales puff out on your head. Normally, this would bother you, but instead you find it soothing.

Both of you were fighting against your eyelids towards the end of the movie. The little kids fell asleep about ten minutes before the credits rolled.

Chan squeezes you tighter for a moment before whispering into your hair, “Time for bed.”

Your heart squeezes. “I gotta help get the little ones to bed.”

“I got it,” he answers. “Go wash up and get to bed. I’ll be downstairs in a few.”

Words can’t even describe how much your heart melts at his words.

Pull it together, Y/N. He’s your fake boyfriend for the week, remember? Not your real one.

It’s Chan – Bang Chan. The same guy who held your hair each time you drank yourself sick in college. The guy who camps out at your dining room table to work because he claims the Wi-Fi is better at your apartment.

Nevertheless, you peel yourself off of him, untangling your limbs and sitting up.

“You’re the best,” you say to him with a sleepy smile.

“I know.”

——————————————

Sunlight streams in through the bedroom window and the air conditioning unit continuously hums in the room.

A strong arm squeezing tighter around your body is what drags you out of dreamland.

A searingly hot body is pressed flush against the back of yours; legs tangled up, back to chest, soft exhales blowing into your hair lightly.

The haze of sleep still has your mind in its grip. All you know in that moment is that it’s so cozy, so warm, so nice that you can’t help but press your body backwards into that serene clasp.

The arm tightens again and brings you even closer.

A nose nuzzles further into the back of your head.

Chan, it’s Chan behind you.

You should care. You should be prying his arm off your waist and scooting over away from him.

But you don’t want to. It’s too nice.

It’s so peaceful, you’re about to drift back to sleep when the sound of two separate footsteps run towards your bedroom door.

They’re so loud, it rips you from sleep and you tense up, preparing for impact.

Your bedroom door is practically flung open.

Chan jolts against your body at the noise, his eyes snap open, arm tightening around you even more in a protective manner.

He has about two seconds to get his bearings before both cousins leap onto the bed, yelling at you both to wake up.

Chan releases you and turns over onto his back with a deep groan.

You groan and squint your eyes closed, bringing the covers up over your head.

“Noooo…” you moan out.

Chan laughs and grabs one little cousin closely, hugging her close to his chest. “Are you in here to sleep in bed with us? I sure hope so since it’s still soooo early.”

She giggles and tries to fight against his strong arms. “No!” she cackles. “You have to eat breakfast so we can go swimming down at the lake!”

Your other, more calm, cousin squirms underneath the covers and cuddles up to you. Slinging an arm around him, you keep your eyes closed and try to let your mind drift off again.

This is not the first time he’s done this, and it most likely will not be the last. It breaks your heart thinking about the year he feels like he’s too old to do this.

Chan is practically wrestling with your cousin next to you. She squeals when he turns on his side with her encased in his arms.

“Chaaan!” she giggles.

After a few moments, he lets her go and she clambers off the bed.

“Come on, Chan! Come sit next to me at breakfast!” She pulls on his hand closest to the edge of the bed.

He laughs and turns his head to look at you. You’re fast asleep again with your younger cousin asleep in your arms.

Chan’s heart slams against his ribcage and his stomach does a cartwheel.

Your sleeping face is so peaceful, and the way your little cousin has the same hair color as you had the cogs in his mind turning.

What if that was your kid in your arms, not just a cousin?

What if it was his?

His eyes flicker all over your face.

Something stirs in his mind, shooting down his spine. If it wasn’t for your other little cousin yanking on his arm over and over again, probably would’ve watched you for a few more moments, allowing his mind to roam into dangerous territory.

——————————————

“You’re staring.” Your aunt sits next to Chan with a plate full of food.

He’s camped out on the back porch of the cabin. It overlooks the wooden stairs that lead down to the dock hanging over the lake.

You’re lounging out on a floaty, pina colada in your hand– courtesy of him. He had walked it down to you only a few moments ago.

When it was announced that it was lunch time, you told Chan you wanted to work on your tan without worrying about your cousins splashing you every five seconds.

Maybe making you a frozen drink was just an excuse to see your face light up when he brought it to you. Maybe it was an excuse to watch the water droplets slide over your body up close.

Chan clears his throat and tears his eyes off your lazing form. Clearly, he’d been caught staring at your bikini clad form.

She nudges his arm playfully. “Don’t be embarrassed, it would be weirder if you didn’t stare, you know.”

Your family can be so crass sometimes.

Chan laughs and takes a bite of the sandwich on his plate. “It’s just nice to see her relaxing for once.”

“Has she been working herself into the ground again?”

“She never stops.”

Your aunt nods and looks back down at you before taking a bite of her own food. “Also helps that she looks good in that bathing suit.” She pauses. “Damn, your kids will be good looking.”

Chan chokes on his bite of food, his body jerks forward and he slams his fist into his chest to try and get it down.

Your aunt pats him on the back a few times, laughing at his expense.

“What?” She questions with an evil chuckle. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“We’ve only been together for three months,” he wheezes out, still hitting his chest. The clump of food is sitting in his throat.

“And?”

“It’s too early to think about stuff like that,” he lies through his teeth.

You’re not even his. You’re not. This week will end and you’ll have to go back to just being best friends.

He’ll have to pretend that he wasn’t fake sleeping for the last hour before you woke up just to have his arms around you for a little while longer.

“Please.” Your aunt rolls her eyes and goes back to her food when another family member joins the table.

Chan takes a long swig of water before letting his eyes flicker to you once more. Your free hand hangs down in the water, head tilted back to dip into the cool lake, exposing your long, beautiful neck.

In his swim trunks, his cock twitches and he takes an even bigger drink of water.

——————————————

The torture continues endlessly for the two of you.

It’s the fourth night when it’s just you and Chan left awake.

Rain is pouring against the windows outside, the fireplace is lit, TV playing something in the background.

“I’m never going to get to bed.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have had coffee with dessert,” you tease Chan, nudging his arm.

“Your uncle offered me a cup and I panicked.”

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“I know!” He whined.

You laugh at his expense. “Come on,” you tug on his arm. “You promised you would play pool with me.”

“When did I say that?”

“Literally this morning!”

“Fine, fine.”

He allows you to pull him off the couch with a dorky smile on his face. He loves giving you a hard time for no reason at all.

The pool table sat in the front room, just a few steps away from your bedroom.

Every time the two of you had gone to play pool, other family members would get in the way and pull one of you two in another direction.

Tonight was really the first night you both had to yourselves.

“You break,” you tell him once everything is set up. He nods and lines up his shot. After a second, he hits the cue ball perfectly into the cluster and all the balls scatter along the table, but nothing sinks into the pocket.

“Pity,” you tease him.

“Pity,” he repeats, mocking your tone.

Laughing, you bend over and line up your own shot. From across the table, Chan watches your form bend over, his lip pulling between his teeth mindlessly.

You hit the ball and sink one in.

With a cheer on the quieter side, you look at him with a smirk. He rolls his eyes playfully as you line up another shot.

The game continues just like this for a bit. Both of you going back and forth, missing most shots, but also nailing some good ones.

You’re tied at the end, racing to try and sink the 8-ball before the other person.

Leaning over the table right in front of him, you try and set up your aim.

“Wait,” Chan says quietly before you can pull the pool stick back to take your shot.

He leans down over you, pressing his back into yours, arms coming around you. He guides your aim to hit the cue ball differently.

The entire time, your heart rate is increasing exponentially.

“Just a bit more to the left,” he whispers in your ear. Chills rip down your body and you gulp. His voice sounds so low and sensual.

His hand over yours adjusts with tiny, miniscule movements. He keeps changing the aim a bit to the left, then a bit to the right, like he’s prolonging the contact.

Behind you, his hips are pressed into yours. It’s taking every ounce of willpower and control for him not to get hard in his sweats.

Especially, since in this position, he potentially could–

“Pull back,” he rasps. You follow his instructions immediately. He helps guide the pool stick back, hesitating for a moment. His chest inflates with a deep breath.

He breathes in the smell of your shampoo.

“Shoot,” he exhales.

With his guidance, you both shoot the ball, standing up quickly to watch it bounce off the 8-ball and then sinking into the corner pocket.

You cheer and jump up, turning around to face him directly.

“Take that!”

When you turned to face him, he hadn’t backed away yet. You’re practically nose to nose with Chan. A gasp catches in your throat from his proximity.

And yet, he still doesn’t back away. He continues to stare at you, his eyes dart from yours, down to your lips, then back up to your eyes again.

“Y/N,” he breathes out.

You swallow nervously and hold his eye contact.

Chan’s jaw clenches once, his hands ball into fists at his sides. Every single ounce of constraint is being tested within his body right now.

Cracks are going up the dam of his self control.

You’re not moving away; why aren’t you moving away from him?

He watches your eyes flicker down to his lips once and that’s all it takes for his mind to snap.

Chan lunges forward, grabbing your face with both of his hands and smashing your lips together. You let out a surprised noise against his mouth, your pool stick clattering to the ground.

Every bit of pent up aggression from the last few days is poured into the first kiss.

His hands aren’t on your face for long. He can’t keep still, sliding them all over your body; into your hair, down your sides, grabbing your hips, he’s everywhere.

“Fuck,” he growls against your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N. Shit.”

Even though he’s apologizing, he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop slotting his lips over yours, devouring your very being.

Chan’s eyebrows are pinched together painfully. He’s pinning your body against the pool table with his hips.

You grab at his shirt and pull him closer.

“Shut up,” you say in between heated kisses.

“But I–”

“Shut up.” Your tongue runs over his bottom lip and his mind whites out. Every rebuttal fell from his mind, through the floor and into the Earth.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his face even closer to yours as he licks into your mouth. With each turn of your heads, your noses brush against one another.

Chan runs his hands down your body and grabs underneath your thighs, picking you up and placing you on the pool table.

Your legs part and he stands in between them, never leaving your lips once.

As he runs his hands up your legs, he squeezes your bare thighs every few inches. It makes your core clench and body tingle.

Your fingers run up through his hair, grabbing tightly and pulling. Chan moans into your mouth and moves his hands to grab at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

“Chan,” you whisper on his lips. He responds with a grunt. “Need you.”

God.

His hands fly to your legs again, grabbing you by the knees, he yanks your hips forward. Your clothed core comes into direct contact with his erection.

“I can give you exactly what you need, baby.” he nips your lip with his teeth. “I can take good care of you, yeah?”

Trailing his fingers up, he toys with the waistband of your shorts. At the same time, he moves his kisses down your neck. You tilt your head back to give him more access.

“Wanna take these off, babygirl?” he moans when you roll your hips into his.

“Yes, please.” you hiss in response.

Lifting your hips, he grabs the fabric and slides it down your legs, tossing them onto the floor with the forgotten pool stick.

Kisses trail lower and lower down your neck as he lowers to the ground.

Chan pulls away to kneel onto the ground.

His eyes are heated and strong when they meet yours. A dark scarlet color covers his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing into his sleeveless shirt.

Both of his hands grab at your thighs when he looks down at your glistening cunt. You’re absolutely soaking wet by now.

Since the moment he helped you line up your shot, you felt your panties dampening.

Wasting no time, Chan leans forward and runs his tongue from the bottom of your slit all the way up to the top, swirling around your clit and sucking gently.

Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, the other rests on the table behind you to keep your balance.

He repeats the action again, this time with more fervor and you squint your eyes shut, head tossing back from the pleasure that rips down your spine like a zipper.

Chan’s hands tighten around your thighs, eyes staring up at you and studying each reaction closely.

You taste so fucking good. He can’t get enough of you. His tongue greedily scoops up your juices, licking around your clit to feel you grind into his face.

His cock throbs with each moan, each whine that makes it through your fingers held tightly over your mouth.

After one long suck on your clit, Chan dips his tongue inside you, licking at your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head, the hand over your mouth flies down to grip at his hair.

He can’t help but smirk into your folds.

Every single moan is music to his ears.

Slowly, he inches his fingers over and when he moves his tongue up to your clit, he slides a finger into you, immediately curling it up to hit that spongy spot inside you.

“Jesus fuck–!” you cry out as quiet as you can manage.

It doesn’t slip your mind that you’re quite literally in a house full of relatives who could wake up and come into the front room at any moment and see the two of you.

But the fear just adds an extra layer of arousal to you.

“Does that feel good, babygirl?” Chan mutters into your cunt. “Does it feel good to have my fingers inside you?”

He thrusts his finger in and out slowly, those brown eyes studying you like a predator studies prey.

You bite your lip, eyes closed, and nod your head.

Chan adds a second finger and your head tosses back again. He can feel you clench down hard on his fingers when he licks your clit in long, even strokes.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your body.

“Chan,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” he teases, licking up slowly, the pace of his fingers is equally as slow. But, regardless of the pace, he’s still coaxing you towards the edge of an orgasm. It’s building slowly, you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“Shit,” you buck your hips into his face when he does one particularly hard thrust.

“Use your words, little girl.” He bites your thigh and then goes back to your folds. You clench around him hard at the name.

How are you supposed to use your words when your voice keeps getting caught in your throat? When every time you think you can open your mouth, a sultry moan tumbles out.

“N-Need you,” you manage to strain out.

A devilish smile pulls at his lips. He begins to thrust faster with his fingers, licking your clit quicker.

“Need me?” He asks in between licks. “You need me?”

Veins are popping in your neck from straining to keep your voice down.

“Yes, fuck!” You hiss out. “ I need you.”

In between his legs, Chan can feel his cock weeping with precum. His mind is so clouded with lust he can barely think straight.

Desperately, he wishes that you didn’t have to keep your voice down. He wants to make you scream.

Faster and faster he thrusts and licks at your soaking cunt, greedily tasting your juices.

Your thighs twitch on either side of his head the closer you get to your orgasm.

“Chan,” you grab his attention by yanking on his hair. He grunts and looks up at you through his lashes, lips still devouring you. “Inside, inside. I need your cock inside me.”

Your words go straight to his dick, he licks at your cunt a few more times before standing to his feet quickly to lock your lips together, fingers still buried inside you.

When you taste your own slick on his tongue, your eyes roll back in your head and you clench around him. Chan smirks into the kiss, curling his fingers up.

He’s relentless. Tongue sliding over yours, moans being eaten up by a greedy mouth while his fingers fuck into you.

With more strength than you thought you had, you pry Chan’s lips off yours by pulling his hair back.

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll pin you down and ride you until your cock can’t cum anymore.”

An exhale is punched from his chest. His mind whites out. Chan’s mouth drops open and his fingers stutter within you.

Did you really just say that? That sounds like a fucking dream.

“Babygirl,” he growls darkly. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

Your eyes darken and you pull his hair again. “Fuck me until I can’t walk, Chris.”

Chan rips his fingers out of your cunt, grabs both of your hips and roughly pulls you off the pool table.

He fists a hand in the back of your hair and spins you around, shoving your head down, bending you over completely.

You’re lucky you had half a mind to put your arms out to rest your weight on your elbows.

Using his one foot, he knocks the inside of yours outwards to spread your legs even more.

“Fucking look at that,” he marvels, running his free hand up your ass and kneading a handful. After a second he reels back and brings his hand down with a painful smack.

Your one hand flies to your mouth to cover the squeak that you make.

“Bent over, soaking wet cunt just fucking waiting to take my cock.” His hand tightens in your hair. The other hand rips his sweatpants down to take his cock out. “What a good girl you are.”

Chan can’t remember a time he’s ever been this hard.

Casting a look over your shoulder, you look back at Chan. His eyes are blown out, lip pulled in a sneer as he fists his cock, staring directly at your fluttering walls clench around nothing.

“You wanna fill me up, Channie?”

His eyes snap up to yours with a predator-like stare. His hand stops pumping his own cock, hell, he even stops breathing.

Chan’s jaw clenches, every ounce of self control is being drained. How much more of this can he fucking take before he passes out?

“What?” His voice is so strained and hoarse.

Your eyes narrow and you wiggle your hips tauntingly. “Come on, Chan.”

Chan’s eyes darken. He fists your hair and shoves your face down on the table and slams his cock inside you.

Your mouth stretches open in a silent scream, but you don’t let the noise make it out of your body.

Chan’s eyes roll to the back. You feel so fucking good.

“Holy shit.” He moans out. “Jesus fuck you’re so fighting tight.”

He wastes no time, pulling his cock out to slam back inside you. Your back arches and hips press into his to meet his thrust.

Each sharp wave of pleasure shoots down your legs and into your toes.

Small gasps and whines make their way through your lips.

Chan leans down, yanking your hair back to pick your head up slightly. His face comes down next to yours.

“You like this, yeah?” He whispers harshly. Thrust after thrust slams against your cervix. “You like when it’s rough?”

Closing your eyes tightly, you keep your mouth shut, trying to nod with his hand so tightly wound in the crown of your hair.

“Better be quiet, then. Don’t want someone coming out and seeing you look like a cum hungry, whore.”

Over and over again he fucks into you.

After one harsh thrust, your mouth drops open and before you can moan loudly, Chan’s free hand covers your mouth tightly.

“Feels that good to have my cock inside you, huh? Can’t control that pretty mouth, you’re so fucked out.”

You whine and nod again. Nails digging into the felt of the pool table underneath you.

Hot, white pleasure is coursing through your veins. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life.

Chan leans down more and bites at the side of your neck, lapping at the skin and leaving small marks that will fade by the morning.

“You’re fucking lucky you have to be in a bathing suit in front of your family tomorrow. Otherwise I would leave my fucking mark all over you.” He bites, but doesn’t suck. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Another whine is stopped by his hand.

“I have a better idea, babygirl.” He bites your earlobe, pace slowing down within you. Instead, he thrusts deeper, you can practically feel him within your gut. “I’m going to do exactly what you said, yeah? Fill you up? Make that pussy sloppy with my fucking load.”

Your hips jerk back into his to try and encourage him to pick up the pace. Chan only tightens his hold in your hair.

“You’re going to take whatever I give you, every last fucking drop. Even after I pull out, I’ll stuff you with my fucking fingers so nothing gets wasted.”

Arching your back, you press into him more.

“You want that, huh?” He growls, biting your ear. His pace picks up gradually, each thrust rougher and faster than the last. “You want my seed inside you?”

You nod pathetically.

“You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

His thrusts start growing erratic.

You never expected him to be this talkative during sex. But he hasn’t shut up once.

Another nod accompanied with a whine comes from you. You’re absolutely drowning in pleasure.

“Gunna carry my kids, got the fucking perfect hips for it, yeah? You’ll look so fucking hot all pregnant with our kids. Fuck.”

He’s so lost and fucked out, he can’t stop his mouth from running, spewing all his fantasies.

Moving his hand from your mouth, he trails it down to grab at your throat.

“Chan!” You moan out, licking your dry lips.

“Can feel you clenching, babygirl. You gonna cum for me? Gunna cream on my cock? Suck up my cum and hold onto it with this tight fucking pussy?”

“Yes yes yes yes.” You pant over and over again. “Kiss me, kiss me, please”

When you turn your head, your lips smash together.

The coil in your gut is seconds from snapping.

You bite Chan’s lip and pull back.

“Fuck me full, daddy.”

Every muscle in his body tensed and his thrusts turn into something animalistic. The hand in your hair is so tight your scalp is screaming.

“Say it again.”

“Fu-huck,” is all you’re able to manage.

“Say it again.” He barks in your ear. You’re not going to be able sit down tomorrow.

“Daddy.”

A bite to your neck.

“Again.”

“Daddy! Fuck me, daddy!”

“Holy shit.” He whines in your ear. Hearing you say that makes him feel fucking insane. His body is acting on its own.

With a few more thrusts both of you are thrown over the edge at the same time. Your cunt clenching around him so tight, Chan can barely breathe.

His cock spurts and sprays within you, painting your walls white.

Every single sensation feels so good you think you leave for body for a few minutes. Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks.

His entire body is wrapped around yours. Grunts in your ear keep you grounded.

You feel so full.

Chan came inside you so much that it’s leaking out and dripping down the inside of your legs.

He pants heavily into your ear.

Releasing your neck, he lovingly runs his hand down your side, caressing your hip, massaging circles into the bone.

His hand slides around and cups your lower stomach tenderly.

Slowly, he unwinds his hand from your hair, kissing at the roots he’s been relentlessly pulling on. He scratches and rubs at your scalp to ease the ache.

But still, he hasn’t pulled out.

Chan kisses the top of your head and down to your face, kissing the cheek he’s able to reach.

You can’t catch your breath.

“Y/N,” he whispers into your hair.

You hum back to him, eyes still closed in bliss.

“I love you.”

Your heart jumps in your chest, Chan feels you clench around him.

“I love you too.” It falls from your lips so easily, like it’s been sitting there for so long, just waiting to be heard.

Both of your heads turn to kiss one another.

It’s so ungodly sweet for the events that just took place minutes ago.

His lips are so soft and plush, especially from being swollen from your steamy kisses.

Inside you, you can feel his cock twitch. Is he…?

Breathlessly, you pull away from his sweet kiss.

“Are you still hard?” you pant.

Sheepishly, he smiles and ruts into you. A moan catches in your throat.

“Babygirl, I’ve been waiting for so long to fuck you. It’s going to take a few times before I’m ready to call it a night.”

[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

[teeramoonlover]

Knock, Knock

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader x Stu Macher

(NSFW)

This is my first time writing oneshot, let alone smut. English is not my first language so bear with me.

Warning: Reader is a Virgin, Cussing, alot of cursing, knife play, mask kink, bondage, fingering, cunnilingus, deep throat, anal, threesome, and double penetration.

*Bold - Voice modulator, Italic - inner voice

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't recognize this deep voice talking to you.

“Who’s this?” Instead of hanging up, your gut feeling tells you to continue the conversation with this stranger. Maybe you’ll get something out of it.

“You don’t need to know about me. I just want to talk to you.”

“Now why should I do that? Stranger danger. Didn’t your parents teach you that?” You saunter around the kitchen counter and stare at the sets of kitchen knives. You pull out a cleaver and wait for them to reply.

The stranger chuckled, amused with your response.

“Just want to call you so I get to know you better.”

You poked your tongue inside your cheek. You put the knife back in its place, humming to yourself.

“Alright, Mr Stranger. You got my attention and I'm bored as hell. Shoot your million dollar question.” You leaned your back on the counter, hand in pocket while another's still holding the phone.

“Tell me, do you like scary movies?” 

“Uhh, yeah.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Does The Addams Family count? 1991 is the best.” You shrugged, checking your nails. The voice grumbled, annoyed with your movie choice.

“That’s not even a scary movie. And it’s a kid show.”

“Excuse me, that movie is my fave and you don’t get to judge my beloved Morticia Addams just because I watch a ‘kid show’. Besides, that movie is still considered horror okay. Take examples like Tim Burton’s production. Even though most of his movies are suitable for children, he still wants to insert horror elements so they could find comfort and won’t make them feel scared anymore. You should try Nightmare before Christmas or maybe Edward Scissorhand for starters.” you jested.  

“Not my kind of style. Edward is weird as fuck.”

“Oh now you’re crossing the line Mr. Nobody. Fun fact for you, Johnny Deep with or without heavy makeup is hot as fuck. Hell, if there’s any Johnny copycat out there, I’ll ride his dick straight away.” you mused. The audacity of this guy.

The stranger hummed.

Is it creepy that I can see him smiling through the phone?

“You should be careful what you wish for. It might come true.”

“Then, Amen for that. I ain’t regret what I said so if you have a problem with it, you jerked your tiny dick somewhere else.” 

He chuckled darkly.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

"What if I have one? Or maybe a girlfriend? What ya gonna do about it?” You rolled your eyes.

The phone went dead silent until a deep growl came out on the line. His voice changed to menacing.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not even lesbian.”

“Slow down tiger. I can change my preference wherever I want. Anyway, congratulations! You’re successful become from a total stranger to a fucking creep. Now no more games with me. What do you want?” You huffed, getting annoyed and a little creep out with his manic voice.

“Oh baby, you think this is a game? I’ll play a real game for ya. Knock, Knock.”

You yelped when you heard someone banging on your front door.

Shit. Wrong move.

You pull out a metal bat under the counter like you knew this would gonna happen and check around, especially every closed door inside the house. You already watched too many horror movies with Randy that you even know where the killer always comes out from.

“I ask you want more time. What the hell do you want from me?”

“You wanna know, you have to play the game with me.”

You jumped when you heard another banging. And this time, at your backyard.

“Knock. Knock.”

You gulped and took a glimpse at your back. As you saw nobody's there, you pressed your back on the wall and focused on the front door.

“Who’s there?”

You make sure all the doors and windows are already locked as your father went out training with his buddies. He says he will be coming home late.  

Double. Shit.

“Johnny.” 

You innerly scoffed. Oh he likes this game too much. 

“Johnny where?”

“Clever girl. Guess.”

You rushed to the front door and took a look outside from the window. No one was there. You blurted out the answer.

“The backyard.”

“Wrong.”

You shrieked as the sound of a crash came out from the living room. You ran there to see a big gape hole at your now shattered window. You scanned the whole room. Only one wooden chair and shattered glass all over the floor. 

He couldn’t make it inside that fast. You raised the phone as you heard his voice.

“I give you a second chance. Knock, knock.”

“Oh fuck you with your knock knock shit game! What do you want from me?!”

“I want you…to ride me.”

You inhaled sharply at his answer as you turned around with a bat raised in front of you. 

“You’re messing with the wrong person here.” You spitted. He chuckled mockingly, amazed that you still have a bit of spite even though you know you're about to lose the game.

“You should be asking where I am, (Y/N).” He enunciated your name deeply.

Sweat trickle down your temple as you took a step back one at the time. This stranger knowing your name just shot up your nerve haywire.

“Where the fuck are you shithead.” 

“Behind you.”

You turned around and hit the phone right to the side of his face.

His Ghostface leather mask to be exact. 

He covered his head from the hit with his gloved hand and you took that opportunity to bash his head with your metal bat. He doubles in pain as you hit his back with more force and knocks his feet to the floor. He lay on his back, gripping his back painfully as you stepped on his body.

“Now let’s see who's behind the mask.”

Before you could bend down to grab his mask, the air got knocked out from you as someone rammed from your side. Your head got slam on the floor hard followed by a body that stumbled right above you. 

There’s two of them?!

You tried to pry him off from you but it was no use. You could see from your blurred vision that two masked men were now crowded right in front of you. 

The first guy above your head took both of your hands and held them tight, giving out a painful moan from you, while the other one sat on top of your low waist between his thighs, securing your legs from moving.

You tried to trash your body only to feel a sharp knife under your throat. You looked up to see the second guy shaking his head. 

A warning.

“Looks like you lost the game.” Second ghostface seems satisfied seeing you beneath him. The knife in his hand trailed lower and lower to your neck. You could feel a prick of pain as the knife cut deep at your collarbone.

“Losers need to pay the price.” The first ghostface giggled, bringing out a rope from his black robe and tied your hand above your head.

“Two against one? Really fair, does it?” You gritted your teeth. Even though you’re already at their mercy, your mouth still runs like a goddamn sailor.

“Didn’t know this should be a fair game.” Second ghostface shrugged, still lingering his knife around your neck area. 

“So what? You gonna kill me?” 

“Careful, you shouldn’t challenge a killer with a knife. Now you said it, that does sound tempting.” The killer dragged down his knife to your waist. The cold of his blade sent chills down your spine as it put pressure on your stomach, emphasizing his words.

You gulped as you eyed the two ghostface. The one that sat on top of you seems like a person you don’t want to mess with. The way his voice held authority, meaning if he wants to kill you, he’ll make sure you’re good as dead. Even though he’s wearing a mask, you could feel his hot gaze on your throat to your collarbone that already bleed out from the small cut. His gloved hand reached out, smearing your oozing blood with his thumb. He loves it, you can tell.    

Another one above your head, however he's a different kind of persona. He seems to like goofing around and having fun stabbing his victim. More sadistic, more of an unhinged bastard. If he takes his mask off, you bet he'll be that funny, easy going guy. His head tilted to the side, staring at your body in awe. Like you'll become his biggest meal tonight.

"But since you beat my friend here, I'll give you a chance. If you want to live, you need to do something for me." He hinted at the end of his sentence. The first Ghostface started to laugh hysterically. 

Somehow you know what he meant, knowing what they're gonna do to you.

"What do you mean?" You shuddered.

In a split second, he pulled your body and switched position, making you on top of him. You could feel the bulge between your legs as his hands gripped your waist.

"You know what I meant."

Your whole body shivered in fear and excitement. You don’t know why your body react that way. Fear, yes but also excites you?

You already soaked in your panties, though it was the adrenaline of the chase.

You subtly rubbed yourself on his groin. He sighed in content as you kept rubbing his hard on. 

“That’s it, babe.” His breath ragged as both his hands moved your hips and pressed deeper to his crotch. His hips thrust to your core, making you let out a soft moan. 

You feel someone's hand held the back of your head, turning you to meet the first Ghostface. His gloves were already gone from both hands, as he’s working on to half-done his zipper jeans.

“Open your mouth, kitten." He slipped his thumb, pressing your lips to open. He inserted two fingers in and out as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. They were so long that you gagged as it reached at the back of your throat. When he pulled out his fingers, a string of saliva coated them.

“I’ve never done this before.” Your face was red, embarrassing to admit that you never had sex before.

“We know you’re a virgin.” He whispered. His thumb stroking your lower lip, his mask titled to the side.

“Don't worry about that. We promise to make you feel good, m'okay?" The Ghostface under you sat up, his hand tugged teasingly at your waistband while the other one caressed your cheek. His deep voice is surprisingly tender, luring you in like a moth to his flame.

Without thinking, you nodded at his words.

Beneath those masks, their smirk grew wider, finally getting you hooked with them. 

"Lift your hips for me, baby." 

He tore his gloves from his hands and guided your hips upward. As you stand on your knees, he tugged down your shorts and panties in one go. You gasped at how rough, desperate he wanted to strip you naked. 

He took out his knife and started to rip them in half. You shiver from the cold as your clothes discard aside.

A pair of hands from behind reach out to your breast and fondle them. You whimpered as he pulled and squeezed your nipples. Another hand slipped to your wet cunt, thumb circling your clit.

"Gosh, your pussy is so wet for us. We're just getting started." He mused. Slowly, he inserted two fingers inside you, thumb still rubbing your clit. You shuddered, your back laid on someone's chest, who still continued grasping your breast.

"Look at you, seeking pleasure from two psychotic serial killers. Ain't ya a dirty little slut." The one from behind cackled in manic, enjoying seeing you completely vulnerable for him.

You subconsciously ride your hips with his fingers inside you, reaching your high. Your tied arms pressed in front of his chest as his friend from behind starts to dry hump your ass. You could imagine how big their dicks are, one pressing from the back while the other one underneath your pussy, still finger fuck you.

As if they knew you're about to come, he pulled out his fingers. You let out a small whine, feeling the loss of your pussy to be filled. He dip his finger beneath his mask, groaning in pleasure as he tasted your juices with a mix of blood.

Your hair got clutched from behind and dived you to his tent. When he pulled down his boxer, you were awestruck at how thick and veiny his hard rod is. He tapped his dick on your mouth, precum smeared at your lower lips.

"Like what you see?" He chuckled, seeing you looking at his cock like that got him more turned on. 

You flustered, eyeing the two black holes resemble eyes staring at you, silently to gain his permission. He nodded, pushing his tip further into your lips.

You subtly open your mouth, licking his precum and heard his deep groan in return. This made you sucked and licked his tip and moved your hand up and down his length.

He tilted his head back. Though you couldn't see with his mask on, a sense of pride grew in you, pleased to see him feel that way.

"You're sure this is your first time? Fuck, this feels amazing." He bucked his hips in your mouth.

"Open your mouth wide open, tongue down. I'm a deep throat till you swallow all of my cum." You do as he said. He thrust his dick deep in your throat, making you gagged but you held it in. 

He fucked your mouth relentless, both his hands keeping you in place. Tears pooling down your face as saliva spilling from your mouth until your nose touches his pelvis. You tapped his thigh, coughing up when he pulled out his dick from your swollen lips.

You're too focused on the man in front of you, that your ass was raised in the air and gasped as you felt a tongue licking at your entrance.

"Damn I can eat this pussy all day." He growled from behind, licking and biting your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his tongue does wonders to you. 

You gagged as he pounds in and out of your mouth, while from behind a tongue lick deep in your entrance. His nose teasing your clit, earning you a moan vibrating through the dick in your mouth. Both of them release low moans, reaching their high.

You tap his thigh, pull you away from his dick as you feel a knot in your stomach.

"I-I some-something d-down there." You cried out, feel his friend's wet tongue thrust in and out of your cunt. You gasped from sensation, as he's licked your rim hole.

"Then cum all over his mouth, princess. Let him taste every drop." He strokes his dick as you stick your tongue out to his tip. You feel your release as the man behind lapping your juices clean.

"God, she tastes so good. I wanna fuck her wet cunt till she's scream."

The killer in front of you didn't say a word, staring at his friend 

"You can't have her. She beat you up, remember?"

"The fuck that's supposed to mean? We won, she lost."

"Correction, you get beat to a pulp and I'm the one stopping it. So, I get the prize and you just, I don't know. Enjoy the show?"

"I'm already hard and you’re telling me just to watch you all over her? Hell no man!" 

They way they're talking about you like you aren't there bothers you, but at the same time kind of hot.

You could tell his friend was frustrated, agitated while him with you on his lap stroking his tip to your folds. You whimpered as he nudged his face mask closer to your neck. You could feel his wet tongue licking and sucking at the cut he gave you. 

Deep down you know your choice terrifies you but you don't want his friend left behind.

"There's two holes for a reason, ya know." You mumbled low, but somehow both killers caught on to what you said. They both were stunned. Not long after, the one you sit on his lap snickered darkly.

"You're one dirty little virgin. Didn't know you're into that." He gripped your hips closer to his already hard crotch. You blushed at his indication.

Truth is, you stumbled upon a porn magazine from Stu's wardrobe, asking you for his sweatpants as he was in the bathroom. Curiosity kills you when you open the magazine, the page showed a blond woman penetrated by two men, dick in her cunt while another in her ass.

The image haunted you yet deep down you want to know how it feels like, to get banged by two. As you stare at her lustful face, you jump when you hear Billy's voice from outside Stu's room. So, you threw away the magazine and hastily grabbed his shorts. When Billy enters the room, he stares at you intensely. He always does every time you're in his sight. He raised an eyebrow as you gave the shorts, muttered, "Give it to Stu, he wants it." and you made a mad dash out of his room.

You know for the fact that the chances you're getting DP is slim to none. But seeing as of now, your fuzzy brain was like why not.

"You're an angel, you know that? That's why you're perfect for us." The frustrated Ghostface was now like he's in cloud nine when you told him that, hugging you from behind.

"You're meant for us, (Y/N). Remember that." The one with you on his lap was now laying down on the floor, bringing you with him so that your pussy was placed right on his outstretched cock. As his tip penetrated your entrance, you whimpered as the slight discomfort got you. As your tied arms gripped the black cloth of his front, his hand teasing your clit, trying to distract you from the pain.

As he is completely inside you, the discomfort was replaced slowly with pleasure, fullness from his thick length. His sighed in relief, loving his dick snug deep in your pussy like a vice.

"Fuck you're so tight, baby." He rasped as he helped adjust his length inside you. When he felt you ready, he slowly thrust in and out of you, making you moan.

"You like that? You like riding this cock?" His slow thrust became erratic as he rammed your throbbing cunt. Your mouth gaped open, couldn't reform words when he hit you at the right spot. 

"Y-yes, right there. Shit! You're so big." You uttered breathlessly, bouncing his dick as he thrust deeper in you. 

As you ride him, you feel another one trying to penetrate your asshole. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, stopping you as he continued to push in, hissing at your shoulder.

"S-shit! My cock gonna cut in half if you keep squeezing me like that." He buried his face on your neck as he roughly thrust you in one go, making you scream.

"M'sorry babe. Can't help it."

You try to glare at his face, or more precisely his mask. You could imagine his stupid grin, staring at you adoringly. 

This is too much. For you, a virgin and never been fuck let alone anal, this is a lot to take in. You could feel their dicks stretched inside every hole of you down there. You try adjusting to this new stimulation. They’re both moving in sync, in and out of you, feeling both of their dicks rubbing your wall one at the time. It makes you see stars as they fasten their phase.

Skin slapping filled the room, with your moan and their groan in a mix.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’mma cum!” You feel his hand gripping your hips as his thrust turns sloppy. Your body started to shake as the one beneath encircled his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest as he slammed you hard on your g-spot. 

You nearly scream from pleasure as orgasm washed over you, followed by the one behind, pumping his seed into your throbbing asshole. Your pussy tightens is all it needs from the one beneath you to paint his cum on your walls. 

He gave his one hard, second thrust at your asshole then pulled out his softened cock. The way he stared at his cum spilling from your ass stirred something inside him.

His fingers subconsciously slipped his overflow cum inside your hole. For some reason, he doesn’t want a single drop of his seed leaking out of you.

You take a deep inhale as your eyes flutter close, trying to calm from your euphoric state. You could hear his heartbeat thumping as your head laid on his chest, with him too catching his breath.

The only thing you remember is feeling a peck on your forehead and a kiss from your nape, with a deep raspy voice you manage to hear before exhaustion overtook your body.

“That’s my good girl.”

After you pass out…

“Man, that’s the best thing happen in my life!” Stu sighed, satisfied as he pulled off his Ghostface mask and slipped in his now soft dick in his pants. He looked over at his friend who was still lying on the ground with their favorite girl on top of him.

“You're lucky I came up with this plan. Knew it our girl had same fantasies like us.” He grinned, smiling like an idiot, while Billy too slowly took off the mask.

“If you didn’t pull out that porn magazine, she wouldn’t even think about it, genius.” He murmured as he stroked your arm. He sighed in relief with his eyes closed, hearing your soft snores calmed him.

Maybe they could pay you another visit, and it will be on nice bed this time.

And sure as hell he'll make sure of that.