#ok edit before someone comes for me

[stuffyflowers]

Wait am I remembering wrong or is the wiki page for Someone’s in Danger! (from th uty ost) completely wrong

[spectacular-supernova]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRESIDENT OF TONARI CLUB!

I, uh, m-made something f-for you.

Know that I'm totally embarrassing my ass over here, so... Don't laugh loud enough that I can hear you from over here!

Aaaaaand now, per Lyndis tradition, I'm gonna overexplain shits and turn a simple Ask into a whole ass Ramble!

-----------------------------(why is there no "Read More" partition in an Ask? I'm so embarrassed right now goddamn it)-------------------------

If you're short-sighted, try removing your glasses or contact lenses and look at this picture. I just did and it's suddenly even prettier!

I actually planned to draw your Sonicsona at first. And then I realized I deadass couldn't even draw Base Sonic. Then I thought I should draw a mole. I realized I also couldn't draw a mole. I thought I should just go for the easiest shit and draw ToFu. I realized I could not draw either one of them, too.

Because I cannot draw, I cheat! I mean I turn things into shapes (chiefly triangles, though not all of them) and then color them and hope that something shows up. This is me using this scientific /+ philosophical concept called Emergence.

No, I didn't just say THAT to sound like I have a technique of any kind, trust. It's so totally a technique—my very productive ass told me.

I remember you saying your favorite color is something like pink, blue, and stuff? It was from that tag game from last year. Hence, I decided I should create a context so I could draw an obscene amount of pink and blue.

If I'm being honest, it took me less than a millisecond to come up with the exact context—Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom is abundantly blue.

And since I always wanted to sneak ToFu in, I thought I would make a purplish-pink dusk. And then I will sneak those stargazing two in.

Come on. Everyone knows those ToFu panels. Even someone like me, who had not seen that part of the manga yet, knows.

Bless Tonari for being so relaxing to color.

HOWEVER! Fushi's limited-ass color presented a big problem for my cheat-drawing. How many combinations of "white" can you even make before you zoom out and see... nothing?! So I basically sabotaged them. That's what you get for being difficult, you mopey, neck-crick-possessing, fragile-enough-to-be-blown-by-the-wind cutie doofus.

I made up the color of their pants. I didn't even refer to their Nameless Boy drip when I decided on the color. I assed that part.

Yes. I admit I put a shit ton of effort into coloring Zelda. This version of Zelda is my kin, you know. Anyway, I like the way her, uh, shirt turned out.

I also like how the Master Sword turned out, but there was so much blue I ended up requiring outlines to distinguish it from Link's shirt and the sky. Told ya I have no technique or skill. I cheat through and through

I was too lazy to draw those sky islands. Besides, the ToTK side is already saturated with details.

What the fuck issa "proportion?" Everyone's head is an orange. The difference, Nova, is whether it's a Mandarin Orange or an Orange.

I don't know if I overdid Dinraal's draconic mane. It looks like she's wearing a wig. At least she is different from how she initially looked—a red tapeworm outfitted with chicken legs.

I admit I put more effort than any Past Me would have into Dinraal because a certain mutual is very, ah, particular about dragons.

Drawing two of your favorite ships for their show of devotion was a completely deliberative choice on my end. Did you also realize that both Link and Fushi had a short, small, low ponytail and that both Zelda and Tonari had similar hair? I believe it's due to me hitting my drawing skill limitation.

There is actually an Easter Egg of some sort in this picture. It's not the ugly doodle thing, no. That thing is me. I'm not an Easter Egg; I'm a ghost.

I'm not telling you what that Easter Egg is. I'm fine with it never being discovered; it'd be like those secret levels in old video games.

But if you DID discover it, come tell me what you think it is!

---------------

I hope you like it enough! Instead of it giving you a migraine, that is. Surely my """art"""... doesn't require a trigger warning... right?

Have a good one, mai bruzha!

---Lyn

A RAMBLE FROM YOU LYN IS THE BEST POSSIBLE BRITHDAY PRESENT I COULD HAVE EVER RECEIVED!!!! COUPLED WITH ART BY YOU????? AND OF MY FAVORITE FELLAS????? What did I deserve to be so blessed ;A; 💕💕💕

I’ll spare us all a little extra scrolling on my part by adding that read more you were fretting about, I have my own ramble upcoming!

I KNOW YOURE ON YOURSELF ABOUT NOT BEING ARTISTIC OR WHATEVER BUT THIS IS ART!!! AND DAMN GOOD ART TOO!!!!!!! This is!!!!!!!!!!! I want this made into stained glass I want to make this the permanent window to me bed roOM LYN THIS IS AMAZING THIS IS ALMOST CERTAINLY GOING DOWN AS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ART STYLES!!!! There’s no such thing as cheating in art, it’s all art!!! ���Cheating” is a style, no technique is a style!!! I should know I have none either, hehe -w-‘ your art may be some type of cubism? Hehe idk I’m not an art student :3 Either way this is absolutely gorgeous I’m in LOVE!!!

It’s so creative and well done and I LOVE your eye for detail, the lighting is inspired!!!! Like the way the sun hits the space behind Zelda is so pretty, AND ZELDA IS SO PRETTY!!!!!! EVERYRHING IS SO PRETTY, I CANT FOCUS ON ONE THING BECAUSE I KEEP JUMPING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN ALL THE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT IT (every thing, every last detail!!! Is that a little you in the middle? Is that the Easter egg???? I could just pick you up and pat your little head!!! 😭 I know you don’t love hugs but that’s how I’ll be standing if you’re ever ready for one!!!)

I should slow down maybe and pick a few things to focus on BUT I JUST CANT I LOVE IT ALL!!!! The two scenes just blend so well into one another that my eyes are just naturally being drawn back and forth between both of the scenery! Dinraal, who turned out AMAZIING BY THE WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT OVERDONE, if anything I’m so glad you had fun working on her!!! She’s so gorgeous!!!! I bet your friend is so so proud of how well she looks!!! Oh but anyway, Dinraal naturally leads my eyes over to the sun/moon (and the 24, hehe, thank you!!! /)//(\ Your memory is astounding!!), which have their own beautiful rays of light leading down onto the adorable couples 😭 I love love LOVE the moonlight leading down onto Tonari and Fushi, and the fact that she’s pointing at it too like she can almost reach it? Beautiful! Gorgeous!!! And it just leads my eyes down to them too, there’s just such a natural circular flow here, no wonder I keep getting caught in a loop of admiration! 😁

The blues and the pinks, and the stars on the ToFu side!!! I just noticed them and they’re everything to me!!!! Hahaha I’m so glad Tonari was relaxing to color hehe, same for me, something about her is just so lovely and calming when she’s relaxed 🥰 As for Fushi’s colors, I didn’t notice! Even after you pointed it out it looks good to me! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this is from someone who never references colors though, I’m so loosey goosey about everything -w- BUT YOUR SOLUTION TO YOUR PROBLEM WAS GREAT, THEIR SHAPE IS VERY VISIBLE AND EASY TO MAKE OUT hehe :3 I love their crossed little legs 🥰

Zelda being your kin is so good to know hehe, I’ve always been drawn to all versions of Link myself! I think we’ve been perfectly set up to “play dolls” with these characters in the future, so to speak! Aaaahh they can’t have been easy to draw, there’s a reason I almost never dabble in drawing those two and their intricate outfits, but you make it look effortless!!! Zelda’s shirt turned out amazing, and I’m stuck looking at her little triangle braids!!!! I don’t know why I’m so fixated on that it’s just adorable!!! 😭💕 What a lovely technique, man, I’m so enchanted! AND THE MASTER SWORD, I know you called it cheating BUT I LOVE THE LINE WORK, it makes the sword stand out, almost like you lined that specific part with some sort of melted gold??? Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

This is gorgeous and beautiful in every which way and thank you!!!! For everything!!! For this beautiful drawing and for giving me a chance to ramble and giving me something gorgeous to look at for the rest of my day, and for indulging in both of my silly little ships /)//(\ I’m so glad I don’t need glasses because I love every inch of your art, thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!!! Gosh it’s so so so lovely 😭💕 you’re so lovely!!!!

I don’t know how to say goodbye so I guess I’ll just say good night for now! Thank you for thinking of me… I’ll have a wonderful day, so long as you promise me you’ll have a wonderful night along side me 🥰

Goodnight, Mai Bruzha!

- Nova

[q-kanbas]

each of my parents is a wild extreme of the other and i am the godforsaken rubber band caught on both of them about to snap and fly into the void never to be seen again

[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

[hamiltonandpercyjackson]

something i think everyone forgets about heroes of olympus is that literally no one thought they would come out alive. like all these 15 year olds were like "yeah ik going on this quest from california to rome will probably kill me or one of my best buddies but YOLO" like what how are we all so ok about this

and you can try saying that any of them didnt so before anyone tries:

-annabeth in the WHOLE of house of hades

-frank with his fire stick of death

-nico thought he was the loose end no one would try to protect in battle and shadowtravelling with the athena statue

-percy and jason both couldnt remember important bits so thought they would miss something and get everyone killed

-hazel thought she would literally curse someone BY ACCIDENT

-piper always accidentally using charmspeak on gods, putting her and everyone else at risk

-special mention for reyna because she nearly killed herself giving energy to nico

AGH i will never forgive rick for doing this

edit becasue i forgot leo (forgive me for my crimes it was 2am)

-leo thought he would BLOW EVERYONE UP !??!?!??!?!

[aphel1on]

the longer i look at this panel the more deranged i feel about it. this is environmental storytelling at its finest.

the eodio stand-in doll in particular makes me crazy. where did it come from? did thistle just pop into the village like "hey ungrateful wretches, one of you needs to make me a life-sized mannequin, For Reasons". did he make it himself? seems quite unlikely, yet the possibility haunts me. i mean, i guess there could've been one just lying around the dungeon somewhere. it's the act of replacement itself that really gets to me. (edit: it's been pointed out to me that the eodio doll also could have been left behind as part of delgal's escape plan. slightly different kind of madness but tbh, just as funny-sad to me if that happened and thistle went Ok, Guess That's Eodio Now.)

both the wives are there too. we know very little about them, which makes me tend to assume thistle wasn't all that close to them, but they're still included. when did they end up here? did he kick their souls out of their bodies at some point, or were they among those who left their bodies voluntarily to try and escape? when did yaad become an effective orphan, delgal an effective widower? women in the margins of the narrative, tell me your stories!

and the fact that they're surrounded with the living paintings, which thistle habitually wanders through to relive the past. this truly is his inner sanctum, his place of utmost comfort... and it may as well be a tomb.

that panel is so creepy when you first see it. just a sense of "ohh jeez, there's a lot to unpack there".

and actually, yeah, it remains creepy from pretty much any angle, but the more you think about it the more it's also tragic.

this is where many of thistle's happiest moments took place. everything he had in that picture is now gone. first he lost their warm regard, then one-by-one their bodies became hollow shells. before the end, none of the people here needed or enjoyed food anymore. the dinner table, as a center of both family life and nutrition, became obsolete.

a line from someone else's excellent post about thistle has stuck in my head ever since i read it: "to eat is to live, but to eat together is to be loved". to me, this is the sentiment and symbolism at the core of everything that happens in dungeon meshi.

it makes this bit all the sadder and more disturbing.

there's several things to note here:

thistle has gone from seated and eating with them as part of the family, to a lonely and ominous figure hovering over delgal's shoulder

eodio is conspicuously absent from view, and his body would have been a husk by now, but yaad says parents, which forces me to assume that they are sitting at the table with eodio's soulless body, hidden under yaad's speech bubble

they're not actually eating anything.

those plates are empty. you could assume that they've already finished eating, maybe, but yaad refers to it as sitting around the dinner table. in fact, he compares it to what he's currently doing; sitting at the dinner table watching the touden party eat, not eating anything himself.

it paints a pretty grim picture. for some time even after the fantasy had fallen apart, even after there was no need or desire to eat, they kept gathering around the dinner table. at that point, i'd guess only so as not to provoke thistle's wrath.

but even that last happened a long, long time ago.

this is a callback to what senshi said in the golden kingdom: the reason the people keep maintaining their fields and silverware and so forth is that they need to do so in order to stay sane.

paradoxically, the dinner table is the most striking evidence of thistle's insanity, and at the same time, it's the only anchor to sanity he has left.

he kept enforcing the ritual of dinner together long after it lost significance. when even that was impossible- because almost everyone's souls were gone- he kept their bodies at the table anyway. it's fine. it's fine! he's protected them, physically, just like he set out to. they're all still breathing. at a glance it looks like they could wake up and resume dinner at any moment. like this, it's easy to pretend.

isn't that what being a dungeon lord is, at the core of it? rejecting reality, staying in the prison of one's impossible desires. it's just one long game of pretend.

thistle did all this to protect his loved ones. no matter how obsessive and twisted he became in pursuit of that over the years, his core motivation never changed. this is all he has left of that dream: his loved ones' bodies gathered around the locus of their happiest memories together. like this, he can tell himself he's succeeded.

when eodio's body vanished with delgal's soul in it- when he couldn't even have that anymore... well.

i want to reach through the screen and shake him. no, they're not, thistle. THISTLE, NO, THEY'RE NOT! the doll of eodio is the closest thing to him in this panel, underlining the point. when that final illusion was shattered, he became completely unable to cope with reality.

therefore casually forgetting the creepy eodio doll isn't real.

thistle isn't stupid. eodio's body vanished at the same time as delgal's soul. shortly after, more adventurers came pouring in than ever before. deep down, he knows what happened. if he didn't, being confronted with the truth by mithrun wouldn't have made him panic so hard he summoned chimera falin to the first floor.

yet still...

he absolutely can't admit that to himself. he is clinging to the last scraps of the illusion with everything he has.

this is a dungeon lord at the end of desire. this is a lotus-eater machine left running long after its conclusion. this is mithrun lying listlessly in his bed, his replica lover having given up any pretense of being human. the illusion is all that's left. (an illusion is all it ever was.) thistle and the citizens of the golden kingdom- they're ghosts just as much as the ones who wander the dungeon floors. and if it weren't for thistle sealing the lion away, he would've been eaten by it long ago.

all of this encapsulated by that single panel of the dinner table.

[147cookies]

what is the future with these ai chatbots

[dinogoofymutated]

Jealousy headcannons! Multi/GN!Reader - Cable, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Quicksilver. Ok I know this wasn't on the schedule butttt Yeahhhh. Cable is going to have an extended version of his fic, and I might do the same for the others but no promises! Also I know that Cable's written half is literally just the snippet I shared with some minor edits but bear with me please his stuff is in the works!!! TWs: Jelousy. Barfights. No violence on Reader but men are creepy. Mentions of sex work. Cable and gambit make public spectacles it's just what they do. The return of wolverine and the X-men Pietro bc I love him

Cable

Look, any man who comes over to flirt with you after you walk in with a legit wall of muscle has to be either stupid or blind.

Cable is by no means a very jealous man. He's not gonna care if a man (or woman) approaches you and starts up a conversation. He might get a little frustrated if they start flirting with you, but he trusts you. He knows you can take care of yourself and he doesn't want you to feel like he's got you on a leash.

But when someone is being persistent, not taking no for an answer, and hell, putting their hands on you? He doesn't take it too well. He's more of an overprotective type when it comes to his flavor of jealousy.

    “That beer for me, Beautiful?” The voice of a stranger cuts through your thoughts, and to be honest, you don’t even think he’s talking to you until you realize how close to you he is. He’s sat on the barstool next to you, leaning towards you like he can’t quite catch his balance. You make a face at him, nonchalantly moving Cable’s beer closer.

    “Last time I checked it wasn’t.” You say curtly. The man has a smile hiding behind his pout as he leans a little closer to you, oblivious to the way you casually recoil from him.

    “Oh c'mon, don’t play hard to get. I’m chill!” You can tell this guy is most definitely drunk, and you find yourself trying not to roll your eyes at him. If only he knew what kind of trouble he was in.

    “Sure you are. But believe me, my Husband is not.” You tell him. You're not married, but to be honest, you knew this guy wasn't going to leave you be if you left him with some vague label. Didn't matter anyway, however, the stranger laughs in your face, and his breath smells like alcohol and cheap cigarettes, a nasty combo that repulses you. You point back at the corner booth where the cable was sitting just a few minutes before, hoping that he’d at least back off at the sight of the six-foot hunk of muscle you call a lover. Unfortunately, He doesn't. 

    “What Husband?” The man says mockingly, and when you look at the booth you find yourself pointing at an empty seat. The sight lights a small flicker of anxiety in you, and your face falls as the man sets a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. It’s not there for long before the weight suddenly disappears. You snap your head around, feeling relief when you see the man’s wrist caught in Cable’s literal iron-clad grip. 

    “This Husband.” Cable grunts.

    All of the blood drains from the stranger’s face in an instant, but it doesn’t take long for the attitude to come back. He tries to yank his arm out of Cable’s grip, but Cable’s arm doesn’t move an inch. To be honest, the sight kinda made you blush a little. Sure, you had seen Cable’s strength many times, but this… well. This was different. The guy starts to yank a little more aggressively, and all Cable has to do is clench his hand for the asshole to yelp and give up. You set a placating hand on his shoulder, and Cable glances back at you. His gaze softens, and he sighs before letting the guy go.

    “What’s your problem, man?” The stranger spits as he holds his bruised wrist. You had already gathered your things and were getting ready to get the hell outta dodge, giving Cable’s shoulder a hard pat as you desperately tried to keep him from getting in a barfight. Cable ignores the guy, walking close behind you as you start to walk away.

    “ -s’ an ugly bitch, anyway.” The stranger mumbles under his breath, but not nearly as quiet as he should’ve. Cable stops in his tracks, wheels around, and slugs the guy with his left arm. There's a sickening crunch and the bar goes silent as the drunken stranger is violently knocked from his seat. Your first instinct is to scold Cable, but the guy had it coming anyway. You look around, and with every eye in the bar squarely on you and Cable, you decide you’ve definitely stayed past your welcome.

Gambit

Gambit is probably the most jealous man in this lineup. Again, He will get fidgety and somewhat aggressive when someone approaches you and begins to flirt, but he trusts you. He doesn't want you to think he doesn't, and as a result, he tends to grit his teeth and bite his tongue to keep himself in check.

There's definitely a very, very thin line in between "I don't want to be overbearing" Remy and "This guy needs to take the fucking hint" Remy.

He's mostly fine with drunk bastards, He thinks they're funny, and as long as they're not bothering you for the most part he'll keep the aggression to a minimum. -But the one thing he absolutely cannot stand is snobby pricks who think they can steal you from him because he's a "swamp rat."

"It's a shame to see such a lovely creature like you standing here all alone." You try not to roll your eyes at the man that approaches you. You and Remy were supposed to have a nice, romantic night out. It was your anniversary, and Remy had told you that he wanted to pull out all the stops for this one. Unfortunately, fate wasn't on either of your sides today. The X-men needed Gambit, and you told him that the plans can wait for another time. Remy, in a very gambit fashion, told you to dress up anyway and he bet he would meet you there. Definitely a rather High-stakes gamble, but you loved him, so you said you'd hold him to it.

Unfortunately for you, it looked like the restaurant was hosting an event at the bar for what looked like a rather stuffy- sorry, High-end law firm. You had been content with waiting for Remy, even if the waitress clearly looked convinced he was standing you up. You had ordered something to drink while you waited, and caught the wrong kind of attention during your trip to the bar.

"I'm not alone, I'm waiting for someone." You say, flashing him an annoyed smile. He smiles back in a smartass kind of way, flashing you his Rolex as he pushes up his glasses. Great. He thinks you're a sugar baby- or maybe a sex worker. Either way, you really wished he was anywhere but here.

"Right. I'll be honest with you, I know you've been waiting here for what- and hour now? Hour and a half? Any guy that leaves you here for that long is not worth your time, sweetheart." You cringe at the nickname, but he clearly can't seem to tell. At this point, you start debating your options. You could run to the bathroom, but there weren't any windows you could crawl out of and he could wait at the door for you to come out. You could try to leave, but you didn't want Remy to think that you left him hanging. It's probably best if you stay and wait for him, but man was this guy getting on your nerves.

"Again, I'm waiting on someone. I'm choosing to wait on him, and frankly, I'm not interested in you." You say bluntly, getting more and more aggravated. The man only smirks at you.

"You're certainly a fiesty one. Don't worry, I like it when they play hard to get." He sends you wink that makes you want to sock him, and to be honest, you start to think about it. The bell at the door of the restaurant dings, and you glance over, face breaking out in a smile at the sight of the man you had been waiting on.

Remy was still in his x-men suit, obviously having come fresh from the fight. He's got some dirt on his face, and his hair is a little messier than normal, but you had never been so happy to see him.

"Well, don't you clean up well." You joke as Remy walks to your table. He chuckles, barely sparing the other man a side-eye before picking up your hand to kiss it.

"Sorry, Chère. Originally, I planned on changin', but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you here for another moment." Remy's fond gaze turns into a bit of a glare when he finally looks over at the gobsmacked man across the table from you. "I see you've made a new friend?" You roll your eyes at that, shaking your head. Remy gets the message.

There's a gasp from the other patrons of the restaurant, as the sound the contact made was rather loud. There's already a red mark forming on the mans face as you take Remy by the hand and begin to lead him out of the restaurant. Remy is looking at you like he'd fallen in love with you all over again.

"You've been waiting all this time for some Cajun freak?" The man blurts out, finally having found his words.

"Watch it, Mon ami." Remy's shoulders tense as he snarls at the prick. You stand up, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze before you walk in front of the man. The side of his mouth slightly upturns as you do so, right before you slap the everloving shit out of him.

"I know you really wanted for us to eat here, honey, but to be honest? I like your cooking better anyway."

Nightcrawler

Kurt? Jealous???

Absolutely. He absolutely gets jealous. Kurt is much more of a "cat" kind of jealous than a Guard Dog kind of jealous though. He's not going to do anything crazy like punch anyone, but he's gonna brush up against you, slide his tail around your waist, hold your hand. He wants reassurance from you more than he is angered by whoever is flirting with you.

That's not to say he's not angry. He doesn't like the way some people look at you like a piece of meat instead of the intelligent, beautiful person you are, and he's not afraid to call people out on it.

Kurt knew that the guy you were talking to right now was only stopping to ask you for directions, but he really didn't like how close to you the guy was. Kurt had gone off to get you something to eat from the street food vendor nearby, telling you to just relax and he would be back soon.

When he returned with food in hand, it was obvious to him what was happening, but he still couldn't help but frown. The man is leaning into your space as he shows you the map in his hands. It's fine. There was obviously nothing really going on, the stranger must have been simply touchy. He then watches as the man sets a hand on the back of your waist to point at a building up ahead, and Kurt's mind quickly changes.

Obviously, you had stepped out of the stranger's reach quickly, uncomfortable with the action, but Kurt still slinked up to your side like a cat, pulling you close with his tail as he hands you your food, resting his newly freed hand behind your back.

"There you are, Meine Liebe. I hope you didn't wait for too long." Kurt says sweetly, giving you a grin. You smile back at him, thanking him for the food. You felt relieved to see him. Sure, the stranger that had been speaking to you seemed to be a nice man, but there was a certain amount of comfort and security Kurt provided when he was near you. Kurt makes a show of leaning in and kissing you on the cheek that makes you giggle. The stranger clears his throat after a quick moment.

"-Sorry if I interrupted your date. I appreciate the directions!" He says quickly, face flushed red from embarresment.

"You're perfectly fine! I hope you're able to find what you're looking for alright." You respond sweetly, waving as the man walks off. Kurt is pouting again when you look at him, tail still wrapped comfortably around you. You can't help but giggle.

"You're so jealous." You laugh. Kurt gives you an innocent look as he brushes off the accusation.

"Whaaat? No. Ich habe dich vermisst. That is all!"

Quicksilver

I'm not even gonna lie the fic half of this is just part of that enemies to lovers hcs that I wrote

anyway!!

Pietro is a very pouty, bratty kind of Jealous.

Like sure he trusts you and all but you actually looked at someone else while they were speaking to you? >:[ Don't look at them. Look at him. Smile at him not them. You're laughing at something they said? Well, he's funnier than them!!

He's just, so pouty over the smallest, pettiest things. He just needs a smooch on the forehead and some reassurance and also possibly cuddles, and he'll be fine. God he's such a brat ILHSM

However, If someone is actually flirting with you or going too far and making you uncomfortable, he will in fact throw hands. Or do his speedster thing and find a way to embarrass them, like pantsing them or planting something embarrassing on them. One time he snatched a guy's cell and called his wife before planting it in the man's pocket so she could hear all the flirting he was doing. Now that was fun.

"So I heard you had dinner with the wolfie guy tonight." The sound of Pietro's voice makes you yelp in surprise. You whirl around to see him leaning against the wall of your room, arms crossed. You scoff, and pick a pillow off of your bed to chuck it at him. He catches it easily.

"His name is Logan, and No. Not really. All we did was happen to sit next to each other at dinner." You turn back around to sit at your vanity, but Pietro is already there, sitting on the stool with the pink pillow tucked into his arms.

"So you did have dinner with him?" He pouts. You roll your eyes at him, holding back a laugh as you shove him off the seat. He looses his balance for less than a second before there's a gust and he's sitting cross-legged on your bed, having tossed the pillow to the side.

"What does it matter to you, anyway? You're not even supposed to be here, Pietro." You tease as you sit down, unable to keep yourself from smiling. You comb through your hair as you ready yourself for bed, still grinning like an idiot as you hear Pietro huff and haw.

"Why shouldn't it matter?" He asks, watching as you complete your routine. "I- I have a reason to care." He stutters out cheeks flushing a light pink that reaches his ears. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing.

"Don't laugh!" Pietro objects, and it sends you into a fit of laughter as you stand back up and flop onto your back on the bed next to him.

"He's not my type anyway." You say. It only takes a second before Pietro is leaning over you, caging you between his arms. There's the ghost of a grin beginning to form on his face, simply at the sight of your own cheesy expression.

"What is your type, then?" He asks, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

"Let's just say I prefer a man who can keep up with me." You say with a wink that may or may not have been the most terribly, corny action you could have done. Pietro doesn't seem to care as his face is split with an equally as corny grin.

Both of you are caught off guard by someone calling your same from the hallway, and then a knock shortly after. You take Pietro's moment of distraction and quickly lean up, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Pietro looks absolutely shocked.

"You better get going." You whisper. He smiles at you, almost in disbelief, and then he's gone, the window left open and the breeze catching on curtains, blowing gently.

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[jinxthequeergirl]

The ol Switcharoo (pt1.)

Stan x reader/ Ford x reader

Summary: you liked to assume you knew Stanford Pines better then most, but when you return to him after am extended trip you aren't sure you really do

Warning: NONE, she's looking as all hell and I apologize, it's mess I know but it's a start ok

Chat feel free to tell me is this is a dumb idea

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

You where a weird kid growing up.

A fact you wouldn't deny. Even as a child you knew you where diffrent and what intrested you was odd. You embraced it. You loved all things creepy and crawly. While most kids your age had posters of there favorite superheros or cartoon characters while your room was plastered with that of monsters and ghouls.

Things from Dracula all the way to the Mysterious Mothman decorated your room, they were the movies you had on repeat books you stuffed your nose in. You loved it all. As you got older, you loved them more, thrusting yourself into science to prove they could existed in the natural world that they DID!

The supernatural world was out there and you where going to explore it. Even as a kid you would be caught monster hunting always running headfirst into adventure no fears.

Your mother was supportive of your every decision regardless of if she believed it lead anywhere or not. She was more happy you where just passionate about something at all and was eager to send you to college.

That's what led you straight to Stanford Pines. The man you would proudly proclaim as your best friend. You'd met during one of your shared classes in college, quickly finding out you had almost similar interests and ideals, everything he had to say fascinated you. And he was more then happy to have someone so eager to find the supernatural with him.

Soon enough you where inseparable. (Y/n) and Standford there was no stopping the pair of you two through all of college whatever you two went through you went through together ups and downs everything was shared. Adding fiddleford to the mix and your trio was complete.

You where of course the first person he had asked to move into his house in gravity falls to further your research together.

"This place is incredible Fordsie I mean think of how much is actually out there!" You exclaimed gesturing to the untamed woods of Oregon from the roof of the house. Ford chuckled adding the finishing touches to a page in his second edition journal before offering it too you for your stamp of approval.

You gladly accepted the book. "And just think about everything else there is to come once we get the machine up and running!" You took a pen of your own and scribbled something in, nodding in agreement to his statment before sitting down beside him.

You took in a breath of fresh air and exhaled a sigh of relief. Ford copying your action. "To think I almost would have never made it this far." He said staring up at the darkening sky.

"Well let's not think like that fordsie, everything that almost stopped you from coming here got you here didn't it?" You said as if you where asking the stars that began to speckle the sky.

He looked over at you. "Everything happens for a reason sixer. Plus you got me out of it didn't you?" You joked nudging him with your elbow.

"That It did." He mused while watching you stare up at the sky with content. He gave a soft smile. Of all the great mysteries in the world, you became his favorite. It didn't matter how well he though he knew you you still surprised him every day.

That was in the spring.

Everything about your life with Ford felt new, exciting, and perfect. You felt like your bond was stronger then ever, over the summer and fall. The perfect balance of cool and calculates and a fearless risktaker. You filled in for eachother where the other lacked completing eachother perfectly. Making your adventures flow smoothly.

Ford found himself thinking like this about you more often, stealing long looks at you when he thought you weren't looking. Standing closer to you, the trash in his room became filled with crumpled ink work of your likeness.

You had enjoyed the sudden burst of closeness you two had shared over the months you'd been in Oregon together it certainly didn't go as unnoticed as he had hopped it did.

He was a smart man, that was the one fundamental truth about himself no one could deny. But he was utterly clueless when it came to his own feelings

"Oooohwe you got it baaAAD don't you Stanford?" His face flushed at fiddlefords sudden outburst of excitement. "What are you talking about!?" He asked in a sharp hushed tone quickly averting his gaze from you only a few feet away.

"Standford I have known you almost ad long as you and y/n have been friends and I'm no expert but I do think I recognize how you look at them has changed."

"I pfft.. I wouldn't...that's my bestfriend-" He fumbled for his words face flushed a deeper red then before as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mcgucket! Fordsie! I'm head up to bed for the night! Don't stay up too late." You chimmed in with a yawn.

"Hahah! Yes very good y/n! Very good get good rest for not let the gnomes bite! Ahaha" Ford blurted. You laughed as you continued up the steps.

Fiddleford laughed once where had va ished from sight. "I'm just making an observation...I'm not saying you lay awake at night thinking about her. But your secretis safe with me." Ford let out a sigh of relief at fiddlefors reasuring words they wherent up much longer before both retiring to their rooms. Stanford proceeded to lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling.

"Oh no."

When the winter rolled around things began to change. All the good memories you had together seemed to suddenly get lost and where instead replaced with something bad.

You remember sitting next to fiddleford staring at your bestfriend fall asleep in the middle of the floor waiting for something to happen. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

You where the first tobask the question both of you had been thinking. "If this thing can offer Ford everything we need to know about starting up this portal...then I say the risk is worth it...right?"

You chewed on your inner cheek staring intently at the man on the floor.

Since the winter rolled around and Ford had met this mysterious "muse" You felt a sense of unease fall over the house, Ford had suddenly become distant always away with the being. "Are you jealous?" Fiddleford pipped up turning away from Ford.

"Jelous?" You chucked. "Of what? There's nothing to be jealous of! Or even a reason to be jealous! If Ford wants to abandon his friends for some interdemensinal being that he wont share much about or even introduce us then fine by me!" You huff out the words folding your arms over your chest.

Everything went downhill pretty fast or at least that's what your memory served, by the time you where ready for the first test of the portal all the way to fiddlefords accident with the machine your new exciting life unraveled before your eyes.

He wasn't functioning the way he used

"Fordsie...I think we need to take a break."

He was pacing infront of you rappedly tapping a pen against his temple. "We can't stop now! We are to close."

You frowned, he was different now no doubt this wasn't the same Ford you had be friened only a few years ago, this wasn't the same Ford you had grown to love. He was far more distant now, all the little things he thought went unnoticed by you completely stopped. He kept his distance now. He was losing sleep because of this now, if it wherent for you he wouldn't even be eating.

"Ford I'm serious! Fiddleford got hurt...I don't think it's a good idea to continue we need time to stop and clear our heads!"

"My head is clear y/n! With bill by my side I know we can-"

"STANFORD PINES."

Stan stopped in his tracks. It had been a while since you had referred to him like that. He turned to you watching you pinch the bridge of your nose. Since when did you look so tired? And where you...angry with him?

"Stanford our friend was hurt because of this , it's time to take a step back and to reevaluate before someone else gets hurt...we need to get out of this house...maybe out of gravity falls for a while."

Ford stared at you for a while and you stared back for some reason in only a few months it felt like the both of you where looking at strangers. You watched as the gears turned in Fords head before he spoke up.

"Your right."

You perked up at his words taken aback by them.

"I think it would be in our best intrest if we both went to see our families for some time."

Again you where surprised by the words that left his mouth. He'd never spoken to you about his family you had always assumed they wherent close. At the same time part of you hoped he'd want to vacation with you somewhere warm away from the snow. So place that would bring back the real Ford.

"OK, we can do that." You said offering a warm smile.

That night Ford helped you pack so you could catch the first bus out of gravity falls that morning, he promised he'd be leaving the next day.

It was quiet while he helped. He wasn't joking with you or excitedly retelling one of your adventures from the summer.

Your mind still kept wondering back to how this could be the same person. Maybe this was who Ford was all along and you where blinded by the thrill of adventure.

"Promise to write?" You asked

"I promise."

"I'll see you in a few weeks."

Still you knew things would be better when you both returned from a long over do break. You watched a bundled up Ford wave you goodbye from the snow as your bus pulled away and you sighed.

Ford frowned as he watched your bus drive into the distance. This was for the better right? He could see the worry and pain he had seemed to be causing you which was never his intention. He didn't want to lie to you just to get you away to take care of yourself but if that's what it took to do just that.

You eneded up returning when the snow had melted in gravity falls. You hadn't meant to be gone that long, your family had begged you to stay and your mother needed the help around the house, you had wrote Ford like you promised but it seemed like the mail was eating up your letters. Either way you had been well rested and eager to return to your friend and to work. You took a hopeful deep breath once your feet hit the gravity falls soil.

"StanFord!? Are you home yet!?" You shouted, pushing open the door to the house. You were met with silence.

"Fordsie!?" You stepped further in carefully. You noticed all of the science equipment and creatures you had collected over the past year or so had been moved and almost put on display. You heard a floorboard creek, and you stayed silent, pressing up again the wall by the door, ready to either surprise your friend or scare an enime.

The door swung open and a familiar face appeared yelling welding a baseball bat.

You screamed, falling back onto yours, butt. "FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME ITS Y/N!!!" You shouted, holding your hands up to shield yourself. He stopped yelling and lowered the bat. "Y/n?...."

"Yes, it's me. Please put the bat down!"

"What are you doing here?" He asked, placing the bat down and staring at you. "I live here with you, remember?"

The man seemed to stare at you like he was trying to figure out why he knew you. "Y/n! That's right!" He helped you up.

"I wasn't away for that long, was I fordsie?" You chuckled.

"Oh uh no no it's not that...uh come inside. we have some uh catching up to do.." You raised your eyebrow at him now, getting a better look at him. Something was off.

But you followed him to the kitchen, hoping your doubt and worry would wear off soon.

"Hey by the way...would you mind calling me stan from now on?"

[felixknow]

Hi! Can you do Hyunjin 39

39. "I moan your name when I masturbate."

gn!reader, not edited, drunk hangout, truth or dare, poorly written bc we're just playing around and having fun ok let's goooooo

“Channie, truth or dare?” Felix asks, breaking the momentary silence in the room. Chan chuckles and puts his phone down, stretching his arms over his head and his legs out in front of him, letting his lithe body form a line as he slides down the couch cushions and onto the floor.

“Mm… dare,” he settles on.

“I dare youuu… toooooo…” Felix drawls, trying to think of something good. “Send a selfie on Bubble and say ‘oops, wrong chat’.”

Chan chuckles while Seungmin scoffs.

“Good one,” Seungmin says.

“The hardest part is going to be finding a selfie to send them,” Chan says, picking his phone back up. A few minutes later, after the messages are sent and the boys have a good laugh at the reactions coming through, Chan puts his phone away again.

“Is it my turn to ask then? Y/nnah, truth or dare?”

You startle and scoot a little closer to the group. You’d been sitting to the side, mostly keeping to yourself since half the boys had gone out to pick up dinner, including the two who tied you to the rest of the group in the first place.

“Um, truth.”

“Are you nervous to be around us without Hannie and Minho here?” He smirks and you scrunch up your face like a kid who’s being teased, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“And so what if I do?” you playfully retort. “I just don’t want to make a fool of myself. Also, it’s a little odd being left with my friends’ friends before we in this room have become friends.”

“You don’t think we’re friends?” Felix asks, giving you a dramatic set of puppy dog eyes. “I think we’re friends, Y/nnie.”

“I think we are too, Lix. At least I hope so!”

The game continues on for a couple more rounds until Han, Minho, and Hyunjin come back with dinner and alcohol.

“Let’s make this a party!” Han cheers, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“You’ll be drunk in half an hour, jagiya. Eat your dinner first at least.”

Han bashfully responds with a “yes, hyung,” never quite the fan of being called a lightweight.

Han’s not the only lightweight in the room, though.

“Oh my god, we should play truth or dare again,” you say excitedly, an hour after dinner and several shots in. “Hannie, we played truth or dare earlier! We should do it again! Truth or dare?”

“Dare!!” he responds excitedly, matching your bubbly and drunk-dazed excitement.

“I dare you to get Minho to kiss you.” You giggle, while Han whines.

“Noo, that’s the worst because you know he will! He’s all over me at home, I can’t get a single night’s sleep without him trying to give me a bedtime kiss first!”

“Someone has to tell you goodnight and sweet dreams, otherwise you’ll have nightmares,” Minho says simply. Then he smirks as Han turns toward him. “Now come here and give me a big, juicy kiss.”

“No!” Han exclaims, struggling and squirming, trying to push back against his roommate’s chest as the stronger of the two slowly reels him in. The group gets a good laugh in before Minho finally wins out and plants a kiss to the corner of Han’s mouth.

“Ew,” Han says over-exaggeratedly, wiping his mouth, and Minho rolls his smiling eyes.

“Your turn now, Hannie. You ask someone.”

“Okay. Changbinnie. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Put on the underwear I got you for your birthday,” Minho quips.

“Hey!” Changbin shouts, ever so easily worked up. “It’s Han’s turn to dare someone, not you! Stop being a creep!”

Minho laughs hard, throwing his head back and cackling until he has to turn and lean on Han for support.

“Ignore him,” Han says. “Changbinnie, I dare you to take two shots back to back.”

“Jesus,” Changbin scoffs, widening his eyes. “Damn. Okay. Someone’s annoyed he isn’t the only drunk one,” he says, watching as Jeongin pours him a drink. One shot goes down. Then a second one, less smoothly.

“This shit is disgusting. Alright, husband of mine. Truth or dare?”

“Hm?” Hyunjin sits up, rejoining the group. He’d been laying down on the ground, somewhere between food-coma and introvert’s recharge. “Truth.”

“Are you crushing on anyone right now?” Changbin asks, smirking. Hyunjin scowls at him, and the two make a show of switching expressions, trying to make the other laugh. Changbin winks cheekily, acting cute, and Hyunjin huffs and pretends to gag. Changbin makes kissy faces and holds up a heart to his cheek, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes and bluntly says “no.”

“That’s so not true,” Chan chuckles.

“No to Changbin. Yes to the question.”

“Damn,” Changbin sighs. “My husband is cheating on me.”

“Never, baby. You know who I go home to at the end of the night.” Hyunjin winks at him, finally play-flirting back, making Changbin and several others laugh.

“Okay, okay. Y/nnah. Truth or dare?”

“Hmmm,” you hum, long and drawn out. “Truth.”

“Didn’t you do truth earlier?” Seungmin asks.

“Yes, soooo?”

“Sooo.” Hyunjin draws out the syllable, thinking of something to ask. “Oh! What were you doing when you butt dialed me that one time?”

“Huh?”

“You butt-dialed me! Didn’t I ask you about that? I think it’s because you were doing something but you were saying my name, or something like it. I just heard, like, shuffling and your voice a little and I was like, ‘hello?’ and you didn’t answer so I hung up.”

Your face is burning in embarrassment by the time he’s finished his spiel. 

“Um… Dare…”

“Noo!” several of the boys chant and insist. “You can’t change your mind now!” Jeongin says.

“Answer the question!” Minho insists.

“Yeah, I’m curious now,” Han agrees.

“I really-- I can’t--”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, shrugging. “I told Changbin about it and he said you could have been having sex. I thought maybe you were looking for your lost phone or something… until you moaned.”

“I WHAT?!”

The group laughs, Han and Felix both turning toward you and hugging you.

“Ohh, Y/N. Don’t listen to him, he’s just messing with you!” Felix insists.

“I never said that!” Cahngbin insists. “He’s joking, Y/N, I swear. Please don’t be embarrassed. Guys-- stop! Don’t laugh!”

“It’s okay, it’s fine, I’m totally fine, I’m totally not about to die of embarrassment or anything.”

“I really was kidding,” Hyunjin says, bowing all the way to the floor in front of you. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me. There was no moan. I just thought it would be funny!”

“Please get up,” you laugh, patting Hyunjin’s shoulder. “It’s fine, really. I could tell it was a joke,” you lie. “You’re a dumbass, though, by the way.”

The group bursts out in laughter once again, and the night moves on, the incident almost forgotten, until…

The night is winding down, the group is cleaning up the mess they’d made, putting Chan and Jeongin’s furniture back where it belongs, cleaning dishes, taking out the trash.

You pass Hyunjin in the hallway as you’re leaving the bathroom, and he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“It was what I thought it was, right? When you called me.”

“What, the phone…? Yeah, I was, um… looking for my phone,” you say nervously, unable to meet his eyes.

“No, not that… you were… moaning.” His gaze locks onto yours and your heart feels like it’s going to drop out of your ass.

“Well…maybe…”

“So you think of me? When you play with yourself?” He asks so quietly you almost don't hear him. You can only nod to confirm.

A slow smirky smile grows on his face.

“Call me next time. You don’t have to play by yourself, if you don’t want to.”

[trendfag]

holy shit i need to get my shit together

[angel-sweets666]

stuck together

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin. CHAPTER TWO HERE

warnings and stuff inside of the story: talks of virginity, talks of a virginity check (its accurate to the time period ok?) a/n should I make this a series? I think it’d be fun but idk ur rich btw so just like there’s rich stuff.

THE FULL VERSION IS OUTTT, truely ask and you shall receive. Anyways this is the full edited and lengthened part one I hope it’s better then the sneak peak I gave you guys

AGED UP

Mitsuki leaned back, her piercing gaze fixed on your parents. "So, what do you say? You give us your daughter, and we'll form an alliance," she proposed, pausing for their response. "It would offer protection from the Todoroki kingdom Flamoria, no?" The blonde woman smiled at your father, trying to sway him.

Flamoria had a habit of attacking your home kingdom, however in recent years the bakugos have managed to not only defeat the todorokis but make their kingdom subservient to them.

Your mother hesitated. "I mean, I dunno…"

"We'll do it," he interrupted, cutting off your mother.

"Huh?!" Your mother turned to him, shock evident on her face.

"Perfect. Sign here," Mitsuki said smoothly, handing them a piece of paper which already had both mitsuki and masarus names written down. It was a betrothal agreement, arranging the marriage between you and her hot-tempered son, Bakugo.

Your father reached for the pen, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. "This will secure our safety and ensure a powerful ally," he murmured, almost convincing himself as much as anyone else.

"But our daughter…" your mother started, her voice filled with concern and disbelief. She looked at Mitsuki, then back at your father, torn between the political necessity and the love for her child.

"We don't have a choice," your father replied firmly, signing the paper. "This alliance is crucial for our kingdom's survival. The Empyrean empire is strong.”

Mitsuki's smile widened as she took the signed document. "Excellent. You won't regret this. Bakugo will make a fine husband, many heirs will come from this, she is a virgin right?” The blonde asks “we can get her checked for it, *name* was very sheltered growing up so we can assure you she’s a virgin.” Your father explains, leaning back in his own squeaky wooden chair. His gaze turns to your mother, who seems distraught about marrying off her child to the barbarian prince. Someone famous for being a violent person.

at 17 years old bakugo had brought back the head of a powerful tribe leader and put it on a stick for everyone to see, at 18 years old he had gathered a small army of men and defeated the midoriya kingdom and had a bloody cloak from the one of the dead soilders to prove it. Then at 20 years old bakugo had forced izuku, the Feywood king to surrender his crown. Which put feywood in the empyrean empire. No one knows where izuku midoriya currently is, all the people know is that he was last scene getting dragged by his green locks by bakugo and was never seen again.

Later on

“YOU ARRANGED ME TO WHO!?” You screamed, staring at your parents in complete horror. How could they do this to you? You make one wrong move and your own husband would order your death! “Look it’s not so bad..” “NOT SO BAD? HES KILLED HUNDREDS! THOUSANDS EVEN” “He won’t kill you though!” Your father exclaimed, An attempt to calm you. “Look, bakugo may seem like a man killing war machine of a prince but his parents assured us that he’s very gentle with women.” You scoffed, leaning your weight to one hip “bullshit. He’s gonna kill me. Brutally, he’s gonna hack off my head just you watch”

Over the next few weeks, you tried everything to call off the arrangement. You attempted to run away before the virginity check, faked illness, and came up elaborate excuses. Nothing seemed to work. Your parents were stubborn, insisting that you marry Katsuki Bakugo for the strength of their own kingdom.

Lying in bed, you tossed and turned, unable to escape the looming dread of marrying the great, scary barbarian prince, soon to be barbarian king. What if he rips your head off just because you refuse to give him a kiss? The thought made your heart race with fear.

Suddenly, a knock on the door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. A maid entered, her eyes gloomy with pity . "Your Highness? Tomorrow we will wake you early to help you begin packing for the travel to the Empyrean Kingdom," she said softly, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid any kind of trouble.

You groaned and turned your head toward her. "When am I being sent to them?" you asked

"U-uh, most likely the day after tomorrow," the maid stammered, clearly uneasy with your distress.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of your impending fate settle even heavier on your shoulders. "I see… thank you," you muttered.

You looked back at the red headed maid “How far is the journey?” You asked her softly, she fidgeted with her fingers “a-about two days, they live f-far from our kingdom your highness” she stammered. You smiled to the red head and dismissed her.

As she left you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. The thought of being married off to someone you had never met, someone with a terrifying reputation, filled you with a sense of dread and hopelessness. Your parents decision felt like a betrayal, a sacrifice of your happiness for the supposed greater good of the kingdom

You stood in the corner of your large room, watching as numerous servants took gowns, corsets, shoes, and other clothing items, placing them into bags. "U-uh, don’t barbarians wear less formal clothes? Shouldn’t I bring less?" you asked the maids. All of them turned to look at you, a hint of surprise on their faces.

"Her Highness makes a point," the same red-headed maid from the night before whispered to an older maid. The older maid, seemingly more experienced, turned toward you with a thoughtful expression.

"You're right, Your Royal Highness. They would probably end up burning these clothes or turning them into barbarian-styled garments," she conceded.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in resignation. "What do barbarian women wear?" you asked the older maid, hoping for some clarity.

"Hm… flowy skirts, I’ve seen a few wear headdresses," she replied, as some of the gowns were hung back up in the closet. The maids began to sift through your belongings, selecting items that might be more appropriate for your new life.

As you watched the process, you couldn’t help but glance out the window. Your mother and father were walking in the garden, deep in conversation. They seemed so in love, so perfectly matched, yet they were throwing you into a marriage that promised nothing but misery. The contrast between their happiness and your dread was almost unbearable.

"Your Highness, we’ll pack lighter, more practical clothing for your journey," the older maid reassured.

"Thank you," you murmured, though your heart wasn't in it. The thought of being dressed in unfamiliar clothes, adapting to an unknown culture, and being wed to a man you feared only added to your anxiety.

As the servants continued their work, you wandered over to your bed, sinking down onto the edge. The weight of your impending departure pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had grown up surrounded by luxury and love, and now you were being sent away, to marry probably the most violent man you’ve ever heard of

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about the future that awaited you. Would you ever find happiness in the Empyrean Kingdom? Would Katsuki Bakugo, the fierce and terrifying prince, ever come to care for you, or would you be nothing more than a means to an end?

"Your Highness, is there anything else you would like us to pack?" one of the younger maids asked, her voice gentle.

You shook your head, wiping away a stray tear. "No, just… make sure to leave out a few comfortable things for me to wear until we leave."

"Of course, Your Highness," she replied, her expression sympathetic.

As the maids continued their preparations, you lay back on your bed, staring up at the white ceiling. You tried to find comfort in the familiar surroundings, knowing that soon you would be leaving them behind.

"So, what's the barbarian kingdom like?" you asked, looking over to the maids. The older maid once again turned her head to look at you.

"Most of the people live in either big wooden houses with all sorts of weapons around or in these hut-like tent things. Either way, they have all these symbols painted on them," she described, clearly having been to the Empyrean Kingdom before.

"And what about the Bakugos? Where do they live? You asked

"They live in a stone castle with intricate paintings on it, and there's a lot of security. The last time I was there, they had spikes on the bridge leading to the castle, with people's heads mounted on them," the old maid replied,

"How long ago were you there?" you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine at the gruesome detail.

"When the young prince was about fifteen, so around five years ago," she said, placing one last corset into a bag.

You glanced at the six bags of items packed for your journey, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. It was a smaller amount than you had anticipated, yet it seemed to signify the end of one life and the beginning of another.

"Did you meet the prince?" you asked, trying to glean any information that might help you understand the man you were to marry.

"Briefly," she replied, her expression softening. "He was intense, even as a teenager. Always training, always pushing himself. But there was a sadness in his eyes, a loneliness."

You sighed, trying to reconcile the image of the fierce, terrifying prince with the glimpses of vulnerability the maid described. "And the people there? How are they?"

"Fierce, proud, and loyal," the older maid said. "They value strength above all else, but they also have a deep sense of honor and community. If you earn their respect, they'll defend you with their lives."

The more you learned, the more daunting your future seemed. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing that the barbarian kingdom, despite its harsh exterior, had its own codes and values.

As the maids continued their work, you tried to imagine what life in the Empyrean Kingdom would be like

"Is there anything else I should know?" you asked, your voice softer, almost hesitant.

The older maid paused, considering your question. "Just remember, Your Highness, that if you respect them and they’ll respect you."

Her words resonated with you, giving you a small but vital sense of empowerment. You nodded “alright, seems easy enough..”

The day that you needed to travel to the empyrean kingdom came, your parents watched you walk to the carriage by the gate as your mother sobbed into your fathers chest.

The ride to the Empyrean Kingdom was grueling. As the carriage rattled over uneven roads, you gazed out the window, the lush greenery of your homeland gradually giving way to the rugged, bushy but covered in tall trees landscape of the barbarian territory. The closer you got, the more your anxiety grew, each kilometre bringing you closer to the empyrean land

When you finally arrived at the castle, you were struck by its threatening look. The stone walls were decorated with weird red painted symbols, and the spiked bridge, as described by the maid, loomed menacingly ahead. Your heart pounded as you stepped out of the carriage, taking in the harsh surroundings.

A group of stern-faced and very attractive guards escorted you inside. The castle's interior was as intimidating as its exterior—dimly lit, with weapons and trophies of past battles displayed prominently on the walls. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you were led through the cold halls. You swore that if you listened close enough you could hear peoples screams in the dungeons below. Fuck was this hell with its 7 rings?

Finally, you were brought to a large chamber where a tall, muscular figure stood with his back to you. His spiky blonde hair was unmistakable. He was busy looking at a sheet of paper, the one oddly similar to the ones your parents shown you when they first announced your betrothal to bakugo. As he slowly turned to face you, his piercing red eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. He looked almost angry at you, furious even. Which was confusing because you’ve known this man for a whole 10 seconds

he was tall and about 6ft with messy blonde hair, scars all over his body and face, and piercings on his ears and lip.

"So, you're the princess they sent," Katsuki said, his voice dripping with disdain. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression one of barely concealed annoyance. Katsuki had a deep voice that you couldn’t tell if you found attractive or if you wanted to run away and hide.

You straightened your back, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as you could muster. "I am," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady but it ended up sounding shaky.

Bakugo scoffed, looking you up and down as if to check if you were just a weak small baby or strong enough to be a wife and a queen “Great. Another weakling to babysit," he muttered under his breath.

Anger formed within you at his dismissive attitude. "I am not a weakling," you snapped. "And I am certainly not here to be babysat."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "We'll see about that," he said, turning away from you. "Follow me. There's no point in wasting time."

You clenched your fists, biting back a come back to insult him with as you followed him through the castle. Every step echoed in the vast, cold corridors. His steps much louder then yours due to his much larger frame

Bakugo led you to a large hall where a group of people—presumably his advisors and some of the castle staff—were gathered. He introduced you curtly, barely sparing you a glance as he did so. The looks you received ranged from curiosity to outright hostility, they clearly didn’t want you here. Just like the old maid back had home had warned, these people hated the weak.

After the introductions, Bakugo dismissed everyone, including you. "You'll be shown to your chambers. Don't get in my way or else," he said, theblonde clearly trying to end the conversation between you two before he could get sucked into some conversation he didn’t waht

You followed a servant to your chambers, a mix of anger and sadness within you. The room was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the rest of the castle, but it did little to lift your spirits. You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of your new reality settle over you.

Over the next few days, you tried to find your place in the castle. The people were distant and wary, their lack of trust clear in their every interaction with you. And Bakugo… he was even worse than most . He ignored you most of the time, and when he did speak to you, it was with a cold, dismissive tone that made your blood boil. He always had a tone of sass, trying to get under your skin constantly.

as the days grew closer and closer to your wedding date he seemed to just get more and more annoying, constantly having some tone of sass. Never wanting to talk to you and constantly flirting with your maids, you even went the effort to fire atleast 4 of them to keep their grotty hands to themselves.

“you done firing my staff now?” Bakugo grumbled as he caught up with you in the stone candle lit halls “your staff? You mean my staff? My staff who you seem to love flirting with” you corrected him, looking over your shoulder at him. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed “I pay for them there for their my staff.” He growled, asking faster in an attempt to intimate you “actually, your parents pay for the staff.” “Hah?” “Your parent pay for the staff so their not your staff, their the palaces staff.” You said ignorantly as you played with the lace of your dress. “You gonna get out of that frill fest you call a gown?” He asked, again trying to insult you “if I do I’m gonna shove it up your ass” “excuse me?”

“Want me to say it slower? I—WILL—SHOVE—MY—GOW”

“OKAY OKAY SHUT UP WOMAN” he growled at you and walked off in spite “THATS WHAT WHAT I THOUGHT. THATS WHAT I THOUGHT.” You angrily yelled back to him, which in real aspect you were yelling at the back of his ignorant head. You huffed and stormed away in the opposite direction as you wanted nothing more then to get away from that man. As you stomped down the halls, footsteps echoing with each step; you heard a male voice call out to you

“Princess.”

you looked over, a certain brown haired man similar looking to katsuki stared back at you. It was king Masaru “I was looking for you” he says, walking towards you. You quickly curtsied to the king “About what?” You asked “we have a wedding date for you and my son” he smiled warmly as if this was a good thing “o-oh.. and when may that be..?” Your eyebrows furrowed with frustration “a month from now, they will date you to get your gown fitted this week” he seemed overly happy about something neither you or his temperamental son wanted.

“Will I wear a wedding dress from my country or your country?” You asked softly, trying to keep your cool “uh.. our country.” He informed you “I’d rather wear my own wedding gown though, your majesty” “well.. you belong to our kingdom now. We can give you a dress that’s a mix of the two if you’d rather” he compromised, trying to keep with both your and his kingdom. Letting out a sigh your shoulders dropped “I suppose that be okay…” a look of mild disappointment on your face “wonderful, I’m glad we could come to a compromise” he smiled and walked off, an electric blonde guard following close behind him who you earlier learned his name was kaminari. The blonde goofily smiled to you, he seemed like a character. The two men walked off as they chatted, rolling your eyes you too began to walk in the direction of your bedroom chambers.

you couldn’t sleep that night, you tried changing your nightgown, exercising, reading a book, meditating, everything! nothing would help you sleep this night, you wondered if it was the weird interaction with king Masaru or the fact your own fiance was when you think about it was cheating on you with your own staff members. you slowly slid out of bed and out of your silk sheets, rubbing your face up and down with your hands with frustration. Looking down at your feet you sighed, looking out of the window. the night sky was so peaceful unlike your mind which was running with less the pleasant thoughts. How could you get Katsuki to like you? or at least tolerate you in some way so he wouldn't be the most annoying little shit.

The creak of the door hinges squeaks as you pushed the heavy wooden door open, wincing at the high pitch noise. Slowly but quietly gou walked towards the chambers of your future husband. As you approached the door you hear two voices come from the inside

“you’ll need to learn to cherish and care for her eventually”

“why would I do that?” “She is your fiancé! Your future wife! Future mother of your heirs!”

“you except me to fuck her too? Shit.”

“Yes obviously! Your gonna need heirs for our kingdom!”

“fine. Before or after this whole wedding?”

“well In her kingdom, you two do that on the wedding night but to be honest I don’t really care when you do her”

“Too easy”

safe to say your whole face was pink, with either anger or arousal but you couldn’t tell

Tag list!

@sagejin @teeesthings @hiimsaraandyou

@peachysuguru @luvgumii

@v3n7s @iangeeluv

[genshin-obsessed]

When Someone Flirts with You! | Honkai Star Rail

Someone saw this coming and I'm very proud of you for figuring it out. Yeah, I've been getting into star rail and I thought I'd just write since I can't really think of genshin things to write right now lol this is barely edited, so have mercy <3 idk tags rn so please help me out :') ✧ Includes: Dan Heng, Welt, Sampo, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Blade ✧ Extra: Luocha and Blade might be ooc, I'm not too familiar with them as of right now. ✧ Come one, come all! See what happens when someone flirts with you in front of your men!

Dan Heng

Dan Heng is a really private person, he’s not a fan of showing off everything. So he’s not one to flaunt you around, but it’s not hard to tell you’re both in a relationship. He’s around you like… all the time.

He’s not one to follow around like a helicopter boyfriend, but he’s got an eye on you. If he sees someone bothering you, he’s behind them in an instant.

0/10. Dan Heng’s not super scary so they could ignore him and continue flirting with you. For a moment, he’ll just stand there as he listens to some of the dumb things they’re gonna say. You two make fun of them later for it. But then he hears something along the lines of, “come on, i’ll treat you better.” he don’t like that. 

How is this creep better than him?! They couldn’t even tell you were uncomfortable. Dan Heng will usually place a hand on their shoulder and his grip gets tighter every second the creep is still in front of you. Paired with his glare…

10/10 the creep is gone. You sigh in relief and walk to Dan Heng quietly, wrapping your arms around his waist. He immediately hugs back, stroking your hair a little.

“Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t like it here anymore.” You agreed.

Welt

Well, he doesn’t hang around you 24/7, he’s a busy man. But it’s also not hard to tell you’re dating either. Welt isn’t crazy about PDA, but he’ll give you a quick kiss every now and then and often gives you hugs (per your request).

He believes you’re capable of taking care of yourself, so he’s often not paying attention. That doesn’t mean he won’t look over at you every now and then. This time, he just happened to see some creepy creep trying to creep up on you. 

“Are you ok, (y/n)?” Is the first thing he asks when he walks up to you. He will literally ignore the existence of the creep beside him. Usually what happens here is that you’ll nod and he’ll “accidentally” shove the creepy away and urge you to come talk with him and his friends. The creep is usually so confused they walk away. But sometimes- sometimes- they follow.

Welt does NOT like that. I mean it was one thing to not take the hint from your face, but then to stop you when you’re actively trying to leave?

Welt will turn around and just glare at them. Like that silent, “I will kill you” kinda glare. It’s a staring contest for a moment before the creepy creep just kinda turns away and leaves. Sometimes, Welt does have to smack them with his lil cane. Sometimes.

“Anyway, we’re over here. Would you like a drink?”

Sampo

Sampo is all over you, usually. He loves you and the world should know? Sometimes, he can go too far so just let him know. Anyway, since he’s always over you, people know you’re dating him.

Usually at parties and events, he’s hanging off your arm, but sometimes he’s gotta go talk to some of his other friends and acquaintances. He keeps an eye on you.

Here’s the thing, he’ll come up and flirt with you too but try to one up the creep. “You look fine, darling,” - the creep. “You look so beautiful, every star in the sky and the moons pale in comparison.” - Sampo.

0/10. Of course, the creep gets irritated and asks what the hell Sampo is doing. Sampo just gives him a condescending smile and says, “that’s my partner you’re talking to. I’m not gonna let you just creep up on them.” There’s… a glint in his eyes that’s unnerving. Even you can see it.

69/10. The creep runs off, making some excuse or whatever. Sampo watches them for a minute before turning to you and smiling. You rush to give him a hug and he happily returns it.

“Wanna go home? Seems like that idiot trashed your mood a little.”

Gepard

Gepard is a very shy guy and he’s not one to be all touchy-touchy without you doing it first. He gets all flustered and looks away… but he’ll lean into your touch.

He usually sticks around you, keeping your attention so no creepies come by, but sometimes he gets pulled away. He always lets you know he’ll be right back and leaves for just a few moments. Enough for a creepy to sneak in >:0

When Gepard notices the creep, he wastes no time walking over to you. “Is everything ok?” He asked, looking at you. If you shook your head, that was it. The captain of the silvermane’s came out!

The first glare is usually a 50/50. Sometimes, the creeps acted all annoyed and walk away, pretending they’re not scared but other times… they challenge him. Gepard just places a hand on their shoulder and shoves them back. It’s actually surprisingly strong- they’ll fall over sometimes.

10/10, that usually sends them running. On rare occasions there’s that ONE creepy who just stands up and tries to take him on lmao. You know to take a step back because Gepard kinda skips the arresting and just goes to ass kicking. And he’s the shy boyfriend.

“So… we should go now. Yeah, no, just leave the creep there.”

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan isn't the most affectionate boyfriend, but he doesn’t mind letting people know you two are together. Depends on your comfort level.

He’s a busy man, so at that fancy event, he can’t always be at your side but he tries to keep you by him. Of course, you decided to go get a drink, he happily agreed. You went off and he kept greeting more officials. You didn’t return, so he looked over and he just saw you turning away from a creep who just grabbed your arm!

Jing Yuan elegantly excuses himself and basically sneaks up behind the guy. He’ll stand there which brings you tons of relief, enough to let the creep ramble and ramble and ramble. “I could take you out to dinner, (nickname you don’t like). I’ll buy you (food you don’t like).” “Actually, they don’t like that. And they don’t like being called that.” The creep jumps away and is standing beside you at that point.

5/10, honestly, some just get scared and leave. There’s the other half though that just kinda scoff and look at you. Before they can even say anything, Jing Yuan grabs them by the shirt and force them to look at him. “Do not speak to them like that. Do not look at them, and don’t even think about them. You leave now or I’ll drag you out myself.”

10/10!!!!!!!!! They are GONE. No sign of them for MILES. Jing Yuan huffs and looks down at you. At this point, everyone’s looking at you two, making you extremely uncomfortable. He’ll stand beside you and pull you close, using that half of his jacket thing to cover you.

“We can leave. I’ll deal with everything else later. Come on.”

Luocha

This man is unpredictable. Sometimes, he’s grabbing your hand to prove your dating, others are just a straight kiss. You don’t mind. Either way, the world knows you two are together.

Luocha doesn’t mind leaving you alone, he’s got confidence in himself and you. That doesn’t mean he’s not there as your backup. Creeps creep on a daily- he’s gotchu. He sees the creep and he’s already walking toward you.

“No!” You exclaimed with a frown, “I'm not interested. Leave me alone.” Luocha didn’t mind scaring the creep off… but it was when they grabbed you that kinda set him off. “Hey.” Is all he says as he grabs their wrist to shove their hand away. 3/10. SOMETIMES people do get scared off by his demeanor. But there’s always that one. Our favorite.

For those guys, he’ll just get physical. There’s just this switch that goes off when it comes to you. 10/10. They’re either gone or out like a light.

“Come, we should go somewhere else.”

Blade

Lol. First of all, people know you’re dating this dude because you’re still alive while hanging off his arm. He’s not affectionate in public other than some sweet words. “You look nice today.” “I think you did well.” Things like that.

Blade can… be a helicopter boyfriend because he just has a 6th sense for creepies. You can be doing your own thing and he’s just standing there. Menacingly. There are days where he’s away from you, but he keeps a sharp eye on you. Then he notices the creep.

“Go away.” You say with a huff as you turn away. “Stop!” You yell, trying to pull your hand away. Suddenly, the creep is silent and frozen. You probably know exactly what happened.

You feel your arm come loose and look behind you to see Blade pointing… well his blade at the creep. He doesn’t say anything and the creep can’t help but just feel the icy fear in their veins. 10/10, Blade doesn’t fail.

“Thank you.” You say with a sigh as you run and hug his arm, looking up at him. Blade sighs and looks down at you, feeling that relief in his chest knowing that you’re fine and right beside him where you should be.

“It’s because you look cute today. Let’s go somewhere else.”

[littlemissmiller]

𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔

Pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

Summary: Javier is your partner while on assignment in Bogotá. You can’t seem to resist him, as much as you tell yourself you’re done fooling around with him. One night, he comes home and the next morning, you finally realize your true feelings for him…

Warning: 21+ (drinking and smoking), semi-rough sex, ass slapping, slight power play, dom!javier, sub!reader, oral(m and f receiving), partners/friends to lovers

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: surprise! it’s pedro! i hope y’all enjoy this just as much as the tom fics (which i appreciate all the support once again, exceeded my expectations). I had this one in the vault for a while, but just went back and edited it so here it is! i have another billy and coryo fic in the works, but a girl has got to diversify her blog page no? also i do plan to post more pedro stuff (given my blog name 😅)ok enjoy! ❤︎

☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎☀︎︎

“This is the last time Javier.” You panted as Javier Peña pushed you up against the wall of a small janitor’s closet. A frequent place you had found yourself in once again, fucking like teenagers. Everyone had left the office nearly, but you still didn’t want to get caught.

“Yeah you said that last time sweetheart.” He growled into your ear as he readjusted you, hoisting you up further onto the wall. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and he was fucking up into you. His pants were only down far enough to let his cock out and he continued to push your tight pencil skirt up over your thighs and hips. You moaned into his ear which caused him to pick up his pace.

“I mean it we…we can’t keep doing this.” You moaned as his lips attached to your neck. He smirked and looked back up at you. His hand slithered up your throat and cupped under your chin.

“Really? Is that why you decided to wear this tight little skirt today? To get me to stop?” He panted

“I always wear these…” you lied

“Yeah well what about this blouse then hmm.” His hand slid down your throat to tug on your collar and then slipped inside your blouse to cup your breast.

“You know I can see right through it don’t you?”

“Maybe I was trying to get someone else’s attention…”you croaked out

“Mmm I don’t think so sweetheart. I know other people are looking but they wouldn’t dare to touch you.” He replied

“Why is that?”

“You know why…” he breathed into your ear “because you’re mine…” he picked up his pace and soon enough you were both coming undone.

He held you in place for a while and rested his forehead against yours. You both panted in exhaustion, your breathing in sync. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek before pulling out and setting you back on your feet.

“You should grab a drink with me tonight.” He suggested as he stepped back, readjusting himself, stuffing his cock back into his jeans and buckling his belt.

“Javi…” you sighed, shaking your head and smirking as you buttoned up your blouse “you know my rules…”

Ever since you and Javier started hooking up, you were very explicit about how your relationship would be. You had told him you weren’t looking for a relationship, but he convinced you to be “partners with benefits”.

Your rules were clear. No going out to bars or dinner, no flirting in front of your colleagues, and nothing more than just sex. Those were the rules left anyways. Javier had a way of convincing you to break them. At first, you had told him no hooking up at work, but about two weeks later and one too many tight dresses, you had broken that rule. And the rule not to show physical affection to each other outside of your activities. He couldn’t seem to help himself around you. He would always wait until no one was around, but occasionally he’d plant a kiss on your cheek or come up behind you and plant one on the back of your neck. It would usually turn into more, but occasionally it was just in passing and very quick.

“C’mon we can go as just co-workers. Then it’s not a date”

You looked up at him and rolled your eyes. You slipped your heels back on and started to fix your hair.

“You know what I told you. I’m not looking for a relationship, especially not with you.” You looked at him pointedly and he frowned “besides if you and I get together who else is going to fuck the hookers Escobar likes the have around.” You have joked raising my eyebrow

He rolled his eyes.

“They are informants and I get very useful information from them”

“Oh besides how they like it” you smirked reaching for the door

Javier stopped you. His hand wrapped around your wrist. He looked at you and you looked back at him intensely, snapping your head in surprise and confusion.

“Are you jealous or something?” He asked

“No!” You laughed “besides we get good intel like you said.”

He released your wrist and grunted in agreement. He traced his hand over your own, moving it from your wrist to your finger tip. He moved his fingers around your palm and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“You should still get a drink with me though” he insisted, continuing to stroke your hand. “Hmm…what do you say? He kissed your knuckles this time, which took you off guard but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

A part of you had put these rules in place mainly for yourself. You knew getting tangled up with Javier like this would be trouble and quite frankly a distraction. Maybe you needed a distraction, but with your own partner? Would that really happen? Maybe because you also knew, in the back of your mind, you had deeper feelings at play. You thought about it and, in that moment, you realized you were about to break one of your own rules again.

“Fine.” You started, dropping your hand to your side “just as co-workers thought. This is not a date or anything like a date.”

“Fine by me. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You opened the janitors closet and poked your head out. You looked around and stepped out. Javier followed after you.

“Let’s get going. And separate cars.” You commanded, looking at him seriously

“I figured.”

“Where are we meeting?” You asked

“That bar near your place. The one on the corner next to your apartment.” You answered

Of course he chose somewhere near your place. You thought he was gonna try and take you home with him after. Back to his place. You were wrong. You and him met at the bar and, what ended up being one drink became three, then a cigarette, and your night was pretty much set.

“This ain’t too bad hmm?” He asked

“I don’t mind getting a drink with you Javier. Just the principle of it I…struggle with”

He smirked at your answer “Is that so?” He slid his hand onto your knee which made you almost choke on the beer you were sipping on.

“Javi!” You gritted though my teeth in a low tone

“You said no flirting in front of co-workers or at work. Nothing about outside of work.” He smirked.

“I hope you understand that you’re not coming home with me tonight.” You remark pointedly

“Oh really why is that?” He asked rubbing my thigh

“Because we are just getting a drink as co-workers. Remember.”

Javier leaned back with a satisfied smirk on his face and downed his whiskey.

“You’re at least gonna let me walk you home?”

“It’s just around the corner.” You reminded him

“So?” He asked

“I’ll be fine, but I have feeling you’d follow me anyways” you joked

“You think I’m too overprotective of you?”

“Sometimes….” You looked at him and he looked at you not with lust but something else. A deeper longing and you knew in that moment what you had suspected for a while. Javier Peña seemed to have fallen for you.

He ended up walking you home and you begrudgingly let him in for “just one more drink” and soon after you found yourself back home with him, although you didn’t actually have sex. The two of you drank whiskey and just talked. Something you rarely found time to do. Simply connect with each other. You both sat on the couch, Javier took the liberty of your closeness to occasionally caress your thigh or play with your hair. It was simple, yet incredibly intimate. You and him eventually moved to your bedroom, where you cuddled up on him. Neither of you talked much after that. You simply lost yourself in that moment with him. You felt complete and your heart felt full. You slowly faded into sleep against him and without realizing it he had kissed your forehead several times after you had fallen asleep until he too drifted off.

When you woke up the next morning Javier was still asleep, sleeping on his stomach. You watched his back muscles as they rose and fell. He breathed heavily and you tangled your fingers loosely in his hair to try and wake him up. He kept sleeping, so you decided to take a shower. As the warm water poured over your head you thought about the way he looked at you the night before. His big brown doughy eyes that looked at you like a puppy dog. His hand on your leg, fingers playing with your hair and his charming smile. And the way you held each other until you both fell asleep. You realized that you liked him too. You had been resisting him and the idea of you two together. Especially given that you weren’t too sure how the DEA would feel about you and him having a relationship.

Would you not be able to work together catching Escobar worse get fired? You didn’t want to lose everything at work just to be with him, but you also couldn’t help but feel this way for him. Your thoughts are disrupted when you hear the shower curtain being pushed back. Javier stepped in behind you and came close, pressing his chest against your back. You kept your eyes closed as he wrapped his hands around your waist. He started placing light kisses on your neck and you reached up behind to cup his face. You could feel his cock getting hard on your ass and you reached down to stroke him. He groaned into your ear as he cupped your breasts.

“Mind if I stay?” He whispered

You spun in his arms and looked into his eyes. That same loving look from last night appeared on his face and you knew that he definitely had feelings for you too. There was no turning back now. For either of you. So you accepted that you were also in love with him and leaned into kiss him. It was passionate, with full force. He pushed your back against the shower wall, cupped your face with one hand while the other was planted on the wall beside your head. You moved up against him and moved your leg slowly up to his waist. He dropped his hand and immediately groped your thigh.

“Wanna stay in here or take this back to the bed?” He asked

“I don’t think we’ve ever done it in the shower before” you remarked

“We haven’t” he smirked

You reached back down the stroke his cock and smiled at him.

“Well Agent Peña…” you said as you continued touching him. “What do you want?”

His hands traveled along your body and settled on your waist. He spun you back around and pushed you back up against the shower wall, grabbing your wrists and holding them behind your back. You let out a breathy moan. You knew calling Javier “Agent Peña” turns him on. And you knew that it could make him go from the sweet man you cared about you so much, into a man hungry with lust. It makes him want to be in charge.

“I want you. And I suggest you behave. Got it?”

You moaned in agreement and nodded. He slapped your ass and tightened his grip around your wrists.

“Words sweetheart…”

“Yes sir…I’ll…I’ll be good” you reply somewhat begrudgingly.

Javier and you had this game sometimes when hooking up. You knew whenever you called him by his formal title, he was going to want to ravish you And you liked to give into him sometimes. Pretend you were a suspect or one of Escobar’s whores. It excited you, in a way you didn’t even know was possible. Makes you feel on edge and you like the anticipation that had control over you. Sex with Javier was usually always good, but when he was trying to find out where the next shipment was going to come in or where Escobar was going to be next he definitely had a few tricks up his sleeve. A few tricks to get girls to talk in bed.

Then he spun you back around as he grabbed your ass again. He rubbed his hand over it and slid it down in between your thighs. His fingers started rubbing your folds and you started melting up against the wall. Letting go of your wrists, he held you closer to him so your back was against his chest. He started pinching and twisting your nipples with his free hand. You let out a series of moans and whines. The hand in between your thigh snaked up and began to rub your clit. His fingers traced over it before pressing down and rubbing in a tight circle. You moaned and arched your back. He moved his hand across your sternum and pushed your back against his chest.

“Don’t move too much sweetheart” Javier demanded. “Just stay right here”

You held onto his biceps now that both of your hands were free. Your legs were shaking and everything around you was going fuzzy.

“Goddamn Peña you make me feel so good.” You whined

“I bet if you were actually one of Escobars girls I’d get information out of you real easy.”

You let out a mix between a moan and a laugh

“You flatter yourself Agent Peña”

With that he pushed you up against the shower wall some more you steadied yourself with your hands. You gasped in surprise at his sudden dominance. He pushed your legs open slightly, his hand grabbing the insides of your thighs. Then you felt the tip of his cock push into you and gasped.

“Would you tell me now?” He asked nipping on my ear lobe

“You’re going to have to do more than that to get anything out of me”

With that he pushed all the way inside you. He felt so full, so big. You couldn’t help but let out a long, staggering moan, but you weren’t about to say anything to him, about how good it felt. Not even say his name. It’s what he was trying to get out of you in this little game of yours. He started pumping in and out of you slowly at first, but he soon picked up his pace. You only let out a few soft moans as he worked his hips against your ass. You weren’t going to let him win that quickly, yet the pleasure was agonizingly good. He started pounding into you and you could barely contain your whimpers. His hand came down and sharply landed on your ass. He smacked it again and again. Each time you couldn’t help but let him hear you.

“Got more to tell me sweetheart?”

You shook your head and he growled into your ear

“C’mon now I know you wanna talk to me. At least tell me how good it feels”

You didn’t reply and he smacked your ass one last time. He pulled out abruptly, spun you around and turned the water off.

“I know what will make you talk…” he smirked

You stared up at him doe eyed, somewhat confused and scared and somewhat in anticipation. He pulled the curtain back then scooped you up into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs dangling from the crook of his elbow. He held your naked body against his tightly and walked back into your bedroom. He threw you down on the bed and you let out a slight yelp. He crawled on top of you and started kissing you again.

“If you won’t talk to me from me fucking you…then I guess I’ll just torture you with my tongue.” He whispered

He worked his way down your entire body, kissing every inch slowly. He was methodically in his actions. Kissing, sucking, and nipping on your flesh like an animal that just caught its prey. He slowly reached your core and began teasing the inside of your thigh with his lips and tongue. Your hand moved down to grab his head and move him where you wanted. He bit down on your thigh, giving it a hard slap, and looked up at you.

“If you want me somewhere specific you’re gonna have to use your words.”

You groaned in response

You watched him as he went back to teasing you. His mouth drew closer and closer to your clit, until finally. Your hips bucked up in his face slightly as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He held you down and started really going for it. He ate you out like he was starving for you. Javier lapped you up, sucking and teasing your core. His tongue was relentless and kept bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He could sense it too. So he kept you on edge for a while. Javier pulled back, gawking at you as your eyes and pouty lips silently begged him to return his mouth to your slit. He slowly rubbed you as he admired you. He stroked himself with his free hand and bent back down to kiss your thighs.

You squirmed when his lips touched your skin again, so desperate to cum for him. Javier kissed your clit again, his soft affectionate demeanor driving you crazy. You wanted to cry out, but you held back, still remembering that he’s trying to coax you into telling him how good he makes you feel. How bad you crave him. Javier made eye contact with you as he tasted you, his tongue delicately danced over your folds. You bit down on your lip hard, eyes never leaving his. He pulled back again, catching his breath. He rubbed your clit again as he looked at you.

“C’mon baby. Why don’t you tell me how good it feels hmm? C’mon let me hear you.” Javier nearly begged but you just shook your head. His face changed as he scoffed at you.

“Fine. Gonna be a stubborn little thing hmm? Two can play at that game.” He said, removing his fingers. You buck your hips up at the loss of his hand, your face scrunched up disappointment. He sat up on his knees and beckoned you to him. You crawled forward, eyes never leaving his. With his cock in one hand, he stroked the side of your face

“Well if you're not going to speak, then maybe you can use your mouth in a different way hmm?” He suggested. He cups your face and draws you close to his crotch.

You opened your sweet little mouth, and he traced your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You opened and took him into your mouth. He was so big, and you could feel the tip as it prodded the back of your throat. You gagged slightly and he cooed at you. He pumped into you, loving the way your lips became fat and plumb. He held the back of your head and he continued moving his hips. Javier tilts his head back in bliss, his grip getting slightly tighter in your hair. He looks down for a moment, reaching for your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Fuck that’s good.” He quipped. He looked back down at your mouth then back up at your ass. He ran his hand in-between your cheeks and started to rub your slick folds. His actions caught you off guard and you popped your mouth off his length. You moaned and gasped as your legs started to give out.

“Oh there she is. Can’t help it now hmm? Come on, tell me how good it feels.”

You held back for as long as possible, biting down hard on your bottom lip until you can’t help it anymore.

“Mmm mmm ooh fuck Javi fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..” you finally cried out, your legs shaking uncontrollably. You duck your head down, face against the mattress as Javier made you cum. You convulsed on his hand. He smiled, his satisfaction ever so apparent.

“Thaaaats it. Oh fuuuck, you’re so pretty baby. So pretty cumming for me like this” he moaned

You stared back up at him, eyes slightly wet and glossy from having him down your throat. With a finger under your chin, he guided your lips back up to his. As he kissed you, he gently pushed you back on your back and you spread your legs for him. He wanted to tease you still, catching you while you're still a babbling mess. He rubs your clit as he pushes himself inside you. It was overwhelming at first, and you clenched around his cock.

“Javi…I-I oh fuck your gonna make me cum again” you squealed

“Good. Tell me who makes you feel good hmm?”

“Y-you Javier ok. You win you win you win, I fuck, I-I…”

“Go on. Say it. Say it to me.”

“I want you. Not just, not just like hooking up…I want all of you please…please…”

The admission stumbled out of you and you almost regretted it as you said it but Javier simply smiled. As he pumped into, he leaned down and kissed you

“Ohh I want you too. I have for a while.”

His passion overtook him and he sped up his hips. He was practically possessed, letting his brain go numb as he continued to drill into you. Your fucked out face gawked at him, continuously looking at his face and then at the place where his cock had entered you. The feeling of pleasure consumed you, he felt so full and deep in you. You never wanted this to end and neither did he. Javier kissed you frantically, savoring you.

“That’s all I really wanted this whole time. To know you wanted me too.” He whispered

You nodded and he pumped into you more deliberately.

“Christ baby you feel so good. Not gonna last much longer.”

Mhmm go on. Fill me up. Fuck pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…” you beg over and over again until he came. His cum spilled into you, feeling warm and filling. He took a moment to catch his breath, kissing all over your face as he did.

“Mmm Javier, we’re going to be in so much trouble…” you muffled as he kissed you

“You really think…” he kissed you “that we should worry about that” he kissed you again “right now. In this moment”

You sighed against him and shook your head

“I hope you have a plan for figuring this out.”

“You know I’ll figure it out baby.” He smiled cockily

He cupped your face and continued to kiss you over and over again. You slowly melted into his touch and so did your anxiety. At that moment you didn’t care. You had him, as much as you had tried to resist him, you wanted him and now, now you had him.

꧁✹❂✹꧂



[ynbabe]

Do you think you could write a smau with Yuki or Daniel with a male reader who is like 6'-6'4 and they kinda have a gay panic moment and reader is just subtly flirting with them through captions and comments...

If not than that's ok, have a great day/night

ahhhhh this is such a cute idea, I went with Danny ric for this one cause the yuki to 6'4 reader height difference would be too mean 😭

y/nfsnweek

y/nfsnweek new shoot coming out @/alphatauri

y/nfsnweek excited to meet all the cool guys at @/vcarbf1team

vcarbf1team we're excited to meet you!! username YOU'RE MEETING DANIEL AND YUKI?? y/nfsnweek perks of the job 🤷‍♂️

username HELLO??? father what do you mean you're modelling for an f1 team??

username girl they were a fashion brand first 😭

username omg does this mean Y/n's going to a race? He has to right?

username every time I find out abt this man's height I need to log off cause WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS CUTIE IS FUCKING 6'4???

username tall king

username imagine him next to Yuki 😂

username they wouldn't even fit in the camera screen together 💀

vcarbf1team

vcarbf1team our drivers through the eyes of @/y/nfsnweek

y/nfsnweek need a pass for every race pls

vcarbf1team we got you king 💪

yukitsunoda no comments, no one talk to me, deleting all social media

username omg yuki 😭 bbg it's not your fault y/n is just freakishly tall

danielricciardo finally someone I had to look up to talk to 😂

yukitsunoda Daniel you're blocked first

username daniel looks at y/n like he wants to eat him, Yuki looks at y/n like he's planning to steal his height

username Danny something you'd like to share with the class???k

Daniel was trying to be normal but there were only very few people he had to look up to talk too and even fewer people who looked like that.

He had accepted he was gay a long time ago but refused to be in a relationship due to the media and his job but there was no way he could ignore the way his heart began racing when he looked into your eyes. The worst part of it was he didn’t even know if you were interested in him, or guys.

One wrong move and his career would be down the drain… again and he couldn’t risk that but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you either. This was driving him insane. You were driving him insane and you hadn’t even spoken to him over 10 minutes.

He could always count on Max right? He had never told anyone about Daniel’s secret even when they had been fighting and he was his best friend obviously he was going to cry about this to him.

Why had Max sent him one of Y/n’s Instagram posts? Daniel was not in the mood to stalk his crush only to see him with women all over him.

y/nfsnweek

y/nfsnweek If you know what I did last summer pls let me know

Oh, okay, he liked guys, but did he want Daniel? Y/n was a model, he worked around gorgeous men 24/7 why would he want to be with Daniel?

Daniel couldn't do much more, he could pine and yearn like he had for years before or he could get on with his job and move on like he is used to.

danielricciardo

danielricciardo Enchanté orange edition 🍊

landonorris Papaya edition?

danielricciardo no comments

y/nfsnweek my favourite fruit 🤭

username bro??? username your favourite what 🤨 username oh?

maxverstappen doubles as MV1 merch

danielricciardo @/Landonorris defend your colour

danielricciardo

danielricciardo austingp my home away from home

ynfsnweek suddenly I'm very interested in America

maxverstappen 🤨🤨 ynfsnweek yee haw 😫

username that hat 😮‍💨

username max?? y/n??

username y/n being the first comment on this post is giving

username giving broke back mo-

daniel.jpg

daniel.jpg photo creds to @/lando.jpg

y/nfsnweek Lando needs a raise

lando.jpg it's all him y/nfsnweek fr mans fine asf

username Y/N????

username HELLO???

username if Daniel doesn't respond to y/n rn its going to get real embarrassing real quick

Daniels's head was reeling, what did Lando mean you were flirting with him under his posts? Weren't all those comments PR? Should he text you? but what if you didn't like him? But what if you did? Fuck.

Daniel texted you, why had he texted you? Did he not like you? Did your comments make him uncomfortable? You were not above crying till the sun rose and the tears were already ready.

But first you had to yell at the little gremlin that probably caused this, cause you may die of a broken heart and embarrassment but you weren't going alone.

Now back to Daniel, who was probably going to block and you were going to get your contract cut and-

Oh? oh? And where had that sudden burst of confidence come from?

On the other end, Daniel was losing his mind.

Oh

Oh...

HE LIKES ME?? HE LIKES ME!! He couldn't believe he was acting like a teenager right now but he was kicking his feet and giggling. You were the literal man of his dreams and you liked him back!

Daniel was going to die but at least it'd be from happiness this time and you? You were screaming into your pillow, stalking the man's Instagram, blushing thinking about the date.