#the likeness is not quite there lol but its so hard to draw their faces gosh

[chiosblog]

Gifts

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒 ❞

❝ BEING PROF. GETO'S T.A. IS SO HARD BECAUSE HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

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

✧ summary: you're now professor geto's t.a. for the semester, forced to spend time with the man that you so desperately want, either of you barely able to hold back when you're around the other, so what happens when you're forced to go to a conference with him...and there's only one bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, so much mutual pining, bed sharing, cuddling, masturbation (f + m), oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), semi public sex (sorta), office sex (kinda), amateur's take on moral philosophy and ethics, art by @/nino84391425

✧ wc: 16,821 (apparently i am writing a novel lol) | part one | part three | part four

“On time for once?” Professor Suguru Geto remarks without looking up from his notes on the podium, even as your footsteps echo in the empty lecture hall, “color me surprised,” 

“Couldn’t be late on my first day as a teacher’s assistant, now could I?” and his lips curl in that damnable smile, as he finally glances up from his notes to see you looking far too gorgeous in his button up — one you had oh so generously relieved him of last night, pilfered away in your bag seemingly. 

“But you could be late on your first day as a student?” and you lick your lips, as you draw closer to him, “seems like you’re quite the hypocrite, not very ethical,” 

“Don’t think what we did last night was very ethical either,” you murmur, enjoying the way his dark eyes glaze over for a moment with the thoughts what you both did — the places touched, the moans heard, and the pleasure had — “plus, I definitely have an incentive to be on time now,” your fingers graze his, and why does his touch always feel like coming home. 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he murmurs, running the back of his hand against your cheek. 

“Your gorgeous face,” you smile, leaning close as your lips brush, “and some stolen kisses before class,” 

“And what makes you think you’ve earned them, my favorite student?” He teases, as his fingers slide to the back of your neck, and his other hand snakes around your waist, tugging you close. 

“Oh, I have a few ways to earn them, Professor,” your fingers drag down his chest, “but I don’t know if we have the time before class to—“ 

And his lips find yours — needy and bruising, as your fingers clutch at his shirt, the pressed fabric now definitely creased under your touch, “we’ll make time,” he murmurs, as he leans back to drag his thumb down your plush lips, “I still have many things to teach you, and what time is there like the present?” 

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to your lips— 

RING. RING. RING. 

Your eyes snap open, a groan crawls its way out of your throat, as you fumble for your phone to silence the dreaded ringing. You lie back on your bed, a distinct ache between your legs that makes you squirm, and only want to bury yourself back into your bed and possibly the reality that existed within only your dreams. 

But this was sadly reality, and you had about two hours before your first class as a teacher’s assistant for Professor Suguru Geto’s ethics and moral philosophy class. And two hours before you would see Professor Geto for the first time since you had made out. 

You turn over, pressing your face into your pillow. You wondered if you tried hard enough, if you could suffocate yourself before then. 

Probably not. That would be far too lucky. 

~~~

Professor Suguru Geto couldn’t sleep — instead he spent his time staring at his ceiling, the blades of his fans spinning above him, just like his mind was — in circles. It was as if he almost didn’t want to risk his dreams taunting him, it was the same reason he had buried himself in research over the semester break, the same reason he had put off emailing you the materials for the semester, and the same reason he hadn’t seen you since that day you had kissed. 

It was too much of a risk. 

You were risk personified, even for a risk averse theologian he liked to think himself as. But you were the thing of myths, the dangled food for Tantalus, the far too warm sun for Icarus, and the promise of gold for King Midas. But you were not a myth — you were real, his student made of flesh and bone, the same flesh he had pressed into his desk just a few short weeks ago, his legs parting your thighs, his fingers itching to rip your pantyhose off your legs— 

He sighed, this wasn’t helping — his bedside clock blinked back at him mockingly — he only had a few hours before his first class. He should try to sleep even a little. So he did, shutting his eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t dream of you. 

But he couldn’t possibly be that lucky. 

How many times have you stood in front of this office door? Your Professor, to which this office belongs, would joke that it was far too many to count — and you’d be better speculating how many times that Sisyphus rolled the boulder up the same hill. But the last time you had been in it was the thing that made you hesitate now. 

But that was your entire relationship wasn’t it? A game of chicken, wondering who would hesitate first — and neither of you were the type to hold back. Except when it came to this — except when it came to your feelings for the other. 

You shake your head, trying to shake your anxious thoughts free of their eternal bounce around your skull, and grit your teeth before finally knocking. 

“I’m actually right here,” a voice behind you says, making you jump, as you whip around, nearly pressed against his office door. And now you stood face to face with the man who owned it.

And how was it that every time you saw him, he was achingly more perfect than the time before? His ebony hair was half down, black locks brushing against his shoulders, the rest tied up in a neat bun. A crisp white button up underneath a neutral toned knit sweater vest, the shirt very much like the one you had stolen in your dream. 

Perfect. 

“Professor Geto,” you offer a small smile, trying your best to keep your eyes on his, instead of drifting over his form, “it’s good to see you,” 

“It’s good to see you as well, and so prompt,” he says, brushing past you to unlock his office, “made a habit of being on time these days?” 

“Well, when your professor reprimands you in front of the entire class, you try to make a habit of being on time,” why did it feel like your dream was repeating yet again? It’s not as if your relationship with him wasn’t cyclical enough — life imitating dreams was almost far too much. He opens the door for you, letting you enter first, before he follows you in, “and aren’t you the late one this time?” 

His lips quirk, as he rounds his desk, and takes a seat, “You really can’t make it a conversation with me without giving me shit, huh?” 

“Language,” you chide, as you sit across from him, “not very appropriate for an academic setting,” and you have to bite back the want to say that you’ve done plenty of inappropriate things in this office the last time you both were here. 

“Well, our track record isn’t known for being very appropriate, now is it?” Or maybe you didn’t need to say it, because the way he was looking at you told you everything you needed to know. But that didn’t mean either of you would act on it. He licked his lips, mouth parted to say something, his gaze heavy. 

And the moment is broken when his email goes off — you squeeze your bag a little tighter, as you busy yourself with digging through your bag for the materials to go over. That sound was nearly traumatizing in this office, not only did it usually signal the start of some assignment you had to trudge your way through — it also was the sound that had ended your relationship before it even really began. 

“Class starts in an hour, so I thought we could have this meeting just to review the syllabus and see if you have any questions — as well as just overall any questions you had about being a T.A.,” he explains, pressing his pen to his lips, “I understand this is your first time being a T.A.?” 

“It is, I hadn’t really considered it until the department head approached me about that,” and he nods, a flash of emotion that surfaces for only a moment before dissipating, “what will my responsibilities be?” 

“Good question,” a smile pulls the corners of his lips, “obviously, as a T.A., you will have office hours that you can decide with your own discretion—” 

“So it’s okay if I have them once a month at 3:00 AM?” and he rolls his eyes as you bite your lip at the sight — why was everything he did so effortlessly attractive? 

Fucking unfair. 

“Witching hour, how apt,” he murmurs, as he tilts his head, “but they should be weekly, as I’m sure you know, and held not in the middle of the night, when nights should be used for other things,” and you have to bite back your reply, like what? 

And then he continues to explain, “You can also help with some grading — mostly entering grades online for me since you know I love to handgrade,” 

“Oh yes, truly enjoyed having my self-esteem cut to shreds after receiving a paper back,” you scribbled notes down in your notebook, “glad I won’t be on the receiving end this time,” 

“If you’re good, that is,” and you knew it slipped from his lips — from the way his lips parted, the way his body froze for half a second as if he had shocked himself — and he had, because the spark between you two remained, a weed stubbornly cracking through concrete, “sorry—’ 

“You don’t have apologize,” you shake your head, waving him off, “it’s really fine,” 

“It’s not,” he said softly, placing the syllabus down on the desk, “I know we agreed to keep our relationship professional,” 

“We did,” Yes, you both did — sort of. 

“And I want us to do that—” 

And you ask the question you weren’t brave enough to ask the last time you two had seen each other, “Why is that again?” 

When the email had come, it was as if a spell had broken — the rosy colored lenses had come off, only to leave the hard glare of reality behind. Your limbs still entangled while you both reread the email off of his screen — as if it would say something different the millionth time over. 

It didn’t. 

And then the awkward clamor of disengaging, slow limbs pulling apart, as the warmth of his embrace left as quickly as it had come. Silence as the two of you let the news settle in, like a noose tightening around your necks, and you slowly slid off his desk. 

“If I’m your T.A.,” you had said slowly, adjusting the skirt of your dress, “we can’t do this, can we?” and he had only nodded, his gaze unable meet yours, fixed to the rug on the floor of his office, and he could only muster two words as you brushed past him and gathered your things—

“I’m sorry.” 

But even so, you couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea? Why was it so wrong for the two of you to do this? What difference did it make that you were his T.A.? It was still against the rules either way — it was still unethical either way — so why, why did it matter? 

But he knew why, from the way his brow creased with lines and his lips pursed and the way his eyes yet again couldn’t quite reach yours — as if you’d spot something in them that he didn’t want to see. 

“Because we’re going to working together all semester long, with students in class who will see us each week,” he licked his lips, leaning back in his chair, “because it was already problematic if we saw each other without any classes or connection, but now — if you’re my T.A. and my girlfriend, how would I even properly supervise you?” and he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing as he blows air through his teeth, before his voice grows softer, “how would I focus on guiding you and our students if I’m too busy gazing into your eyes or staring at your lips or wanting to—” he cuts himself off, “you know it’s not a good idea,  most of our students probably wouldn’t notice, but rumors spread and it takes one good rumor to ruin your career,” and he adds, “with how things work, you don’t need me to tell you why it would be worse for you than me, even if I tried to take responsibility,” 

And you did know, knew very well that rumors got out that the two of you were together that nothing would happen to his reputation — perhaps he would be scrutinized a bit more, some judgment and side-eye from other professors and higher ups, but he wouldn’t get vilified like you would. Called a slut or a whore — and those would be some of the kinder names you’d be called, and you can’t imagine what it would do for your career, especially if you stay in academia. And then the rumors would fester and grow, more wondering where your grades came from — whether you had obtained them through honeyed words whispered over pillows and rumpled sheets instead through late nights spent at your desk and weekends practically living at the library. 

“I do know,” you said quietly. But it didn’t mean you wanted to do it anymore than you had that day. A part of you wished he had stopped you when you had turned to leave his office, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his arms—but this was hardly a romance novel, “and you’re right,” 

He still has his gaze fixed anywhere but your face, settling his syllabus on his desk now, the silence familiarly filling the room yet again, muscles tense if your body didn’t know whether to flee or to draw closer. 

So you did neither, and instead broke the silence. 

“So would T.A.-ing provide an opportunity for me to teach the class?” and he blinks, eyes snapping up now, as a glimpse of sadness slips away behind his now thoughtful expression. 

“Would you want to do that? I don’t know if I could allow you to lead an entire class, only because some students may take some issue with another grad student teaching them—” 

“I don’t blame them with the tuition costs,” you mutter, and he nods, “don’t nod, it’s your salary I’m paying for,” 

He laughs, a noise you wished you could bottle because you knew it’d be the same as bottling happiness, “Well worth your money after how much your writing and understanding of moral philosophy and ethics has improved,” and you roll your eyes. 

“I see your ego is the same as ever,” and his lips curl, as he crosses his legs, and you fight the cruel temptation of your gaze flickering a little downward. 

“Well, Kant did say an ego is necessary to understand the world meaningfully and therefore act in a moral way,”  you tilt your head, being defensive with philosophy? That was a new one. 

But you weren’t one to let things go — as he very well knew. 

“And he also said that an ego can lead you astray from living a moral life if we become too self absorbed,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you calling me self absorbed?” 

You bite back a laugh, “Well, you are certainly self interested,” and you gesture around his office, “look at this office,” 

“What about my office?” he gapes at you, and you snort, you’ve seemingly struck a nerve by how wide his jaw dropped. 

“It’s a little…pretentious,” and dare you say it, your professor had a touch of pink painted across his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, 

God he’s even pretty when he blushes. 

“I’m just teasing Professor,” and then you add, “it’s one of my more tedious qualities,” 

And he blinks, before his lips curl in the smile you never tired of seeing, “not tedious, more irritating,” 

You chuckle, before trying to get back on topic, “So you think you could work out me teaching a part of the class?” 

And he nods, “Let me discuss it with the department head — it should be fine,”

“Do I have any other responsibilities?” 

“If it doesn’t conflict with your schedule, you can also attend some classes, students can stay after and ask you questions as well,” and you nod, looking over his class times in the syllabus. 

“I can make the Tuesday one,” and he makes a note, as you rise, “we should go. Don’t want to be late for the first class now do we?” 

And he smiles the same damnable smile, “That would be a terrible first impression,” and his shoulder brushes yours as he opens his office door for you, “after you,” 

God, you thought as you stepped past him, the warmth from the brush of his body still there, this was going to be a long semester. 

If there was one thing you had learned from being a teacher’s assistant for Professor Geto’s class, it was that the students were even more desperate for your professor’s attention than you had thought. You thought your introduction had went relatively well — besides the pointed glares of several….enthusiastic students. 

After his detailed overview of the class, he reaches the resources section of the course syllabus, “Now, I am available at my listed office hours, in which you can make an appointment online. There’s also tutoring services through the university listed as well. And lastly, we have a T.A. for this class, for the very first time,” and he smiles, “Class, please meet your T.A. for this semester,” Professor Geto says your name and gestures to you, sat up in the corner of the lecture hall, and you stand, waving, “your T.A. took this very class last semester and showed great grit and dedication in the class assignments,” you have to stop yourself from shooting him a look, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips, “She is also a philosophy student, so please, feel free to reach out to her,” 

“Thank you Professor Geto for that…generous introduction,” your pause was slight enough that he caught it, a smile tucked behind an all too fake cough, “I really look forward to working with you all — this class truly had a great impact on my perspective about the world,” and you catch a flicker of an emotion ripple across his face out of the corner of your eye, “my office hours will be posted soon, and I hope we can get to know each other well over the course of this semester.” 

You sit as the students cast their gaze forward again, and the class continues on as usual. You make use of your time by reading for some of your other classes, until class was over. 

And that’s when you really learned something. As requested, you joined Professor Geto at the bottom of the lecture hall to help field questions from the students. 

Except, the students were far more interested in Professor Geto than they were in the course material. 

But maybe it was simply because it was the beginning of the semester right? It couldn’t happen again right? 

It was a good thing you weren’t getting graded because you would earned yourself a zero. As again, the next week, students were only interested in Professor Geto — whether it was because it was for his intellect or — you glanced at the students mooning over him — something else. 

Something you knew very well. 

You were forced to watch a female student flutter her eyelashes, then another brush against him, as she showed him what passage was confusing her, and then another student couldn’t stop staring at his lips. And then you wonder, if it had been another student who kept pestering him week after week, would it have been them instead of you? Would they have shared those moments together? Maybe even they would actually gotten to be in a relationship, instead of watching other people flirt with him—

“Excuse me,” your eyes snap up from your reverie and you see two students, seemingly waiting to speak to you. 

Those students had seemingly taken pity on you and spoke to you about the class, tips, and asked about your office hours. But soon enough, the students filed out one by one until it was just you and Professor Geto. And he’s collecting his things, as he glances at you, lingering still as you check your email on your phone, “Don’t you have class after this?” 

You blink, “how’d you know that?” 

And he’s straightening his notes to place back in his bag, before he turns to look at you over his shoulder, “well you’d always rush off after class so it was either you had class or you didn’t want to be alone with me,” he looks back to his bag and you hear the click of the zipper, “I was hoping it would be the former,” he adds. 

“Well, I never lingered after class when I was taking it either,” you adjust your bag, toying with the strap — why was it anytime you were with him it felt like stepping into quicksand, the more you struggled, the more you sunk — and even if you didn’t move at all, you were still stuck all the same, “didn’t want to get in the way your students stroking your ego,” 

And he raises an eyebrow, “Are we back to my ego again?” 

“I don’t see you shying away from smiles and praise from your students,” and his brow knits together, as he places his bag down on the podium, “no wonder your ego is so large,” 

“What students?” 

“Oh please, the ones swarming your desk after clsss. Didn’t you ever wonder why so many students from different disciplines take your class?” he opens his mouth and then you add, “and don’t say philosophy and ethics apply to every aspect of life,” 

And then he seems to consider the thought, as before his lips curl, as he leans against the podium. 

“Am I detecting some jealousy?” he smirks, and you pause before you scoff — far too quickly. 

“No,” and he only smiles wider. 

He chuckles, “That was convincing. I’m glad your ability to teach is much better than your ability to lie,” 

“I’m not—“ 

“Jealous or not,” and you have to bite back your retort, his gaze freezing you in place, a softness you hated to see — because you didnt know whether it made you want to push him away or pull him close, “there’s only ever been one student who caught my eyes,” 

Ah, there is was — you were sinking again. 

“Really?” you mumble, crossing your arms, “not even one other? You have a habit of unethical behavior for an ethics professor,” 

He’s grabbing his bag, before he’s taking a step forward to whisper, “Only when it comes to you,” and you have to force yourself not shiver at his words warming your skin, “I’ll see you next week,” 

And he’s gone — as you stand in the empty lecture hall next to the podium, the very one from your first dream— and you’re right back where you started. 

Professor Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to make mistakes. He was always meticulous and methodical — he used the very principles to help guide his life — because it gave him a moral framework, a way to interpret the world and his own actions. That’s what had drawn him to ethics in the first place. But then he met you. 

And it seems like he’s made nothing but mistakes since. 

He sat in his office after he practically fled the classroom, forcing his pace to be normal, hoping you didn’t see the flush on his face. Fuck, he tossed the pen he had picked up to start grading away, what was he doing? 

He had told himself it was for the best — again and again when he watches you leave at the end of the last semester. He held his muscles taut as he watched you gather your things, stepping over the crushed pieces of both of your hearts. The two words he had barely choked were the only ones he could manage before he watched his office door shut behind you. 

It was for the best. It was for the best. It was for the best. 

That sentence was on repeat in his mind as he tried to work on his paper over the break — “try” being the operative word. It felt as if even his work hadn't been untouched by you — your impact widespread and all consuming — just as your actual touch was. 

Fuck, he rakes his fingers through his hair, how was he going to survive this week much less this semester? 

He couldn’t afford to be selfish — for your sake and his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be. He runs a hand over his face — he all but blatantly admitted that he had feelings for you after class. After promising to keep things professional — he was the worst. 

He only wished he was worse enough to do what you both wanted when you asked him in his office why you both couldn’t be together. He wanted to tell you the reasons why you should be — because he couldn’t stop thinking about you despite never seeing you over the break, his heart nearly stopped when he saw you standing in front of his office, and because he couldn’t help but smile when he could see you hesitating in front of the door — but he couldn’t help but smile when it came to you. But he didn’t. 

He couldn’t. 

But he also couldn’t help but toe that damn line in the sand, the one that he had drawn, but the one so desperately wanted to cross. 

And then there was a knock at his door, he sighs, “Come in,” 

The department head enters his office, as Suguru blinks before he gets to his feet to offer his hand, as they exchange greetings, before gesturing for him to sit, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I saw your email about having your T.A. teach part of your class, and I wanted to get a little more detail about it,” Suguru nods, his face composed, but his body tense — paranoia scratching at the back of his mind, no one happened to see them kiss had they? No one was on campus really at that point. And the door was closed — he probably just wanted more information.  

“What questions did you have?” and the department head runs down his list — what topic would you cover? How much class time would it take? Would he be asking the class first? Would he review your materials beforehand? 

“Well, you both seemed to have thought a lot about this,” he leans back, crossing his leg over the other, “I think having her teach a part of a class is fine, but I would like you both to do it sooner rather than later,” and Suguru opens his mouth, but then he adds, “and I’d like to attend that class,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “You would like to attend my class?” He considers his words carefully, “I was under the impression, based on the rules, the only thing needed to allow a T.A. to teach was the approval of the department head,” his anxiety begins to pick away at his nerves, “it’s not unusual for a T.A. to teach here correct?” 

It was his first time having a teacher’s assistant at this university so perhaps this was a quality check? To ensure both you and him were meeting the standards of the university — and his anxiety added, and to make sure no rules were being broken by either of you. 

“Yes, it’s not unusual, and I have my reasons which I’ll discuss with you after the class,” he checks the time and rises from his seat now, “I have another meeting soon — do you think she can present in two weeks?” 

Suguru hesitates, “I’ll have to ask her but most likely that should be fine,” 

“Okay please send an email cc’ing her and confirm the details,” he says his goodbyes, and he’s gone, as Suguru sits and considers this — what could he be planning? 

Or, his nerves add, what could he be looking for? 

Either way, he pulled up your email — it was going to be an interesting two weeks. 

“Deontology determines whether an action is right or wrong based on a set of rules and principles instead of the consequences of the actions,” you speak to an empty lecture hall, your voice echoing in the silence, “therefore an act that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” 

You had come into the lecture hall to practice yet again this week. You were cursing your past self for inflicting this optional task on yourself — it had taken far more time than you had expected (what’s new?), taken far more preparation than you thought (again, of course), and now had the fun added pressure of the department head attending. And why was he attending? A wonderful and complete mystery. 

The last two weeks have been amazing for your mental health, truly. 

You were lucky the lecture hall and the building at large was deserted at 8:00 PM — all of the staff and students had all but fled, and you were left with the perfect place to practice. It had been many nights of honing your presentation to the allotted time, leaving time to pose a thought exercise, time to discuss, and for questions. 

You don’t see the door behind you open, nor do you hear it close, as you use the clicker to go through your PowerPoint, switching to the next slide. 

“For example, killing an intruder, based on the consequence would be wrong, as I hope we all know killing is wrong — otherwise, I worry about what will happen when you get your grades back,” you give a brief chuckle — and hope some of the students would pity you with some laughs, and that’s when you hear a small laugh behind you. 

Your head snaps around, flushing when you see Professor Geto standing by the door. He’s wearing a deep royal purple button up and gray slacks, the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. 

God, this wasn’t a dream was it? 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, his footsteps against the floor grew closer, and your body tenses, until they stop, “go on,” and he leans against the wall behind you. 

“But when you do kill an intruder to protect your family, that’s viewed as right under deontology,” and you can’t focus with his gaze running over you, an all familiar feeling settled over you. Would life imitate dreams again? Would he come over and ask you to continue your presentation as his lips pressed gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder? Would he— 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you can’t meet his gaze, but you hear his footsteps, “should I go?” 

“No, no, it’s just,” you shake your head, “a little deja vu,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “deja vu?” 

Your blood runs cold. Fuck. 

“I don’t recall you ever presenting like this in my clsss before,” you can't decide if his voice is more thick with confusion or curiosity. 

“Yeah, no, sorry it’s nothing,” you brush him off, your eyes fixed on your notes on the podium, and you know he’s still staring, “what?” 

“I see you’re still not a very good liar,” and you scoff, “what is it that’s gotten you so bothered?” 

“Nothing,” you insist. 

“The more you say that, the less I’m convinced,” and now he’s walking closer, closer still — but you’re fixed in place, “what is it?”

“You never let anything go, do you?” And you turn, your breath catching when you saw how close he was — inches from you, his pretty eyes wide at the sudden movement, his breath warming your lips. Black strands fall in his face, and you have to stop yourself from tucking them behind his ear. Stop yourself from wanting to touch him, stop yourself from wanting him to lean forward, stop yourself from wanting him. 

Nothing good ever came from your want. 

“Only when it’s you,” but this man makes it impossible not to want him. Not when his voice is soft, not when the back of his finger, a knuckle brushes against your cheek. And no words are needed — you can hear it in the silence between you both, you feel it in the gentleness of his touch, and in the softness of his gaze. 

And you know you’re in love with him. You are.

But you can’t be. 

“I’m not telling you,” you murmur, looking away — and it seems to break the spell, as he steps back, nodding, a flicker of sadness that slips away under his facade,  “but maybe I will sometime, over a drink,” you add. 

A smile tugs at his lips, “Well we know how well that went, or didn’t go rather, and you know, we can’t anytime soon,” 

“Well sometimes an action that isn’t morally good can lead to a good outcome,” and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Using deontology to convince me?” He tilts his head, “not a bad strategy — maybe I’ll have you write a paper,” 

“And willingly subject myself to your red pen? No thanks,” and he snorts, before the smile fades into a frown, brow wrinkled in thought, “what is it?” 

“Nothing, I’m just…” he crossss his arms, “I’m wondering why the department head wants to observe your presentation,” 

“He didn’t give any indication why?” and he shakes his head, “maybe he just wants to evaluate how good a job you’re doing,” you add, “you are relatively green,” 

“Not that green,” and you see his lips pressed together — and is he? — he was — he was pouting. You bite your lip how fucking adorable — but you know you’d be met with a scowl if you said that out loud, “don’t you worry that the dean may suspect something between us?” 

The thought had crossed your mind, but class had been nothing but professional so far, and you’d be too busy sweating bullets (and perhaps dodging them from the students if the presentation went poorly) to even consider your feelings for him. 

You sigh, “Look, nothing to do but get through it, right? It should be fine, we’ll deal with whatever comes after. As long as I don’t choke, and you don’t stare at me too adoringly, we should be fine,” 

And you expect a retort, a cheeky reply, or even a quite sarcastic one, but he only gives a small smile, “Right,”

You feel your cheeks burn and you can’t meet his gaze again without feeling your heart flutter. 

Fuck — maybe there was something to worry about. 

Despite the concerns, the presentation goes off without a hitch. You spot the dean sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, pen and notepad in hand, which did nothing to soothe your poor heart (nor did the far too many cups of coffee and the total lack of sleep). 

It happened quick — a blur of speaking, forcing yourself to slow your words down, a necessity when presenting — as you knew you always spoke faster than you believed you did when presenting. You think you even made the students laugh a few times, led an interesting thought experiment with a rousing debate that ended with no clear answer (as always), and then you answered questions. 

All the while, Professor Geto stood in the back, and you’d catch a glimpse of him by the corner of your eye, his lips curled in that smile that haunted all your nights and days. 

By the time it was done, you had barely realized time had gone so quickly, as you passed the metaphorical baton back to Geto. And you took a seat off to the side, opting to watch him lecture, rather than busy yourself with other work. 

It felt like old times, you thought, as you watched him speak. You couldn’t blame the people that took his class just to watch him speak — he was unfairly beautiful when he spoke, gesticulating as he read a Kant quote. And you kept your face as neutral as possible, but he catches your eye for a moment, corner of his lip twitching upwards. And a flush settles over your cheeks, as you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to look suddenly engrossed with your notebook. 

Your heart ached as much as your body did. You wanted to walk over and just kiss him, swallow his smart words along with his gasp, and feel those hands run along your body. You wanted to know every thought in his head, every part of his day, and fall asleep beside him. 

You glance up to see him still speaking — a black strand falling in his face. You bite your lip, before looking back down. 

This man would be the death of you — and it was even worse being alone with him. You’re thankful that your T.A. check-ins with him were every other week, because you couldn’t imagine having to spend more than an hour with him every other week. 

“You want us to do what?” You blink at the Dean, his lips curled in a smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. 

“Apologies for all the secrecy, I did not receive confirmation about this until earlier today,” he explains, “but I want you two to attend this conference on ethics and philosophy  — it’s over the weekend, two weekends from now. It would be a wonderful opportunity for the both of you to make connections and attend presentations, as well as mingle with prospective students. It would also afford us an opportunity for both of you to help put our university on the map,” 

You glance at Professor Geto, his lips parted in surprise, “Sir, is it appropriate for a male professor and a—“ 

“Don’t worry, the accommodations will be separate and it’s a public event, as long as everything remains professional, there’s no problem, right? As long as you two are okay with it and there’s no problem,” he glances between the two of you, “is there a problem?” 

And Professor Geto’s eyebrows knit together. It was a lose-lose situation — saying no meant raising some suspicions that there was an issue between the two of you, but saying yes meant going on a trip with the same professor you had kissed at the end of the last semester. And if anything happened on this trip...it could be very bad — ethically and otherwise. 

So you make the decision for both of you. 

“That’s fine. I’m happy to attend if Professor Geto is,” and you know you have no choice — you had to spend the weekend with him, alone. At a conference. In a hotel.

“Do you have everything?” Professor Geto asks, as you hand him your suitcase, your fingers brushing as you do.  He lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car, his black t-shirt riding up as he does, a quick flash of the expanse of his muscles—

Fuck, you bite your lip, stop, stop. Professor. He’s a professor. 

It didn’t matter that you had felt him part your thighs, as his lips slid against yours, nor that every time you saw each other, you felt this undeniable ache to touch him, comfort him, hug him, nor that you knew he felt the same and wanted to give in as badly as you did—

No, it didn’t matter. 

You consider his question, scrunching up your face in thought, “I think so, wait,” you snap your fingers as he glances at you, “forgot the rest of my apartment upstairs — you think that’ll fit in there too?” 

He smirks, rolling his eyes as shuts the trunk, “Ha, ha, ever consider becoming a comedian instead of a philosophy major?”

“Every day, but then I think what would my favorite professor do without me?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m your favorite?” 

“Who said it was you?” you grin at him, as he shakes his head and you open the passenger door seat and slide in, as he slips into the driver’s seat. He adjusts his mirrors, buckling his seatbelt, as a sudden wave of guilt bombards you. You had dragged him down this rabbit hole with you — and now the two of you had to spend the entire weekend together, alone. 

You lick your far too dry lips, “Sorry if I roped you into this,” you fidget with your phone, tapping on the screen absentmindedly. 

He starts the car, engine roaring underneath your feet, before he glances at you, brow furrowed in seeming confusion, “What? It’s not you that roped us into this,” 

You purse your lips, “But if I didn’t agree to it—“ 

He sighs, “We were in a position where we didn’t have much of a choice,” his fingers drum against the steering wheel, as his eyes flicker to make sure your seatbelt was on, “it’s not your fault — and it’s not a bad thing — we’ll spend time at the conference, we’ll mingle, and then return to our hotel rooms,” he adds, “don’t worry. Nothing will happen.” 

And his reassurance is almost a punch to the gut instead — and your brain chides you for being so childish — you knew it was for the best, you knew it was the right thing to do, and you knew he was trying what was best for you, and for him. 

But why did it hurt so goddamn much? 

You steal a glance at him as he pulls into the street and begins to drive, dark gaze forward, his hair tied into its usual neat bun, and a chain poked out from underneath the rounded opening around his neck. And then your eyes flicker back out the window.  

Was it really not a big deal to him? 

Because the last two weeks were consumed with nothing, but thoughts of being alone with him. Days spent in conferences, sitting beside each other, whispering thoughts and inside jokes; evenings spent socializing together, waiting for the other to give the signal to leave; and nights walking back to your rooms, fingers brushing as you walked beside each other. You were sure it would take a slight bend of the rules, a gaze that lingers a little too long, to break the paper thin resistance either of you had to the other. The two of you could barely be alone for more than a few minutes without temptation rearing its ugly head — even now your eyes can’t help but trace the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight catches his eyes, the way your fingers want nothing more than intertwine with his hand that rests on the console between you two. 

But you don’t. You give a weak smile, glancing out the window as the streets of Tokyo pass you by — “Yeah it should be fine.” 

Just fine. 

“There was a problem with your reservation,” 

And after half an hour of waiting off to the side, with your luggage stacked up and irritation creeping its way to a new high as you watched others easily being checked in to the hotel, you assumed there was a problem. If there wasn’t a problem, you would wonder if this was a new take on Waiting for Godot that would end with the both of youu sleeping in the lobby. You rubbed at your temples, as Geto dealt with the hotel staff, his arms crossed, lips a tight line, “the hotel double booked one of your rooms, so we only have one room available for you.”  

You barely heard the rest of the argument your professor had with the hotel staff, the same phrase ringing in your ears — one room, one room, one room. With nothing more to argue about, they finally escorted you both to your room in awkward silence. And as they opened the door, you spotted it — there was only one single queen sized bed. 

One. Bed. 

You felt your cheeks flush, as you couldn’t even meet Geto’s eyes, as he began to speak heatedly with the manager again. And the excuses began, as the manager wrung his hands, about how no other rooms being available due to the conference and another event happening in town. 

“There is a couch though,” he offers,  pointing to a far too small couch, and the sharp glare that Geto gave him would put even his red pen to shame, “we will see about comping half—“ Geto crosses his arms, “all of your stay here,” and with that, he’s gone. 

“So,” you sigh, glancing at Geto, with a strained smile, “I have dibs on the bed?” 

Was this a cosmic joke? You wondered as you turned off the water of the shower, squeezing your eyes shut. Was this a version of ethical karma for what you had done last semester? An ultimate ethical test that you would surely fail? A fucking prank show? 

You didn’t know. You dried off and got dressed, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts, your hair still damp, as you took a breath and stepped out, towel slung over your shoulders. 

Geto was still on the phone, pacing back and forth — he was trying to call other hotels to see if there was anywhere else with two rooms or at least a room with two beds.

“Yes I understand it’s very last minute—“ he sighs for what must have been the billionth time today, “yes, there was a mistake at the hotel I’m staying at—yes, ok, well, thank you,” he hangs up, setting his phone down. 

“No luck?” You sit on the edge of the bed, wiping your hair, and he shakes his head. 

“The one thing they were right about is that every hotel room is booked solid — not only is our conference in town, but there’s a physical science consortium happening as well,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “I’ll have to give the Dean a call to update him on the situation,” 

You nod, “So what should we do about sleeping?” And he can’t quite meet your gaze, “are there no trundle or rollaway beds?” 

“No, apparently those have all been spoken for,” he grumbles, and he prepares to call the dean, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed—“ 

“Professor, we can—“ and his gaze snaps to you, “we can share—“ 

“No, we can’t,” he says softly, “you know we can’t do that,” 

“We’re both adults—“ 

“And we’re still a professor and a student,” he draws the line between you two again, the gash even deeper than before, the gap that’s meant to keep you safe — the chase meant to protect you — so why did it feel more like a punishment? “I’ll take the couch,” and he calls the Dean to update him on the situation. 

You busy yourself with drying your hair in the bathroom, before coming back out to see him hanging up the phone. 

“Well, are we in an ethical bind or should I go sleep in the lobby just to show there’s no funny business?” And he shoots you a look, “there have been stranger bedfellows,” and he opens his mouth, “and a single word comes out of your mouth, and I’ll join you on that couch,” 

And a very pretty flush adorns the tips of his ears and cheeks, “He said it was fine, it was out of our control, but to just document everything, including the hotel’s incompetence for legality reasons,” 

“You’re also a lawyer as well as a professor?” 

“You have to hedge your bets,” he shrugs with a smile pulling at his lips, before he checks the time, “I’m going to take a shower,” he sighs, pulling his hair from the messy bun, letting his black locks down. And you watch him run his fingers through his hair again, sighing, as he heads into the shower. 

You lay on the bed, biting your lip — as you turn over to use your phone, as the shower turns on. And you glance at the closed door — the thought of him in there, pulling his shirt over his head, shedding his pants and boxers. Your cheeks burn, burying your face in your pillow as if that would help (it did not). 

You curl up on the bed, turning away from the bathroom door, using your phone. And a few minutes pass, as you kind of drift off into sleep, and you hear a creak of the bathroom door open that rouses you from sleep. You don’t move at first but you hear shuffling, the sounds of a zipper. You finally turn on your other side, eyes fluttering open, and you’re met with the sight of bare skin. 

You blink, eyes flickering up to see your Professor’s flushed face, before your eyes slowly following a bead of water slip down his bare chest, black hair dotting along the middle of his chest and abs, down to a happy trail that was hidden by a towel wrapped around his waist. His clothes in his hand, and your eyes find his own, your lips parted and mouth impossibly dry. 

Oh. My. God. 

“Uh—“ and his cheeks flare red, as you try your best not to let your eyes flicker downward, “I forgot my clothes—“ and you turn away, as he darts back into the bathroom, “I’m sorry,” he says, muffled through the door. 

“It’s okay!” You reply, your heart thumping against your ribcage, squeezing your eyes shut to only be met the memory of his bare torso, “fuck,” you mumble under your breath, as you turn onto your back, and stare at the spinning ceiling fan above you. A distinct ache below at the thought of him. 

Your eyes flickered to the shut bathroom door. You hear the sound of water running again — maybe he needed to wash up again. Either way, you slid under the comforter, hand slipping into your shorts, you had some time. You wish you could have grabbed his hand before he fled into the bathroom, sat up on your knees, fingers sliding to his cheek. 

“Kiss me,” you’d murmur, and he would, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips sweetly, as your fingers glide up his bare chest. You’d swallow his gasp with delight, as your other hand finds his wet locks, fingers tangling in his black locks, “please,” you would guide his fingers to the hem of your shirt and he would oblige, lifting up and over your head. And your fingers would tug his towel away, letting it fall to the ground. 

Your fingers press against the wet patch on your underwear, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you gasp, imagining it was instead his eager fingers that tugged your shorts down. You sunk one finger in and then another, pumping slowly, and you knew he would get you ready for him. He would fuck you with his thick fingers, as his mouth latched to your clit, sucking gently as he fucked you open. You moaned his name softly, as you imagine his fingers stretching you open. 

“Do you want me, my pretty girl?” He would murmur between your thighs, lips glossy with your release, “s’good for me, taste as good as you look,” and he would press your back gently into the mattress as he would meet your lips again before, rubbing the tip of his cock against your puffy lips, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Please,” you whispered, as you moved your fingers faster, adding a third finger, but you know his cock would feel so much thicker, and reach so much deeper, “fuck me,” 

And he would, sinking into you, his pretty cock parting your folds, his quiet grunts and moans whispering in your ear, as he works himself inside to the hilt. His lips would find yours as he would rock his hips into you — your cunt would flutter around his length. He would press your thighs apart further, long fingers digging into your soft flesh, the wet squelch of your cunt and the sounds of his skin slapping against yours would ring in your ears.

“S’close, Sugu—fuck,” you would keen against him, instead of your fingers, “please,” and his thumb would find your clit, just as yours did, and you would cum all over his cock, squeezing around his length, as he sinks even deeper, until his tip is brushing against your cunt. The moan of his name slips out, as you press your forearm against your mouth to barely stifle it. 

Fuck, you come down from your high, panting. And you glance at the bathroom door, thinking you’ll clean up once he gets out. You roll over in bed, as you pulled the pillow over your face. 

This was going to be a long weekend. 

Suguru lingers in the bathroom for far too long after that, the embarrassment of the moment still far too fresh in his mind, his cheeks still a dusty pink at the thought. Not only was it bad enough that he was trapped in this hotel room with you for an entire weekend, but now he had paraded out practically half naked for you to see. 

Fuck his life. 

He had hurried into the shower if only to get a break from being in the same room as you. It had been hard enough to endure the last few weeks as a T.A., but now he had to spend an entire weekend sharing a hotel room — and deal with situations like that one all weekend. Seeing you emerge from the bathroom, only in a t-shirt and shorts, still damp from your shower — wet hair in messy tangles that he wanted to run his fingers through— and that’s why he excused himself to the bathroom. A reprieve if only for a moment. If he had only remembered to bring his clothes into the shower — he wouldn’t have had to finish his shower, with only his discarded clothes to wear that had slipped off the clothes rack and onto the damp floor. 

He had stepped out, towel around his waist, as he peeled out, only to see your back to him, the sounds of soft breathing told him you were asleep. And he crept out, silently cursing as the door creaked and rifled through his suitcase for clothes. He had found them, and gone to retreat back when you roused and turned all at once. 

God, he sighed, it was such a mess. 

But the way you looked at him…lips parted, gaze flicking across his body, the way your eyes lingered a little too long on his torso — and now he had an entirely different problem. 

His cock tented against the towel, as his eyes slid to the bathroom door. What if he just hopped into the shower for a second again? The towel dropped to the floor, as he steps back into the shower, turning on the water. 

He groans, his fingers slide over his mortifyingly hard erection, teasing his slit as he would imagine you would, as you would open the bathroom door, murmuring his name, “Professor? Are you okay?” And you wouldn’t wait for his answer as you stepped into the shower with him, eyes raking down his body, a teasing grin on your lips, “not very ethical is that?” And your fingers would curl their way around the base of his cock, making him shudder with pleasure, “I can take care of that,” and you would kiss down his chest and stomach, even despite his protests, until you reached where he wanted your touch most. 

And god, you would look so pretty on your knees for him, as your fingers pumped him far too slowly, teasing him with a chaste kiss to his tip, tongue dragging against his slit, better than how his thumb did, “s’good for me, Professor,” you’d say, when you heard the hiss he just let out, “I wonder what other sounds you could make for me,” and your lips would close around his tip, sucking lightly, as he gasped, his other hand clasped over his mouth, muffling his sounds. 

He would look down with half lidded eyes, and see your head bobbing as you took him so well, your fingers toying with his balls, spotting your eyes flicking up to meet his — glazed over and desperate, just he imagined his were. Your mouth would feel so much better than his hand, the wet squelch of his pumping would not compare to you swallowing around him, sucking and licking around his length, his pre-cum and your drool slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

You’d swallow around him, as his fingers would slide into your hair. And maybe you would let him fuck your mouth, hips rolling slowly as you adjust, before he slowly would thrust faster. He would repay the favor tenfold once you were done, burying himself in your sweet cunt, until you were begging him to stop. His fingers moved faster around his cock, his low groans and wet squelch bouncing off the bathroom walls, hopefully drowned out by the running water.  Fuck, he wished he would feel how it would to have his tip brush against the back of your throat. 

He was close, the twitch of his dick in his hand told him so, and he imagined what it would be like to cum in your mouth, watching you swallow his release, if you’d want to, or cumming all over your face or chest, letting his cock drag over your tongue as he pulled out. 

Fuck, he shudders, moaning your name against his fingers, he cums all over his hand and the wall of the shower, his release running down mixing with the water. He rinsed his hand off, leaning his head under the water again, hoping it would wash away any traces of you. 

It didn’t. 

And as he emerged from the shower, making sure any trace of his act had slipped down the drain, but the towel around his neck, wondering if you’d see what he did on his face. But you wouldn’t — because you were fast asleep. 

His lips curled as he watched you sleep for a moment, your lips parted, curled up facing away from the bathroom — your feet sticking out of your blanket. He adjusts the blanket for you, and you shift a little in your sleep, mumbling something under your breath, before settling back in. 

And he bites his lip before turning away — he would never be clean, would he? 

Not when it was you. 

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck here?” you murmur, the smile plastered on your lips nearly starting to chip and crack. 

Professor Geto sipped at his drink hiding his frown, long fingers cradling the wine glass far too perfectly, “at least another hour,” he sighs, “when in academia, one must get used to mindless conversing if only it will lead to another needless connection,”

And this day had been nothing but an exercise of that — lectures, panels, presentations — any other word that meant someone or several someones sitting in front of you, talking at you — with only maybe 30% of the people actually listening (if you were lucky or interesting). And now you were one hour deep into a mixer that had you engaging in dry chit-chat that had your mind going numb by the first ten minutes. Your only reprieve being by Geto’s side. 

You hated how he could make the dullest of things enjoyable for you, or rather—

You hated how much you loved it 

“How pithy — Plato?” And he snorts, as you finish off your own drink, “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, and you head off to the bar. 

You were so restless after sitting for so long. Not to mention the slight rash you got from not washing up soon enough. You woke an hour and half later and cleaned yourself up — luckily Geto had passed out by then. You saw him sleeping half scrunched up, half sprawled out on the couch — one of his legs were hanging off the couch — and even his blanket had slipped off. You stifled a small laugh, taking a quick picture of him — so stubborn that he wouldn’t sleep on the bed with you. Your gaze had softened, as you picked up the discarded blanket and placed it over him softly, your fingers gently tucking some of his hair from his face. You fell asleep again after heading back to bed, and woke up refreshed — while Geto had woken up with a very sore back and neck. 

“Can I get…” you look at the menu, ordering your favorite drink, standing by the bar as you adjust your dress, you had opted for a black dress with sheer tights — one you had worn a suit jacket over it. You tap against the bar top, checking your phone as you do. 

“Can I get what she’s getting?” A dark haired man sidles up beside you, his mouth curled in a smirk drawing attention to a scar in the corner of his mouth, and his voice drops to a whisper, “though I think I’d enjoy you more than the drink,” 

You raise your eyebrows, “and I think you’ve certainly had enough tonight,” you say under your breath, giving an awkward chuckle, but he doesn’t seem to notice as the bartender comes back with your drink. Your eyes flicker over the crowd as you search for Geto but you can’t find him. 

“What’s your name, pretty?” And your skin crawls as his dark gaze slides over your body, “mine’s Toji,” and you bite back a sigh, introducing yourself, “it’s very nice to meet you — I’ve met a lot of people tonight but you definitely have been the most interesting,” and the bartender comes back with his drink. 

“Then you must have not met a lot of interesting people so far,” you say, eager to look for any out to escape this conversation, “my friend is waiting—“ 

“No, I’d say that you’re just that interesting,” he sips his drink, “can I get you another drink?” 

And right when you’re about to respond, “No, I don’t think she’s interested,” And you tense a moment before you register the familiar voice, Geto smiles at Toji, if you could call that a smile — it reminded you of one a predator gave its new prey, “especially because she’s a student, and you’re most assuredly not,” 

Toji raises an eyebrow, “But she is an adult, she can speak for herself, so why don’t you let her, Professor?” 

“Because—“ his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach for you but he can’t. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. And you know why he can’t. 

Geto’s smile wavers, and you intercede, “I can, and I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” you pay your tab, “let’s go back to the hotel, Professor,” 

And Toji pulls his card out, handing it to you, “If you change your mind,” he raises his glass, leaning against the bar, before he leans closer to you, whispering, “if you ever get sick of him, call me,” 

You give a polite smile, tugging Geto away until you reached the outside of the building, silence filled the space between you two, until you found your way outside. 

“What did he say?” He asks as he calls a car back to take you both to the hotel, and you don’t know how to answer that — not without making it worse, “actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” 

“Professor—“ 

“You’re an adult, he’s right — you should be allowed to make your own choices,” he licks his lips, his eyes still fixed on his phone screen, “I’m sorry if I—“ 

“Can you let me speak?” you sigh, as you wave your hand in front of his phone so he would look at you, and his eyes meet yours, “you’re fine — I was trying to get out of there — I just felt very trapped.” 

He huffs out a chuckle. “When you took that long, I wondered if the group of solipsists had taken you hostage,” 

You grimace, “I guess when you believe everyone else is an illusion, you also think manners are an illusion too,” he laughs in earnest now, “now there’s a real smile,” He tilts his head, “the smile you had inside, real scary kind of smile,” you tease, as his eyes can’t quite meet yours.

“Oh yeah?” he suddenly seems very interested in his phone, “our rideshare is almost here,” 

“Almost like you were jealous,” and he scoffs. 

“Of him?” 

“Uh huh, he is pretty attractive, maybe I will give him a call—“ and you notice him grip his phone tighter, and your lips curl, “but I probably won’t, not really my type,” 

“Not your type?” he asks. 

“More into the intellectuals, that man was far from it — I like an academic, sweater vests, glasses, a pretentious little office—“ and the glare is back, as you laugh, the rideshare sparing him from you continuing this conversation, but you also didn’t get to see the slight smile on his lips as you slipped into the back of the car. 

“Just sleep on the bed,” you say for probably the thousandth time, but he only shakes his head, as he sits on the couch, combing out his black locks. Even freshly showered, he looks unfairly hot — a loose gray t-shirt with sweatpants, contacts switched to glasses, and now his hair brushed against his shoulders. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch — it was fine last night—“ 

“Your spinal cord would beg to differ,” and he looks unamused, as he struggles with his comb, “what are you doing?” 

“I can’t get this knot out of my hair, and I can’t get you out of my hair either,” he adds, as you roll your eyes, slipping off the bed and walking over. You ease the comb from his fingers, biting your lip at the brush of his fingers, “what are you—“ 

“It’s easier if someone else does it,” and he sighs, giving in, as your fingers undo the knot in his hair gently, “your hair is really smooth and fine, probably why it tangled so fast,” and he only hums in response, his body relaxing under your touch, as you comb through the rest of his hair. You bite back a smile, he’s almost like a cat, keening under your touch, “feels good?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, it does,” and you don’t want the moment to end, you want this excuse to touch him to remain, the first time you’ve been able to breach this wall between you two — and it’d be over in an instant, “I think that’s good,” he mutters. 

He lays his head back on the top of the couch to look up at you — pretty obsidian orbs stared back at you — and your heart squeezes. He was so close, within reach, and all you had to do was lean down, press your lips against his, and maybe you wouldn’t have to tiptoe anymore, maybe you wouldn’t have to hide from him, maybe you could be— 

“We should go to bed,” he sighs, the moment breaks, as he sits upright, adjusting his pillow on the couch beside him, “we have an early start,” 

“Don’t remind me,” you turn back to him, “but you’re right - we should go to bed—“ you grab his pillow, “on the bed,” 

“No—“ 

“Like you said, we’re both adults,” you tilt your head, as he purses his lips, “I think I can handle sleeping in bed beside you, just sleeping, we can even put a pillow between us,” and you add, “if I try anything in my sleep, you challenge me to a pillow fight, and push me off the bed,” 

He scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I really can sleep on—“ and then you raise your eyebrows, eyes flicking to the hand on his neck. He sighs, “fine, but I really will push you off the bed, I’m a restless sleeper,” 

“Then it’s equal opportunity,” you grin, as you slip into your side of the bed, stretching. Suguru is slower to get in, taking his time and adjusting his pillow and blanket before he finally gets into bed, “good night,” 

“Good night,” he turns to face away from you as he sleeps and you do the same. 

But it wasn’t a good night. Not when you couldn’t fucking sleep. 

For someone so smart, you really were very stupid. The bed that seemed expansive and open yesterday now felt Tom Thumb tiny, every shift of your body felt like a ripple effect, as you’d feel the slight shift of Geto right beside you. He was so close — you swore you could nearly feel the heat radiate off of him, the weight of his body beside you felt far too close and way too far — a chasm you could never cross.

And it was close to driving you insane enough to follow your wants all the way down it. 

But you couldn’t — but you could look, stare into the void, without becoming part of it. 

You shift again to face him this time — how could the back of someone’s head be so beautiful? Jet black locks that you had combed yourself fanned out on his pillow. But you could spot the nape of his neck through the tresses, a lovely spot that you only wished you could lean over and bury your face in. Your eyes began to droop. 

Hypnos finally took pity. You could only sleep this way. Your eyes finally flutter shut — you should have known — you were always the most comfortable with him in your sight. 

Suguru knew that you had fallen asleep — because your soft breaths fell into a rhythm, the crinkle of your sheets had grown silent, and the loud thoughts that filled up your head had gone quiet. He was glad one of you could sleep. 

He surely wouldn’t get a wink tonight. 

This was certainly more comfortable than the couch, but at least he had slept on the couch. He would be lucky to get thirty minutes at this rate. This weekend had already been too much — and he felt his will to stay away from you slowly snapping, a few strands away from breaking away completely. 

When he had seen you with Toji — he didn’t think, he just acted. He could see you were uncomfortable, the way your body leaned away from him, the way your eyes flickered around the room, and the way you toyed with your glass. It was a simple choice, but what happens when the next person that flirts with you is someone you’re interested in? Would he have to stand by and simply let it happen? Watch as you’re able to date this person but not him simply because of his title? 

He was jealous. Not of Toji — but of the idea of you being with someone else — of your attention drifting from him, of you drifting from him. He turned to lay on his back, he really was fucked wasn’t he? 

He turns his head to look at you. It never helped that you were effortlessly adorable, even now as you slept. Lips parted, body curled up, your hair falling in your face yet again. His fingers tuck a strand behind your ear gently, and you shift, a quiet hum leaving your lips as you settle back into the arms of the sandman. 

How were you so close but so far? You were mere inches away but you might as well be across the country. Because he couldn’t touch you, he couldn’t hold you, he couldn’t kiss you. The kiss he shared with you haunted his dreams — a daydream wrapped up in the nightmare of reality. He couldn’t ask you to wait — wait for your degree to be completed so the two of you could date. It wouldn’t be fair to you, but what about this was fair? 

And he turns on his side to face you, his fingers brushing your cheek gently — maybe if he couldn’t be with you in reality, he could allow himself to dream, his eyes flutter shut. 

Just for a moment. 

And his unconscious allows it — allows him to dream of you. 

Dream of your face buried in the crook of his neck, your soft breaths warming his skin, his nose buried in your hair. Your fingers grasped at his shirt, your other hand thrown over his middle. Why was your scent so intoxicating? He sighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and you shift, your leg sliding around his waist, as you pressed closer, pulling a groan from his lips as your core grazes right against his morning…visitor. 

And you move again, nose brushing against his collarbone, his name on your lips, quietly whispered like a secret against his skin. It was perfect — you were perfect. 

But what if this wasn’t a dream? The back of his mind prods — but that’s not possible, he was home in bed, right? This wasn’t real. It was the same dream he always had, of waking up in your arms, a lazy morning spent together in bed, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, the sheets becoming dappled in sunshine. 

No, there was no way this was real, he sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, but even if it was, he thought as he drifted, he didn’t want to wake — not yet. 

A distinct buzz stirs you from your sleep. But you don't want to wake — you were far too comfortable. But the buzzing persists, so you reach blindly for your phone and to turn off the alarm. And settle back into bed, eyes still shut, as you find your way back onto your pillow — or what you thought was your pillow. 

Except pillows didn’t move, or have an arm they could wrap around you. 

Your eyes open, to find yourself entangled with someone else — your brow furrowing in confusion that melts away to silent horror. Professor Geto. 

So much for sticking to your sides. 

Fuck.  

You tried to extricate yourself to no avail, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his body, your legs entangled, aside from your leg thrown over his waist, you realize, a small squeak escaping your lips, as you try and fail to move away. Instead you brush up against something very…hard. 

You flush, cheeks burning so hot that it’s truly a miracle he didn’t wake from the heat of your skin against his alone. His morning wood was pressed right against you, nearly between your thighs — just like the last time it was  against you — why the fuck would you think about that now? You resisted the urge to press your legs together — lest you have another new problem, and a mess to deal with. 

You manage to only pull your head away, urging yourself up so that your faces are an inch or two apart now. His soft breaths warmed your lips, his brow relaxed, locks of black hair fell in front of his eyes. Your fingers reach and tuck the locks behind his ear, tips skimming his skin. And the arm around you almost seems to tighten, and you bite your lip, the comforting presence of his arms far too tempting to drag you into wanting — as if you ever left. Wanting was dangerous, because wanting can only ever lead to need, needing him was as foolish as it was to share a bed with the man you were in love with. 

But how foolish was it that you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away? It was okay right? Okay as long your lips didn’t touch, as long you didn’t follow this slope all the way down — it was treacherous to press forward, but why did you want to anyway?

Your eyes flutter shut again for a moment — and your eyes glanced at the morning sky — the sun had just breached the horizon. You could allow yourself a few minutes — even if you had to give up a lifetime with him. 

The blaring of your phone only seems to grow increasingly loud, as you give a small groan, rolling over to your phone again, slapping the screen to snooze it again. And your eyes flutter open a moment, lazily flickering over the screen — 8:45 AM. 

Your eyes close — before your mind fully wakes — 8:45 AM? 

“Fuck,” you shoot up to get up, a tangle of limbs,  jolting Geto awake, his eyes popping open, his arm instinctively grabbing you by the waist, and you land with an oomfph back onto the bed—wait, not the bed. 

Your hand pressed against his chest, your body against his, noses brushing, your eyes unable to tear away from the other — his eyes were even prettier this close — a dark brown, nearly black, with flecks of another color — purple? You can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat or his that’s racing with how close you are, chest to chest. And even as you try to shift, you make it worse by slipping, your hips rubbing against each other’s. 

Fuck. 

You both freeze for a moment, his eyes flickering to your lips and back, as yours does the same, before you both scramble apart. 

“We’re late. We’re really late,” you spring out of bed, grabbing random clothes from your suitcase, “I’m going to get ready, really fast,” you don’t even bother to look at his expression, and you almost wished your heart had shattered your ribcage, with how fucking hard it’s beating, if only that you wouldn’t have to spend another day in the conference with him. 

You sighed, as you brushed your teeth hurriedly while doing your hair — well maybe a lecture or presentation would take your mind off this morning. 

So that wasn’t a dream, Suguru was only glad you didn’t even glance at his face when you ran off, or you would have seen the lovely tomato red that graced his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth from your body, slowly receding, and he swore he could still feel you against him, your soft skin, your pretty lips against his neck, and your leg around his waist. 

Fuck. 

God, he had another fucking problem to deal with — as he shifted awkwardly, his morning wood up and erect with a tent that could put most large circus tents to shame. Fuck, he didn’t have time to take care of this — especially with you in the bathroom right now. 

But still, he pressed his inner palm to his lips, how was he going to make it through the rest of the conference with the feeling of your body still lingering in his mind. If the situation was different, the two of you would have woken up with smiles on your lips, spent the morning cuddling without a care, and probably a little more than that—

But the situation was the same, and his eyes slid to the bathroom door, so why was it that he still thinking about you? He wasn’t the type to dwell, he accepted things for what they were — he had his principles and his beliefs, and he stuck to them, unless proven otherwise. He was a man of guidelines, of rules—

So why were you the only person that ever made him want to throw every rule away? 

“We are going to be discussing ethical dilemmas faced in universities and how to approach them,” the lecturer begins, “can anyone tell us an example of one such dilemma?” 

You both had barely made it into a lecture — barely even speaking as you ran-walked into the conference — choosing a lecture at random, as the two of you ran a good fifteen minutes late. You both arrived, hiding your pants, as you both grabbed water bottles from the back, and sat down. 

And of course to make matters worse, your phone goes off, making the entire room turn to look at the two of you. You silence your phone, murmuring a quick sorry as the two of you take your seats. 

Could this possibly get worse? 

Your eyes glanced at him — it was already bad enough to begin with. Geto had barely spoken a word this morning, even as the two of arrived at the conference, the only words he spoke were to the attendant that parked his car. 

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, adjusting your clothes. And if that wasn’t enough, you were going to spend the day sweaty and disheveled. Meanwhile, you stole another glance at your professor — his skin flushed from running, button up not buttoned up all the way, glasses instead of contacts, and his hair in its usual bun, but a few strands were nearly coming loose — he still looked fucking delectable. But he wouldn’t meet your gaze, his body positioned to lean away from yours, his eyes fixed ahead. 

You held back your sigh as you focused on the presentation — you just needed to get through today — as the lecturer picked someone who raised their hand. 

“A student-teacher relationship is one such ethical problem faced in universities today,” and Geto nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly, as you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of this morning, “it presents several ethical problems — including the role the professor plays in the student’s education and future, their ability to provide praise or reprimand, and even grant recommendations gives them great power over their student. It leaves the student without much freedom in the relationship.”

Oh, what the fuck. 

The rest of the conference is spent in relative silence with a thick film of awkwardness perfectly overlayed. When you both finally return to the hotel room, your only consolation is that you’ll be leaving tomorrow. You toss your things onto the couch, “I’m going to wash up,” you tell him, and he only nods in reply, as you enter the bathroom and shut the door, back pressed against it and sliding down. 

Oh this is such a mess. You sigh, maybe a shower will help. 

It didn’t. You were still just as much of a mess as you were before. You sighed, as you stood in front of the sink, wiping your hair with a towel. This could be so simple if you both could be together — so easy. There would be no tension, no hurt feelings, no awkwardness — you could just be. But that’s not an option. So the only other option is to let him go. 

But you didn’t know how to begin to. 

Either way, hiding in the bathroom wouldn’t solve a thing — and you finally opened the door, “I’m done if you want to wash up,” he nods, sitting on the couch, reading a book. His glasses rested on the tip of his nose, lips pursed, and legs crossed. 

You walk over, grabbing your things from the couch and put some of your things away in your suitcase. But after all of that is done, you realize one thing is missing — your cellphone. 

“Shit,” you murmur under your breath, searching through your suit coat pockets, your pants pocket, anywhere that your phone might be. 

“What’s wrong?” Geto says, book in his lap, as he tilts his head. 

“Can’t find my phone,” you mumble, cheeks burning — god, it was already awkward enough, and now this? 

“Is it on ring?” You nod — your phone was usually on ring, sometimes to your detriment — you cringe at the memory in the lecture this morning, “I’ll call it,” 

He calls you — and you glance at his phone screen, your contact is just your name, no picture, nothing. You bite your lip, what were you expecting? A heart next to your name? And the sound of your phone ringing catches both of your attention. 

“It’s over here, somewhere,” he says, lifting up some of cushions of the couch, and reaching underneath into the creases, as you walk over — “I found—“ 

And you were so concerned about your contact information in his phone that you forgot about his contact information in your phone. 

The screen flashed with the image of him sleeping all lopsided on the couch from that first night, as you covered your mouth in both horror, but also to stifle your laugh. 

His eyes flicker to you, “When did you—“ and you reach for your phone, but he moves it away, “not until you answer my questions,” 

“This isn’t class, Professor, I want my phone—“ you reach for it again, and he’s holding it above your head, “oh real mature—“ 

“Like the picture you have of me as my contact picture?” He raises an eyebrow, a real smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “thought I should resort to my student’s level,”  

“Your T.A.,” you correct, as you reach for your phone again, but he’s using his height to his advantage, and he’s beginning to walk backwards, “come on, give it back—“ 

“Not until I change and delete that photo,” and he’s trying to hold your phone up to your face to unlock it, and you gasp. 

“Oh my god, give it back!” And you grab his hand, and he’s grabbing at the other, giggles leaving your lips, as he laughs too, as the two of you struggle for the phone, your fingers closing over it, and over his own fingers as well. 

And you realize how close you are to him. 

The two of you freeze a moment, laughter on your lips fading away to soft smiles, and his fingers squeeze yours lightly, as he passes you your phone back. But he doesn’t move away — and you don’t either. 

“Why did you let go?” and it seems like it’s a force out of your control that draws you together, no matter how much either of you try to let go. 

“Because I can’t help giving you what you want,” he murmurs, and the heat of his gaze melts your heart, as you drop your phone onto the couch, and reach for his hand again. 

And you lean closer, your other hand gently brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw, “So if I ask for a kiss, will you give it to me?” You won’t close the gap anymore than you have — he needs to reach for you too, let himself give into gravity. 

He does, as his hand brushes against your cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone, “will we stop at just a kiss?” He murmurs, leaning so close that your eyes want to flutter shut. 

“Only one way to find out,” and his lips brush yours. And it’s not chaste like your first kiss was, no, his lips slide against yours, as his other hand slides to the back of your neck. He swallows your gasp eagerly, if the smirk you feel against your lips is anything to go off of. Your teeth graze against this bottom lip teasingly, drawing a small groan from the back of his throat. 

Neither of you couldn’t stop at one kiss, and you both knew that, even as your lips parted for a small breath of air, they found each other again — just as you both always did. Because you could never let him go — no matter how hard you tried. 

RING. RING. RING. 

And this time it isn’t an alarm. But rather his phone, flashing with a name that brings you crashing back to reality. 

The department head. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as he parts from you, his warmth leaving all at once, as he grabs his phone, and turns away, “Hello? Yes, the conference is over. Everything went well. No, no, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

You stared at his back, this would always be the case wouldn’t it? Even as you crashed together, something would pull you apart, and neither of you could break the cycle. You take your phone from the couch, and crawl into bed, but you could start. 

You close your eyes, your fingers brushing against your lips for a moment. You needed to start — otherwise, you would just end up broken. 

And you don’t hear him hang up — or see him stare at your figure under the covers — and he would break along with you. 

Suguru didn’t know what to say the next morning — especially when it seemed couldn’t even bear to look at him, much less speak to him. You had busied yourself with packing, even before he had awoken. His back ached from the night he spent on the couch, he couldn’t fall asleep for far too long, and by the time he did, he kept sleeping — through his many alarms it seemed. 

And it wasn’t the couch that kept him awake. 

You both had the most lovely timing, didn’t you? He thought, as he combed his hair in the bathroom, the memory of your fingers running through his hair as you gently undid the knots in his locks still ever present — it seemed like any time you two wanted to act on your feelings, the universe was doing what it could to keep you apart. 

Was this fate versus free will? 

You both kept choosing each other — but fate kept pulling you apart. Did he have any control over his actions or did he have no control over his actions at all? Was it all predetermined by some force he couldn’t perceive? Some force intent on pulling you apart. 

He sighed, as his phone lights up with an email from the department head — department head position opened up in Jujutsu University: Kyoto — 

And so maybe he should let it. 

The next few weeks pass by far too quick. As your semester picks up, you stop attending Professor Geto’s classes, opting to send an email to let him know, and he replies back with a simple response — Ok. Please let me know when and if you are available to input the grades for the midterm paper. 

The rest of your T.A. work is done online and over email — and you do your best to keep busy, keep yourself occupied, and keep your thoughts from straying to him.

And you maybe succeed 10% of the time. It doesn’t help that your unconscious does not wish to cooperate since it seems that once you stopped seeing your professor during waking hours, he’s infiltrated your sleep — sneaking in and out by the time your eyes open. 

And then you’re left with the fragments of his touch, his voice, his kisses, and soft, loving words. 

Just as you always were it seemed. 

And before you know it, the end of the semester comes, and you find yourself in front of that same office door yet again. It felt like an eternal reoccurrence — stuck to repeat the same events again and again in an infinite loop. Was there any exit from this loop? 

You didn’t know — you knocked on his office door — but you could try. 

“Come in,” you do, entering his office to find him sitting at his desk, hair half up for once. And his eyes flicker up to meet yours, his head tilting at your stare, “see something interesting?” 

“Your hair—“ and your cheeks burn — so much for trying — “it’s different,” 

“Thought I’d try something different — my hair is growing out,” and you have to repress the want to curl a lock or his hair around your finger, “do you not like it?” 

You shake your head, “It looks nice, just different,”

And he hands you the papers he’s graded, “you can input those, I’m just finishing up a couple more, so if you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit?” 

“Not at all,” a silence falls over between the two of you, the quiet scratch of his pen as he grades, the occasional ding of his e-mail breaking up the silence. You sneak a glance at him — ebony tresses brushing against his broad shoulders, his brow furrowed that you wished to run your fingers along to smooth his worries from his mind, pretty lips parted as he reads a sentence silently to himself. 

Fuck — no, no, you can’t do this. 

You busy yourself thumbing your way through the papers, spotting the familiar red scrawls littering these pages, as they once did yours. You were so pissed when you got your first paper back — indignant even — a whole Karen ready to speak to his supervisor. But when his honest criticism and blunt words rang true, you found yourself not only wanting to prove him wrong, but a want to be better. To earn his respect. And of course, later, you wanted to earn a little more than that. 

You bite back a chuckle, and here you still were — by his side. Except next semester you wouldn’t be his T.A. 

But you would still be a student. And he would still be a professor. 

But one other thing that hasn’t changed is how brutal the feedback is — you couldn’t help but feel bad for “Itadori Yuuji” — whoever that was. 

“What are you smiling about?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, his head leaning against his palm, elbow resting on the desk. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but he looks unconvinced, “just thinking about our first time in this office,” and then your cheeks burn at the double meaning, “I mean our first office hours appointment—“ 

He waves you off, “I know what you meant,” a small chuckle in his cadence, as he continues to grade, “you certainly weren’t happy with me,” 

“No I wasn’t,” a small smile on your lips, “but it worked out in the end,” you add, “you got an amazing T.A. after all,” 

His eyes meet yours, “More than just that,” 

Why can’t you help but get pulled in time and time again? And why can’t you help but ask questions that will only hurt you in the end? 

He continues to grade when you finally speak, “What do you think would have happened if I didn’t end up being your T.A.?” 

And his pen stops, lips pursed, “We shouldn’t—“ 

“Why shouldn’t we?” you felt like a child demanding an answer from their parent. 

“We agreed—”

“I don’t remember an agreement-” 

“It was unspoken—” 

You scoff, crossing your arms, “You really are only a professor because an attorney would know that binding agreements can’t be unspoken,” he falls silent, his voice soft. 

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” his words are wrought with conflict, pain seeping into every syllable, “I don’t want to keep going down this road only to for you to get hurt in the end — I don’t want to jeopardize your future for something that might not last—” 

“But what if it does?” and he swallows thickly, “what if we can make it work? We’re both adults, we can be discreet—” 

“So discreet that we end up making out in my office?” he takes off his glasses only to run a hand down his face, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks, and you huff out a chuckle. 

“A little more discreet than that, we’ll lock the door next time,” it’s his turn to scoff, and you rise from your seat, lips curled, “close the lights, or maybe even kiss in a place that’s not on campus,” but he does the same, meeting you on the side of his desk, his fingers brushing your cheek so gently as if you’d shatter under his touch. 

“I don’t want to stand in the way of your career,” he says, his fingers finding your hand regardless, fingers interlacing, “I don’t want you to—” 

“It’s my choice, Suguru,” you murmur, as you lean against his warm palm, your fingers sliding against his palm and into his inky tresses, “don’t you owe me a choice, and a drink?” you add, and his lips curl in a knowing smile. 

“I do, if you’ll still have me,” and he’s leaning close, sucking the air from the room, and the logic from your minds, as his lips barely graze yours, “shouldn’t we lock the door?” 

“Fuck it,” and you pull him into a deep kiss that pulls a groan from his lips that makes your cunt ache, as he’s already pushing you into the lip of his desk, his hand sliding down to your waist. 

“Now who’s being unethical?” he murmurs, pressing eager kisses along your jaw, that makes you melt against him, your legs nearly jelly at this point, “what kind of example are you setting as a T.A.?” 

You bite back your moan as his lips find the soft spot of your neck, teeth grazing it far too fucking teasingly, “Well students learn by example,” and his hands are slipping under thighs to lift you so you’re sitting on his desk — you spread your legs for him in the dress that you’re in, pantyhose underneath, his heavy lidded gaze raking over your body, “and look at my professor staring at his T.A. so lustfully, even with a clear power dynamic—” 

And his fingers find your thighs again, squeezing, before his fingers dig into the sheer hose, tearing holes in it, drawing a gasp from your lips, “How’s that for a power dynamic, princess?” far too pleased, “don’t worry, I’ll buy you new ones,” he murmurs, “now just be a good girl and spread your legs for me,” he says, as he pulls away the ruined pantyhose, and he’s undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand — one, two, three — before your fingers take over, leaning to press kisses at each inch of exposed skin, until the shirt falls open. 

Then his lips find yours again, his silver tongue asking for you to part your lips and you do — as he extracts every want you have with his burning touch — his lips against yours, his large hands parting your thighs, his knee pressed against your twitching cunt — and only leaves your want for him behind, until it becomes a need. 

“Wonder what our students would think of you,” his fingers tease your inner thighs, drawing a whine from your lips, “wanting your professor to fuck you in his office instead of inputting their grades,” he whispers in your ear, as his fingers finally skim the wet patch of your underwear, “so wet f’me, already? Look I think you even soaked my slacks,” he tsks, as his thumb and forefinger find your chin and tilt it up, “what are you going to do about that?” 

“Suguru—please,” and he smiles as his finger starts to tease your puffy clit through your drenched panties, “don’t tease—” 

“How can I not when you’ve nothing but tease me with your existence?” he pulls the crotch of your underwear aside, “I��ll oblige my favorite student this time—but I won’t be so nice next time,” he adds, biting your bottom lip. 

RING. RING. RING. 

It was his fucking office phone. You groan, but his finger continues to sink into you, “Suguru—” 

“Let it ring,” his lips find yours in a bruising kiss as his finger deliciously sinks into you, “I have all I need right here,” he whispers, and you pull him back into a kiss by the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, your hand sliding up and down his chest, while he worked a finger into your cunt, “so fucking wet f’me, so perfect,” 

And your hand flies back to support yourself as a second finger begins to sink into you — but your hand grazes his office phone, and the messages begin to play back.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble, as you reach blindly for the phone, only to knock it back, as he chuckles and reaches behind you, trying but failing to help — your noses brushing, and he smiles before kissing you again. 

Mr. Geto, sorry we missed each other, I was calling, hoping that you would still be in office for the day, but I must have just missed you. I wanted to call to offer you the job as department head at Jujutsu Tech University: Kyoto—

You freeze, your lips parting from his as you look up at him, his eyes wide as he stops the message from playing back any further — and the words settle over the mood like a sheet pulled over a dead body. 

And you’re the first to speak, always asking the questions that will hurt you in the end, “You’re moving to Kyoto?” 

✧ a/n: so i'm sorry for that ending hahah, i promise there will be a happy ending later on for these two. thank you to @gaylatteart and @laneysmusings for betaing and just being the best. also if i tagged you please comment / reblog because tagging on tumblr sucks, it takes very long.

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @difficultdomains, @diogodxlot, @that-goth-bisexual, @bash1018, @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, @akvrae, @lalacute03, @rxndou, @c-themoon, @xxrag-d0llxx, @hqtoge, @sugarxlumps, @hopeluna, @actualdeemon,

[valsdelulucorner]

obey me headcannons because why not

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Lucifer is so strict with his brothers because he doesn't want what happened to Lilith to happen to them, he cant bare to loose another sibling. His back is also extremely fucked over from his massive workload and from when he lost afew of his wings, his wing bones were connected to his spine so when he lost those, his back has never truly been the same.

Mammon is actually alot smarter then people think, this man is a absolute legend at counting, multiplying and maths. He may be dense and stupid at times but the mans a legend at math, i like the idea that if your studying with him he helps you out with maths, feeling smug and proud when he helps you get answers right. I also like the idea that he has many piercing holes but is just not bothered to more then two in at a time, if its a fancy event or if its a club event, he'll put more in

Levi is either scrawny or has some chub, you cannot change my mind. The only exercise he gets is chasing mammon around or running around for events. That man survives off of energy drinks and sugary foods, i cant seeing him having full blown rock hard abs, maybe some, but not rock hard abs like beel. I also like the headcannon that he has scales around his neck, cheeks and forehead, another reason he has his fringe covering his eyes.

Satan has alot of scars and scratches on his hands from punching walls, attempting to pet wild kitties and from other things to get his anger out. I feel like when Asmo come in to redo Satan's nails, he draws over the little scars with pen, making them into little flowers or hearts

Asmo has dry skin around his nose from how much moisture he normally has on his face thanks to face masks, skin care and make up. The buildup of all of the produce and the fact there is almost always something on his face has left his skin a little dry to his liking so he adds more product to fix it. I also love thinking about how asmo probably has some faint freckles over his shoulders and nose but he normally hides them, he doesn't want to be seen as anything but perfect.

Beel is not a child so people should stop treating him like one, he has sworn, he has killed and eaten people before, he is a 1000+ year old demon who has seen some shit go down, people should stop infantizing him. Beel has stretch marks around his torso and arms, from constantly working out to eating half of devildom, i feel like his body changes rapidly due to his diet and his working out. He also has matching bracelets with Belphie, his one has a charm of the sun.

Belphie is either dead quite or the loudest snorer, there is no in-between. He could probably be so quite that his brothers loose him for a good day or two, when they think they've checked everywhere belphie starts snoring, leading them straight to him. He also sleeps in the most random spots aswell, next to the potted plant, standing in the middle of the corridor, behind the door, you name it. When this man is tired and done for the day, he will find a way to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5th time saying im back but its been a busy week, exams have been kicking my ass rn, not to mention I have a biology exam tomorrow morning so yay, fun times

I havent done this in a while, im starting to get back into the groove of things lol

[rosenclaws]

Hi! 👋

I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if I could submit a request?

The reader is a shy artist who is a friend of Wades. She carries a sketchbook with her everywhere to sketch new pieces, but she doesn't show her work to people unless it's to Wade.

She and Worst!Logan become friends and slowly develop feelings for one another, but they won't say anything to each other because they think that the other wouldn't want them. Until Worst!Logan finds her sketchbook by accident and finds the book is filled with sketches of him. Worst!Logan confronts her about it, but she's a stuttering mess, and they end up confessing to each other. And please make it extra fluffy. Maybe throw in a kiss or a makeout session. Your choice lol.

Thank you and have a good day! 😊

Hidden Feelings and Hidden Sketches || Worst!Logan Howlett x Reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, wade making suggestive comments, make out sesh towards the end, reader gets drunk and logan helps her out. Logan also calls the reader sketch. It got kinda suggestive at the end I apologize sldfjka

a/n: Hi!! This idea is adorable omg I love it, I hope it was fluffy enough for you I have to admit I'm not great at writing pure fluff. I also hope wade is funny because I am not funny so its hard to write his dialogue sometimes. I also altered the plot a little so i hope its okay

You never quite understood how you and Wade became friends. He was possibly the biggest extrovert you have ever met and you were the exact opposite. He saw you once at his favorite diner with your sketchbook and he jumped into the seat across from you.

Yapping on about your art and if you drew often and that he once tried to paint but the class didn't appreciate his art and asking if you'd paint him naked as a present for his girlfriend. Which you declined very quickly.

He wouldn't leave you alone, talking and asking you all sorts of things. You getting a few words in and him covering the other 98% of the conversation. He left with the promise of seeing you again and disappeared before you could say anything else.

It was an odd experience that's for sure but you liked Wade. Sure enough he kept coming back and a friendship had blossomed. He invited you over to dinner multiple times but you always declined, choosing to meet at the diner instead.

Slowly he got you out of your shell around him. Cracking jokes and sometimes putting him in his place when he went a little too far. You showed him your sketchbook after a while and he gushed over your drawings. Begging you to draw him at his best angles and you would sometimes give in.

When he disappeared for a while you got worried, that is until he showed up with a new dog and a very handsome new friend. You couldn't take your eyes off of him. Wade spotted you and waved but you didn't even notice.

"I know right, he's like a tall glass of rage filled water." Wade sighs as he sits across from you.

"I uh what?" You hug your sketchbook close to your chest as you rip your eyes away from Wade's new friend.

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't eye fucking him the second he walked in here, not that I blame you." Your eyes widen as you start to stutter. Your face heating up as you stare at the pancakes in front of you instead. A loud grunt catches your attention. You can barely meet his eyes as your brain is too busy being embarrassed by what Wade had said.

"You can sit on my lap angel cakes." Wade pats his leg but gets shoved to the side as his new friend sits down across from you.

"Logan this is my friend, be a good kitty and play nice." Logan rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore Wade. He does look at you though, burning a whole through your skull.

"Hi Logan," You say shyly.

"Hi." A few beats of silence pass until Wade breaks it as usual.

"Well aren't you two the life of the party, if you excuse me I have to go relieve myself." Wade stands up and instead of asking Logan to move, starts to climb over the man.

"What the fuck?!" Logan hisses as he grabs Wades shirt and tosses him to the ground. You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth as your friend flops to the ground.

"So rude." Wade shakes his head and heads off to the bathroom. Silence falls once again as you awkwardly push around the pancakes on your plate.

"What's that?" Logan asks, nodding towards your sketchbook. You grab your book and shove it into your bag.

"Nothing! It's uh, just a sketchbook it's nothing don't worry about it." Logan raises an eyebrow as you panic in front of him.

As if you couldn't feel more embarrassed. You debate on waiting for wade or just leaving to save yourself but Logan makes the choice for you.

"You don't have to stay, not holding you hostage." He sips his coffee as you let out a shaky laugh.

"Not much of a talker." You play with your fork as you look up at Logan. He's much more handsome up close.

"Neither am I." He offers a small half smile and you return it. He's still incredibly intimidating but maybe you can stick it out a little longer. Logan's food comes and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence and when you're done you work up the courage if he'll be here tomorrow. He holds the door open for you as you step outside.

You clutch tightly onto the strap of your bag as you wait for his answer. He lights a cigar and you try and suppress your smile when he says he will be. As you part ways you realize that Wade never did come back from the bathroom.

That sneaky bastard.

-on

The diner uh, meetings as you called them, with Logan were amazing. His grumpy exterior was hard to crack but eventually the two of you started to become friends. Being with Logan started to become your favorite parts of the week. He was more than the tough guy persona he put on. What surprised you the most is that he seemed interested in you too. Well you know as friends.

Logan could appreciate someone who liked the quiet. He never pushed you out of your comfort zone, never made you feel uncomfortable. He was just Logan. Call it what you want but it was only a matter of time before you fell head over heels for that man. Not that you'd ever tell him.

How could you?

He's a superhero. He's gorgeous and grumpy and funny and so much more. All you do is draw silly pictures. So for now you settle on friends. Even if he makes your stomach turn with ever smile. Even if his laugh is the best thing you've ever heard. Friends. That's good enough for now.

-

"Wade Wilson I am going to kill you!" You say angrily.

He had texted you asking you to meet him for coffee and you had agreed solely because you never got the chance to scold him for his little dine and dash.

"Leaving me alone with a stranger!" You slap his hand as he tries to reach for your pastry.

"Ow! That was so five months ago! Anyways I was just trying to help. You know, relieve the sexual tension." You gasp as he makes a very lewd gesture with his hands.

"Besides, you and Logi bear are spending a lot of time together for just being friends huh Boo-Boo." Before you can stop him he reaches for your sketchbook. Keeping it just out of reach as he flips through the pages.

"Give it back!" You plead as you reach across the table.

"Oh. My. God. How come you never draw me this sexy?" He shows you the pages and you fall back into your seat in defeat.

You know what's in there and now Wade does too. Pages and pages of sketches of Logan. You feel like a stalker. It's not your fault! Ever since you met him he's all you can think about. All you can draw.

"Please give it back." You beg but he refuses.

"You'll get it back after you admit to Logan how you feel."

"What!" Your jaw drops as you make another lunge for your book.

"I am a very impatient man and I'm not about to wait another thousand words for the two of you to fuck." He stands up and tucks the book down his pants.

"Ew really?" You groan as you let your face fall into your hands.

"I'm having a get together and you're invited. Logan will be there it's the perfect opportunity." You feel like throwing up at the idea of talking to Logan about any of this.

Maybe you could just steal it back tonight. Or maybe you could never show your face to anyone ever again. Yah the second option sounds better. If only it was that simple. You waited for many anxiety filled hours, the only thing on your mind is getting your damn book back. You knock on the door and it swings open with Wade standing there, a stupid smile on his face.

"Honey badger at 4 o'clock." He hands you a drink and pushes you right towards him. You shoo him away, taking a deep breath and head towards Logan.

"Hi Logan," You say nervously.

"Didn't think these were really your thing." He says with a smile. You laugh nervously and nod your head.

"Yeah well...I thought he'd finally stop asking if I came to one of these things." You joke. Logan snorts and offers you the seat next to him.

"Good luck with that." You sit next to him and swirl around the ice in your drink.

If you're going to tell him then you're going to need a lot of help. Logan's eyes widen as you down your drink in one go, making a face before asking for another one. He's never seen you at a party, let alone drink.

"Why don't you take it easy there sketch."

"It's a party right, why not have a little fun." Logan keeps an eye on you as you drink and drink. As the night passes on he realizes that you might have had a little too much. You can barely get a sentence out by the time the party's over.

"Hi Logii!" Your arms slink around his neck as you stumble into him.

"Come on, let me take you home." He chuckles as he helps you to the door.

"Nooo, I needa get my uh..." You stop and think for a moment.

"My uhhh" Logan hums as he helps you to your apartment. You stay close to Logan as you walk through the night. He's just so warm and he smells so good.

"Got your keys?" You pat around for them and frown. Logan reaches into your bag and pulls them out.

"Right here." He unlocks your door and helps you to your bed. You sigh as your head hits your pillow.

"Oh! my sketchbook. Wade has my sketchbook." You say with a yawn.

"I'll get it back tomorrow, now sleep well." Logan takes off his jacket and lays it on you. He brushes your cheek gently. A soft smile on his face as he leaves you to sleep peacefully.

"Good night."

-

God your head hurt and the sun was way too bright. You crack your eyes open groan as you head pounds. What were you even thinking last night? You wanted your damn book back that's what you were thinking. A loud knock on your door makes you moan in pain. Getting up you swing open your door only to be met with Logan holding your book. Your face pales as you see a smirk on his face.

"Wade gave me back your book." You reach out for it but he holds it back.

"You're a real good artist sketch." To your horror he opens up your book and flips to one of its pages.

Right in front of you was a side profile sketch of Logan. It had been while you were at the park or something. The sun was hitting him perfectly, he had this content look on his face. You couldn't help but draw it when you got back home. To capture him in a moment where everything felt okay.

"I uh..I.." You don't know what to say. He caught you red handed. Your face is on fire from shame and embarrassment as he finally hands over your book. You can't even look at him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. Shutting your eyes you hope he gets the hint and leaves, leaves you to wallow in pity.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry." He grabs your chin and tilts your head up.

"I'm flattered sketch. I think you really captured me pretty good." You still can't bring yourself to say anything as you hug your book tightly. You can't tell if he's making fun of you or what.

"This isn't funny Logan." You try and push his hand off you but his grip is strong.

"Not trying to be funny." He brushes his thumb over your lips.

"Logan..." Your eyes flick down to his lips and you know he catches you.

"Say it, come on don't be shy. Not with me." Sighing you dig your fingernails into your book.

"I love you." Your voice is barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut. You almost hope he doesn't hear it but of course he does.

He presses his lips to yours roughly. You drop your book in shock as you melt deep into his kiss. Wasting no time in kissing him back, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He deepens the kiss as his hands fall to your sides. You pull away much to his disappointment, his lips chasing after yours for a moment.

"I love you too." He kisses your jaw lightly making you sigh.

"You know, those drawings were good but I think you got my lips wrong." You furrow you eyebrows, you thought you got his lips pretty good. After all you stared at them long enough to memorize them.

"Yeah sweetheart, think you need a lesson." He walks you back until you hit your couch.

"Get up close and personal." He winks as you bite your lip. How flustered can he make you?

"Then maybe you can show me more of those drawings."

Well, If it would help make your drawings more, accurate. Then who are you to say no?

"Okay." You run your hands along his arm as you look back up at him. Nerves and excitement swirling around your eyes.

"Don't worry sketch, I'm a pretty good teacher."

[pasukiyo]

I CAN SEE YOU

bodyguard!leon scott kennedy x f!popstar!reader word count; 1,381 warnings; p in v sex, that's about it lol, maybe angst if you squint summary; leon doesn't believe he's good enough for you. but even he can't resist when he has you up against the wall of a storage closet five minutes to showtime...

 “Five minutes to show time!”

 “Has anyone seen her?”

 “Where is she?”

 Her lips parted in a gasp as she etched crescent moons into his shoulders through the black muscle tee, toes curling as her legs snaked around his waist, trapping him in closer. A hand slithered its way to the hair at the nape of his neck, her head falling forward to press her lips against the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder as he rocked his hips into her. 

 “We shouldn’t…” Leon groaned and muttered a sharp “fuck!” when she clenched around him, drawing him in closer. He couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. “…we shouldn’t be doing this.”

 She mewled beside his ear at a particularly rough thrust, curling her fingers around a fistful of dark blonde ringlets at his nape and tugging. Leon pulled his face away from her shoulder, his dark sea of blue surging into her gaze like a comet colliding into a planet. Despite his words, Leon’s fingertips burrowed further into the flesh of her hips, her skin swelling with bruises as he drove his cock harder into her, impossibly deeper all the while. They’d only five more minutes to finish, and there’d be no way Leon would be able to do his job if he didn’t get his release now. 

 “When will you quit acting so noble?” She managed to ask between gasps and stifled moans, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against his. “Like you don’t want this as much as I do?”

 Leon hissed a string of curses through his teeth and she caught his lips with hers before he could drop his forehead to her shoulder again. Leon groaned into her mouth, allowing himself to be lost in the battle between their tongues for a moment, for just a second. Her smile was a crescent against his mouth and she leaned forward, hoping to deepen the seal of their lips before he pulled away, panting as he pistoned himself as deep inside of her as he could go, driving her back up the wall in the process. 

 “Leon!” She gasped, brows knit in pleasure as his hips stilled, the head of his cock pressed so hard against the spongey spot inside of her that she was seeing stars. 

 “You smeared your lipstick,” he replied simply and she peeled her eyelids back open just as Leon reached out with his thumb, wiping at the smeared makeup on the side of her mouth. Her bottom lip quivered at his touch and Leon peered up at her through hooded lids, sweat beading his hairline and chest heaving in rhythm with his breath. 

 For a moment, all was silent. For a moment, they only looked at each other, the moment so tender and intimate and such a stark difference from just a few seconds ago. Her heart swelled in her chest the longer she looked at Leon and she let her hands fall from around his neck, to his shoulders, to the chest of his dark ‘BODYGUARD’ muscle tee. She could feel his heart pound beneath her fingertips, beating to the same rhythm as hers. Leon’s bottom lip twitched, as if words hung on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released until they were interrupted by a sound coming from outside the storage closet door. 

 “TWO MINUTES TO SHOWTIME! WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE FUCKIN’ FIND HER BEFORE I LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND?”

 She released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in and Leon blinked, bowing his head down between her legs where they were connected, the base of his cock glistening with her slick. He inhaled a shaky breath as she used her legs around his waist to draw herself in closer, wrapping her arms back around his neck. Leon gazed down at her with those enigmatic eyes that held the darkest of oceans, so inviting, she found herself diving in nearly every time she looked at him. 

 “Kiss me?” She asked, shuddering as she inhaled. Leon’s gaze softened, eyebrows furrowed as he cupped her cheek with one strong hand, holding onto her elbow with the other. He drew her lips back into his where they belonged, beginning to rock his hips into hers again as their tongues danced around one another. 

 Warmth flooded her cheeks as he picked up his pace, his thrusts harder and more purposeful than they were only a moment before. Her lips parted in a gasp, breaking their kiss as her forehead fell onto his, tears brimming the outskirts of her sockets. 

 “Leon, I’m so close,” she whispered, mewling as that knot tied deep in the pit of her stomach began to shudder, ready to shatter. Leon nodded against her forehead, a soft curse tumbling from his full, pink lips. “I know,” he murmured back, his grip on her elbow tightening as he thrusted again and again and again, certain to leave a bruise on her cervix. 

 She could feel tears tip over the glassy barrier in her sockets as bliss washed over her body, her toes curling, her muscles twitching, legs shaking. Leon cursed again as he, too, met his end, hot spurts of his cum filling her up in ropes, painting her white. 

 “ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME!” She could hear someone yell from outside the door and despite her aching limbs and her sobbing pussy, she softly pushed Leon away just as he snapped her panties back into place. She mewled when the material hit her sore clit, a quiet “sorry” falling from his lips as he worked his pants back up his thighs.

 She fixed her stage outfit and Leon helped her down from the shelf he had fucked her into, helping adjust the strap of her top on her shoulder. She looked up at him and after a moment, he met her stare. 

 “Well?” She said. “Do I look okay?”

 “THIRTY SECONDS TO SHOWTIME!”

 The corner of Leon’s lips curved into a soft smile, the most tender she swore she’d ever seen him look before, “you look like a star.”

 Lights blinded her as she rose from beneath the stage, the crowd like an echo behind her earpieces. She sang the first note into her microphone, closing her eyelids shut as the bass rumbled in her chest. She was on the stage now, a limelight finding her as she faced the sea of screaming fans and phone lights. 

 “You brush past me in the hallway and you don’t think I, I, I can see you, do you?” she sang the opening line, swaying her hips to the beat, pointing into the crowd as she pranced upon the stage. The ache between her legs was still evident but she pushed thoughts of sex and Leon to the side, letting herself be swayed and taken away by the music. 

 She sang lyrics she remembered writing deep into the night in a dimly-lit hotel room after Leon had forced himself out of her bed to leave, insisting he was no good for her and she deserved better. The memory of that night still haunted her, especially when she sang these lyrics. 

 “But what would you do if I went to touch you now?” She sang low into the mic, snapping her palm against her hip to the soft beat. “What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a… so-ow-ound?”

 She made her way to one side of the stage as she sang the beginning of the chorus, eyeing the edge of the platform where she knew Leon would be, his back turned to face the crowd. 

 “And I could see you up against the wall with me. And what would you do, baby, if you only knew?” Her lips curved into a smile against the microphone as she stared into the back of Leon’s dark blonde hair. “That I can see you.”

 Although his back was to her, she still had the premonition that he knew she was right behind him. She brought her mic down to her hip and turned, hair whipping behind her as she began a slow strut to the other side of the stage. 

 She had the strange feeling that he knew she could see him. 

a/n; so here's another fic i've had drafted since literally july and only just now got around to finishing it LMAO my first leon fic! i've been wanting to write for this man for years now but only just now got around to it...

TAGLIST;

@bxbyyyjocelyn

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@corruptcoder

[usagifuyusummer]

"You're loved. Don't forget."

More ramblings and concept art below lmao.

I am devastated on thinking Timmy's fate in the series... I won't put my faith that they will handle it well, so I'll just indulge in fanworks to fill in this void. If they ever do it well one day, then I'll be there for the encore.

For now, I think you'll see a lot of somewhat depressed art on FOP for a while lol. Not continuous mind you! University is a bitch to get through. Whenever I'm free that is. Which is on long stretches of time unfortunately... Still, when I'm not posting trash, I'll be around observing quietly. You can guarantee that at least.

The work this time is inspired by @xblubotx (the adopted parents kissing Timmy one so cute omgosh) and @cubbihue FOP AU (sorry I have not memorised your AU yet). I admire that Blubot can adapt the FOP artstyle so well lmao. It'll be lightyears before I can do that 😭😭😭. Also, their Timmy fanarts break my heart, thank you. For the fairies design, I took inspiration from Cubbihue's AU. I think it's cute that they have tails, but there's not much I can say regarding their AU since its still developing. Take your time on that and have fun by the way.

The context for this one is just that Timmy is embarassed that Cosmo and Wanda are giving him the affection he is missing out from his parents. Poof is laughing from Timmy's embarrassment lol. (Not using Poof's new name because that is not that iteration of his character.) Timmy got a lot of fairy dust to remove from his face on that day...

Hm, are there side-effects to fairies kissing a mortal (on the cheeks hehe)? I kinda wish there was a comprehensive mythology book for stuff like that. There's some sources where I read that fairies kissing humans can actually result in their soul being whisked away to the other world (essentially dying yeah) and some sources say that fairies kissing you means its their way of marking territory or for good luck??? I wonder where those myths came from... but it is fascinating to think about. I guess Timmy will die young then /jk lol.

I got input from my younger sister that a darker color background is better than the dark blue one I used initially. I'm quite unsure on this, so I'll just post them all... I also don't think I nailed Cubbihue's AU on the fairy sizes... It's hard to accurately draw characters on a specific scale for me... Oh well, I can practice more. This took me 3 days at least. Also, here's a png version of the piece and two photos of the concept sketches.

I think that's all I want to yap about. Thanks for reading and have a nice day. See you when my homework isn't killing me.

[bby-blu-swirll]

sit on my lap while you do my eyeliner - bakugo x reader

i can't find it now, (i will tho if it kills me) but this is inspired by this tumblr post i saw on my pinterest that was like " 'let me do your eyeliner' gf and 'okay sit on my lap while you do it' bf" lol

pls enjoy xx

bakugo loves your makeup. (he loves your natural face just as much, but he also thinks you look drop dead gorgeous no matter what.)

his favorite days are when you pull out the eyeliner pen. when you look at him and your eyes are rimmed with black, bringing out the hue of your irises, he just folds honestly. subtly, because his pride is too strong to let anybody see him so weak for you, but you've definitely picked up on it.

he loves anything you do with it. a wing, big or small, a messy grungey outline, drawing hearts or stars, anything. he loves watching you do it with such attention to detail and even more loves seeing the finished product and how it might have changed the shape of your eyes. whether it's soft and cute and gives you little doe eyes, or sharp and cutting like a knife, pulling your eyes into dangerous (& admittedly sexy) slits, he adores it.

he doesn't show it much, though. he's not as bad as compliments as you thought he'd be, really, but this is just a bit different.

he can call you pretty, gorgeous, hot, whatever- all he wants. there was no problem there. especially, in front of other people. it was almost like bragging to him.

like once, in the middle of a conversation with the bakusquad, he caught your arm as you were walking by just to press a kiss to your cheek and tell you that you looked beautiful. of course he meant every word of it, but there was a silent emphasis on the fact that he was the one you got to tell you that, and that it was very true. it was like his way of being able to say, "suck it, extras, that beauty is my girlfriend," without sounding like the cocky douchebag he usually did. (bc he knows you don't like it when he's such a cocky douchebag <3)

but complimenting such a specific part of you was a bit more difficult, and he wasn't quite sure how to articulate it. he knew he liked it, but he wasn't sure why. he just thought you looked sexy and sweet like that.

like you did today.

it was one of those lazy saturdays for the both of you, where you slept in a little and kind of just floated through the day, maybe go out maybe not, maybe make out on your bed, who knows.

it was close to half past ten when you were finally up and at your vanity, doing your makeup for the day. your boyfriend was spread out and taking up most of your bed while he studied for the test you had on monday. you thought he was a bit of a nerd for spending one of his only mornings off on school, but you admired his dedication.

neither of you liked silence much, so soft music filled the quiet in your dorm, along with the occasional page turn from bakugo, usually followed by a sigh.

you capped your eyeliner pen with a huff. you had been looking at your face so long, it was hard to tell if it was even. "hey babe?" you turned your swivel chair to face him.

"yeah?" he didn't bother looking up from his book.

you pressed the closed pen to your cheek and blinked a few times. "does this look okay?"

he glanced up for a moment, doing a double take when he saw you. there was no concealer on your dark circles and your eyeliner was smudged underneath your eyes and your lips looked a bit cracked, and he could feel his stomach swell with butterflies the second he looked at you.

"yeah, its.. its perfect." he looked away and cleared his throat, hearing you chuckle slightly.

once you turned around in your chair, his eyes were glued to you. just watching you sort through your makeup tray, trying to find something. the way you knit your brows together, your bottom lip stuck out- his quickly averted his gaze back to his book when you turned to him. he could feel your eyes trained on him as he thumbed the corner the pages.

"hey katsuki?"

he hummed in response, still not looking at you.

you stood up and slowly sauntered towards him, smirking when his eyes flicked up to you every few seconds. you took his book and set it aside.

"the hell are you-" he clenched his jaw when you leaned close to him, still standing. he dropped his voice to a soft tone, just shy of a whisper. "what're you doing, huh?"

"can i do your eyeliner?"

he chuckled and smirked. "'course.."

you grinned and took a seat next to him, your face heating up as his hands found your waist. he lifted you up and set you on his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. his smirk grew as a blush crept up your cheeks.

"just as long as you sit... here." he pecked your lips, mindlessly stroking his thumb across the skin just above the waistband of your pants. "you can start whenever, babe, i'm not stopping you..."

you huffed and bit the inside of your cheek, internally rolling your eyes. his cocky smirk softened a little when your fingers delicately cradled his jaw, turning his head slightly.

"close your eyes..." you kept your voice low, watching his eyes flutter shut.

his skipped a beat when he felt your breath on his lips. he took deep breaths, just inhaling whatever lotion or perfume had you smelling so good.

you bit your lip and did your best to keep your hand steady. it was hard to keep the lines straight when he would squeeze your hips occasionally. but you prevailed nonetheless, keeping the ink close to the rim of his eyes. you were going for a sort of rodrick look.

"okay.." you clicked your tongue and capped your pen, setting it to the side. "you're done~"

he opened his eyes slowly, a playful look dancing across his features. "well? how do i look?"

your breath caught in your throat. his red eyes glowed, half lidded and staring right into you.

"hmmm..." you brought a hand to his chest, the other messing with the hair at the base of his neck. you traced small circles across his skin. "handsome."

"yeah?" he took your cheek in his hand, pulling you closer to him. "that all?"

you shrugged and chuckled a bit, watching his cocky grin return.

"hm, you think i'm hot. coulda just said so..." he pressed his lips against yours softly, which quickly changed to a rough, demanding kiss.

looks like you did end up making out on your bed,,

totally meant to upload this over a week ago,,, my bad lol i've been very busy, sorry this is so crap lol i'll probably rewrite it in the future <33

love you sm !! stay safe & sleep well 💗💗

[chaosheadspace]

A little birthday gift for @seiya-starsniper. May your new year of life be full of happiness and joy! Also tagging @ginoeh, because the start of this is technically me misinterpreting one of her prompts, lol.

Without further ado, have some Dream raiding Hob's dreams post-fishbowl.

Stars twinkle through the window as Hob stands in his kitchen and cooks. It is late, but he is hungry, having forgotten the time grading. He’s got a day off tomorrow though, and so he is making himself a rather elaborate feast, because he feels like it. Because he can.

The light summer breeze coming through the window stirs the various smells about, sauteed onion and tomatoes and beef, spices and fat and broth, warm milk for hot chocolate and the dense, syrupy sweetness of baking apples. He’s never been good at moderation, least of all with food. Sue him. There’s a few candles burning on his kitchen table, decked out with earthenware, and through the speakers of his radio is playing a song he’s quite convinced he’s heard some time in the seventeenth century. It’s really crazy what musicians nowadays dig back up and incorporate into their music.

Just as he stirs the pumpkin soup bubbling on the back burner, there’s a low sound behind him. Hob turns, the dripping spoon still in his hand. “Oh,” he blurts out, “I am dreaming.”

Because there, in front of him, stands his stranger, who snubbed him at their last appointment, who he hasn’t seen in much longer than a hundred years. Who definitely, positively, has deep, black pits for eyes, who looks even more gaunt than usual, malnourished, even, and who is absolutely bang naked. He has to be dreaming. The music suddenly makes a lot more sense. The dishware, too, really.

“You are,” his stranger says, and even his voice is different, cavernous, deep and soft like his eyes.

“You’re welcome here, regardless,” Hob tells him. “You can have a shirt and sweats from me, if you want. Soup will be ready in just a tick.” He can see him swallow, hard, the movement of his Adam's apple on his slim neck stark.

“Very well,” he says, turning away. “See that it is.”

When he comes back, he’s wearing one of Hob’s old band shirts that’s somehow black now, and a pair of pajama pants with little yellow stars on them. Hob smiles, motions for him to sit down, and puts a bowl of the promised soup in front of him, steaming and fragrant, spiced with curry and nutmeg and roasted sesame seeds.

His friend wastes no time, forgoes the spoon entirely and lifts the bowl to his face to drink, his bony fingers clutching the glazed dish tight, uncaring about its heat. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t breathe until the heavy bowl is empty. Then he holds it out to Hob, the rim clutched between three fingers as if it weighs nothing. “More,” he demands, and Hob obliges.

This goes on four more times, and then the pot is empty. Next Hob serves up venison pasties, and he’s more than a little smug as his stranger devours the first one in just three bites, but Hob figures he’s allowed. “They’re good, right?” he says. His friend just glowers at him and reaches for the next one. When the pasties are gone, there’s dumplings and omelette and the apple pie.

It all vanishes, piece by piece, bit by bit, bite for bite, into his stranger. Afterwards, they look at each other in silence, Hob stunned at the speed it all vanished, his stranger apologetic for some reason. Then the silence is cut by the rather loudly growling stomach of his friend.

“I. uhm. I could make you some pasta?” Hob offers. “Maybe some pudding, too, let’s see…”

“No,” he’s interrupted just as he gets up. “I am afraid I have to hurry. There are things I have to tend to rather urgently. I thank you for being so hospitable.”

Suddenly they are standing in the doorway again, from one second to the next, Hob blinking up confusedly intovast, starlit eyes. They’re close, closer than they’ve ever been. There is no warmth emanating from his stranger, just a heavy, almost humming sense of presence that draws Hob in.

“Do you have to go?” He pleads. “Maybe I could—”

“I am afraid I cannot delay my task any further, Hob.” His stranger shakes his head. “I thank you for this.”

“Wait,” Hob says, desperately. “This is a dream, right?”

His stranger turns back around, the look on his face incredulous. “Yes,” he confirms for the second time, “it is.”

“So there’s no harm in doing this then,” Hob murmurs, stepping closer, gently placing one hand upon a lily-white neck. His friend shivers. Hob gets up on his toes and slowly, gently kisses his brow. “I hope you fare well,” he whispers, “and I will not give up hope to see you again when I am awake.”

From one moment to the next, Hob is alone. There is a relieving sense of loss in him, like a splinter being drawn from a wound.

Hob wakes.

[the-winter-spider]

But Daddy I Love Him: Pt 3 | B.Barnes

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Angst, intimacy (I dont write smut but its insinuated) 

A/N: If it wasn’t obvious But Daddy I Love Him by Taylor Swift inspired this, im so excited i have a whole story line planned which i usually just go with the flow lol

Masterlist

Part One, Part Two

—-

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, everything around you blurred. You hadn’t seen your brother in years. He wasn’t a bad person—quite the opposite.

Howard was everything your father had wanted you to be: successful, brilliant, focused. The two of you had once been close, but as Howard became more engrossed in his inventions and adventures, he drifted away, no longer caring about your opinions or ideas.

When he finally left home, that was it. You doubted he even knew about the dates and the almost-arranged marriages your father had tried to push on you. The memories flooded back, suffocating you, and the room suddenly felt too small.

Bucky’s hand tightened on your knee, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge. But even his touch couldn’t stop the cold dread that began to seep into your bones.

“Why?” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible, laced with an edge of fear.

Steve hesitated, his eyes filled with sympathy. “He’s looking for you, Y/N. He knows where you are... He said your father knows, too.”

A shiver ran down your spine as your worst fear materialized. The life you so desperately wanted, the safety you’d found in Bucky’s arms—it all felt like it was slipping away.

Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, low and dangerous. “He’s not coming near her. Not now, not ever.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “He said he just wanted to talk, Y/N. Howard, not your father.”

Your heart pounded as you tried to process the news. You knew Howard would never set you up. He wouldn’t have any idea about what had transpired between you and your father recently, let alone the violence that followed. You were almost able to forget about it yourself if it weren’t for the way Steve’s eyes kept drifting to your cheek.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice was softer now, his hand warm and reassuring on your knee. “What do you wanna do?”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the storm raging inside you. “Howie would never set me up,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anyone else. “Did he say if he was coming back?”

Steve nodded. “He said he had to head into work but planned on coming back around dinner time.”

The room felt heavy with tension, a suffocating weight pressing down on you. You could see the concern etched into Bucky’s features, the protective edge sharpening in his eyes. You wanted to believe that this was just a misunderstanding, that Howard was reaching out with good intentions, but the shadow of your father loomed too large.

Dinner time. You had a few hours, but what would you say to him? Would he understand the choices you made, or would he try to pull you back into the life you’d fought so hard to escape? The uncertainty gnawed at you, the fear of what was to come clawing at your chest.

Bucky’s grip tightened on your knee, pulling you back to the present. “Whatever happens, I’m here, okay? You’re not facing this alone.”

You nodded, trying to draw strength from his presence, but the unease lingered. No matter what happened tonight, you knew things were about to change—and there was no going back.

—

Hours later, a knock finally came at the door, snapping you out of your thoughts. You shot up from the couch, your heart racing, but when you didn’t move, Steve glanced at you. “Do you want me to…?” he trailed off, gesturing to the door. You nodded frantically, unable to find your voice.

As Steve went to answer the door, you started pacing, anxiety gnawing at your insides. It had been weeks since you last saw him—since everything fell apart. When Howard finally walked in, his face lit up with that same boyish grin he always had. “There she is,” he beamed, his voice as joyful as if nothing were wrong.

You forced a small wave. “Hi.”

He took three big strides and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. It took you a moment to respond, your arms slowly patting his back, still feeling awkward and unsure. When he finally pulled back, he took a long look at you, and you could see the recognition flicker in his eyes. It had been too long since he really looked at you—since he really saw you. And though you tried to cover the bruise on your cheek, it was clear he noticed.

His eyes darkened as they dropped to your cheek. “What happened?”

You ignored the question, pulling away to sit on the couch. “What do you want, Howard?”

He placed a hand on his chest, feigning offence. “I can’t come visit my favourite sister?” He took a seat on the armchair across from you.

“I’m your only sister,” you scoffed, the tension thick between you.

“Exactly,” he replied with a small smile, but it quickly faded. “But I wish I were here under better circumstances. I know I haven’t been the best brother, but I want to be—if you’ll let me.”

You studied him, searching for the sincerity in his eyes. Howard wasn’t malicious; he was kind but stubborn, loyal to a fault, arrogant, and stupidly smart—all the things that made a Stark, a Stark.

“Did you know?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Know what?” he replied, his tone guarded.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

His shoulders slumped, the guilt evident in his expression. “I heard rumours from friends—that he was trying to marry you off to some douchebag with money and a name.”

“Then why didn’t you do anything? You’re my big brother—you’re supposed to protect me!” Tears welled up in your eyes, your voice breaking as you stood up. “This isn’t the 1800s! I should be able to marry someone I love… someone who loves me!”

You glanced over at Steve, who was standing off to the side, leaning against the wall. “Bucky… he should be back by now, Steve.”

Steve nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “I’ll go see if I can find him, maybe he needs help with the bags?” he offered, though you both knew it was just an excuse to give you a moment alone with your brother. The door clicked shut behind him.

Your eyes darted back to Howard, determination burning within you. “I’m getting married to Bucky. I’m marrying him, Howard, and no one is going to stop me.”

Howard nodded slowly, his expression serious. “He’s going to try, darling. You know he will…” His voice trailed off, his gaze lingering on your bruised cheek. “Who did that? Don’t lie to me.”

“Who do you think?” you replied bitterly.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Father,” you said, the word heavy with pain.

Howard’s jaw clenched, his face hardening with anger as the confirmation settled in. You sighed, deflating as you sank back onto the couch.

“Do you love him?” Howard asked softly.

“With all my heart, Howie,” you whispered, the old nickname slipping out.

Howard’s exterior softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Does he love you?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

Your eyes sparkled with emotion as you nodded. “He does.”

“Okay,” Howard sighed, standing up.

“Okay, what?” you asked, confused.

“Okay, you’re going to marry him.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What did you expect? Me to kidnap you and drag you back to Dad? You’re a big girl, a smart girl—you’re a Stark, for Christ’s sake. If you love him and he loves you, then it sounds like a pretty great idea to me, And you know I love great ideas.”

A wide smile broke across your face as you jumped up and threw your arms around him, whispering, “I always knew you were my favourite brother.”

Just then, the door burst open, and both of you turned to see a dishevelled Bucky standing there, brown paper bags dropped to the floor, his forehead creased with worry. Howard set you down gently, his eyes moving between Bucky and you. He smiled, the tension easing from his features. “You’re right,” Howard said softly. “He does love you.”

Bucky’s eyes darted between you and Howard, clearly trying to assess the situation. He stepped forward cautiously, his gaze lingering on your brother before finally settling on you. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You nodded, still holding onto Howard’s arm. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Howard cleared his throat, drawing Bucky’s attention. “So, you’re the man who’s swept my sister off her feet,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone, though his eyes were sharp, evaluating.

Bucky straightened, squaring his shoulders as he met Howard’s gaze. “I am,” he said firmly, without hesitation. “And I intend to keep her safe and happy—no matter what.”

Howard studied Bucky for a moment longer before nodding approvingly. “Good. Because if you don’t, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

There was a brief pause, a charged silence where the unspoken threats and promises hung in the air. Then, Howard broke the tension with a chuckle, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Alright, alright, let’s not make this too dramatic. We’re all family here, right?”

You smiled, relieved that the tension was easing. “Right.”

Howard glanced back at you, his expression softening. “You know, I’m really proud of you, Y/N. You’ve always been strong, but standing up to Father like this… it takes guts.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you blinked back the tears threatening to spill. “Thanks, Howie..That means a lot.”

Bucky moved closer, slipping his arm around your waist and drawing you into his side. “You’re not alone in this anymore,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’ll face whatever comes together.”

Howard watched the two of you with a thoughtful expression before nodding slowly. “Well, then,” he said, clapping his hands together, “I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

You laughed, feeling the weight of the past few days finally lifting. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

For a moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. But deep down, you knew that your father wouldn’t let this go so easily. There was still a storm brewing on the horizon, and you could only hope that, together, you and Bucky could weather it.

——-

You got dressed in the same dress you had worn since Friday. It was now Sunday, and you were just thankful that Bucky, your future husband, had been kind enough to wash it for you so you could finally leave the house after 36 hours.

“Good morning,” Steve’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked, stretching out his arm to offer you a mug already filled.

You smiled gratefully as you took it. “This is why you’re my best friend, Steve.”

He laughed. “Happy to be of service. So, what’s the plan for today? Where are you headed?”

“Well, I know Bucky always spends Sunday afternoons with Becca, and he’s already done so much for me. I couldn’t ask him to bail on his sister. But it’s Sunday, and my father won’t be home, so I need to get some of my stuff before he completely cuts me off.”

“You were planning on going by yourself?”

“Well, yes.” You paused, taking a sip of your coffee.

Steve sighed, setting down his own mug before grabbing his keys. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing to the door.

“W-what?” you stammered.

He gave you a half-smile. “You really thought I’d just let you go alone? Come on, you know me better than that.”

As you stood there, coffee in hand, Steve’s offer hung in the air. The thought of going back to that house alone had been gnawing at you all morning, but now, with Steve by your side, it felt a little less daunting.

“Steve, you don’t have to do this,” you said, though the relief in your voice was unmistakable.

Steve just shook his head with a grin. “I know I don’t have to. But we’re friends, and friends don’t let friends walk into enemy territory alone.”

You chuckled, but the anxiety still gnawed at you. “It’s not enemy territory. It’s… it’s just home.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Maybe, But it’s still not a place you should have to go alone…Especially not now.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a little more grounded with Steve’s steady presence beside you. “Okay… Thank you, Steve, Really.”

“Anytime,” he replied, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, let’s get this over with so you can relax for the rest of the day…. and before Bucky gets home”

As you both headed toward the door, the weight of the situation pressed down on you. The idea of facing that house, of walking through those familiar halls and confronting the memories that still haunted them, made your heart race. But Steve was right there, offering you a lifeline, and you knew you could trust him to have your back.

The drive to your father’s house was filled with tense silence. Steve didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful for that. You needed to steel yourself for what was to come, and talking about it wouldn’t help.

When you finally arrived, the sight of the house brought a lump to your throat. It looked exactly the same—cold, imposing, and filled with a thousand memories you wished you could forget.

Steve turned off the engine and looked over at you. “You ready?”

You nodded, even though you didn’t feel ready at all. “Let’s do this.”

Together, you walked up to the front door. Your hand trembled as you reached for the doorknob, but Steve’s presence beside you gave you the strength to turn it.

The house was eerily quiet, just as you’d expected. Your father was out, and the staff was likely on their day off. Still, the silence felt suffocating.

You made your way to your room, the one place in the house that had ever felt like yours. Steve stayed close, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if he expected trouble to leap out at any moment.

As you packed your things, the memories flooded back—of arguments, of the pressure to be someone you weren’t, of your father’s expectations crushing down on you. The air felt heavy with the weight of it all.

Steve’s voice cut through the fog. “You don’t have to take everything today, Just the essentials. We can always come back later.”

You nodded, grabbing a few more things and stuffing them into your bag. “You’re right. I just… I need to get out of here.”

Once you were done, you turned to leave, but something made you pause. You glanced around the room, knowing it would be the last time you’d see it like this.

“You okay?” Steve asked, noticing your hesitation.

“Yeah,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m okay.”

As you both walked back to the car, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were leaving more than just a house behind. You were leaving behind a life that had never really been yours.

When you got back in the car, Steve turned to you, his eyes filled with understanding. “You did good, Y/N. And you don’t have to go through this alone.”

You gave him a small smile, feeling a little lighter now that it was over. “Thanks, Steve. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He chuckled as he started the car. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

As you drove away, the weight on your chest began to lift. The future still felt uncertain, but at least now, you knew you had people in your corner. People who cared. And that made all the difference.

When you and Steve returned to the apartment, you were met with a silence that felt unusually heavy. You hadn’t expected Bucky to be home yet, so when you stepped inside and found him sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, you froze.

He looked up as soon as the door creaked open, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of relief and anger that made your heart skip a beat. Steve quietly slipped out, sensing the tension thickening in the room.

“Where were you?” Bucky’s voice was low, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

You swallowed, stepping further into the room. “I went back to my father’s house to get some of my things, Steve came with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice wavered, betraying the hurt beneath the surface “Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, Bucky. You were with Becca, and you’ve done so much already—”

“Bother me?” He cut you off, standing up, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m your fiancé, Y/N. You don’t ‘bother’ me by letting me protect you, by letting me be there for you.”

“Bucky, I didn’t want to pull you away from your family. I thought I could handle it, I know we should have left a note but I had Steve with me, I’m fine…”

“Fine?” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “When I got home and you weren’t here, I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the thought. “I didn’t know where you were, Doll. All I could think about was what could’ve happened to you, especially after everything with your father.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t realised just how much your decision would affect him “Bucky, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me, coming back here and finding you gone... I was terrified, Terrified that something happened to you and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

His voice cracked, and you noticed his hands trembling. You had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so afraid. Tears welled in his eyes, and he quickly wiped them away, as if trying to maintain his composure.

“Buck…” You stepped closer, reaching out to him, but he flinched, taking a step back.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel so helpless?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, thick with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you. I’ve lost so much already, sweetheart…I can’t lose you too.”

Your own tears started to fall as the weight of his words sank in. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t want you to worry.”

His shoulders slumped, and finally, he let you close the distance between you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. His body shook with silent sobs, and you felt your heart break for him.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your hand running through his hair. “I’m here, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his own red-rimmed and glassy. “Don’t ever do that again, Y/N. Don’t ever leave without telling me, I need to know you’re safe.”

“I won’t,” you vowed, cupping his face in your hands. “I won’t. I promise.”

Bucky nodded, leaning into your touch as he took a shaky breath. “I love you,” he murmured, the words raw and vulnerable.

“I love you too, Bucky. So much.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of you needing the reassurance that the other was still there. Slowly, the tension began to ease, replaced by a sense of calm that only came from knowing you were safe, together, and finally understanding just how much you meant to each other.

You looked up, your eyes locked with his. Bucky's blue eyes were filled with so much emotion, speaking volumes without uttering a single word. You could see the love, the relief, the longing-they were all there, reflecting everything you felt inside. Your hands slid up from his waist, tracing the contours of his body until they rested on his broad chest. Then, almost instinctively, you wrapped them around the back of his neck, your fingers weaving into the soft strands of his hair.

Bucky's hand caressed your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin before he let it drift down to your jaw. He guided you closer, his touch gentle yet firm, until your lips finally met. The kiss was slow at first, but the desperation to be closer, to melt into each other, quickly took over. Your breathing quickened, mingling with his as the kiss deepened, growing more urgent.

His arms slid down your sides, finding their way to the back of your legs. You gasped against his lips as his hands trailed down, sending shivers through you. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky effortlessly scooped you up, holding you securely against his chest. The world around you disappeared; it was just the two of you, nothing else mattered.

You began kissing down his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, revelling in the low, throaty moan that escaped him. It spurred you on, your lips moving with more fervour. Bucky's breath hitched as he stumbled slightly, his desire for you nearly overwhelming his usually steady demeanour. But he didn't stop-he couldn't.

When he finally reached the bedroom, he laid you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your hips as if reluctant to let go.

Your eyes met again, and for a brief moment, time stood still. There was no rush, no fear— just the two of you, suspended in a moment of pure connection.

Bucky knelt on the bed beside you, his eyes dark with desire but softened by the tenderness he always reserved for you.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice husky, full of need but laced with concern. He always made sure, always put you first.

Your heart swelled at his consideration, and you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm sure, Buck. I want this..., want you."

The words hung in the air between you, thick with promise and love. Bucky leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his lips hovering just above yours as he exhaled shakily.

"I love you," he murmured, each word filled with unspoken vows.

"I love you too," you replied, pulling him down for another kiss, softer this time, more deliberate.

This time, as his lips met yours, the world fell away completely. There was no past, no future, just this moment, just the two of you, together — exactly where you were meant to be.

[aoioozora]

So I drew Hesh in different hairstyles

since it was in high demand (?) and I reblogged it from that post directly but I think it deserves a post and a whole analysis of its own.

Here's the entire piece of 5 sketches:

I get quite lazy to draw and even though it wasn't specifically requested of me, I went ahead and drew Hesh in diff hairstyles because it's a fun concept to think of and honestly it was so much fun!

I got to study the face of this Sexy Man™. I hadn't noticed it before but he had low cheekbones! Now I'm not used to drawing low cheekbones since my default state is drawing them high, but it really challenged me

Right here in the first sketch. His face looks so flat 😭 I had to get my eyes used to the low cheekbones. Looks like I have a lot to learn lmao

As for the hairstyle, I love it, but I definitely think that Hesh wouldn't have his hair like this. He seems to prefer his hair on the shorter cleaner side, like this

But I can see him having a phase where he had long, luscious hair enough for Elias to go "kids these days..."

I honestly think he'd rock long hair ngl. Maybe he had a Metal phase at one point lol

I enjoyed drawing the long hair the most because I love making long, loose strokes. For once I got to fix the faulty way I draw side profiles, and improve my observational skills because Hesh looks a bit like Hesh over here lol

But my obs skills improved way more because Hesh LOOKS like Hesh in this one

Realistically he'd have this hairstyle since he's a 90s-00s boy. Saw the Brad Pitt reference and I just HAD to draw it. If I'm not wrong, he has a similar hairstyle at the beginning of the gameplay

It's really giving surfer boy. And since he's from California, he must've dabbled in surfing, who knows

Also this one is my personal fav. I think this hairstyle REALLY suits him.

Also also appreciation for his big ass nose.

In conclusion:

IMHO Hesh looks best with a style slightly longer than a buzz (clean and Brad Pitt)

Hesh is hard to draw (including his facial hair)

That being said, if you have more hairstyle ideas for our big boi here, let me know ;) I'd love to draw them hehehehe

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

So this fanfic is based on @astarion-approves's post that I saw 9am and was left thinking about a oral fixation with this damn vampire lol

Rated: M

Taglist: @aurasyn

There are few moments of peace you get between traveling what feels like all over Faerun. The calm before another storm you must trek through to reach the goal of Baldur’s Gate. In these dark hours, when the moon is high and clouds are few or none, you sit with your lover. Peace and safety in the arms of another. A few words of affection, love, but then a slow turn to lust.

As is they could manage that right now as they both are creatures fascinated by the other and have been for quite some time. Slipping away from the camp to have each other and hear one another without the other complaining later about their volume. The morning after aches he leaves on you never quite leave you and he smirks with obnoxious glee. It is clear you are taken by the vampire.

Tonight, there is no ideal place to become wrapped up, no, tonight is a little spot secured for themself outside the camp in the temple of Shar. Here under the long abandoned temple and empty spaces with the echoing scurry of rats from time to time; they are going to see who bends first. A game that now has reached its head.

A grin on your face matches the grin on Astarion's face, tonight it is a battle of words. See who can have the other give into the temptation of flesh. Which to say Astarion is beating you at the game.

He knows he has this effect on you. Practiced and mastered rouge charlatan has you nearly on his to-be lap and soon to be begging for his touch.

You could give in, his words already have an effect on your body, but tonight you want those pretty lips to snarl at you as the last bit of his self-control snaps. Now, you know such a feat is going to take him down to his base level, and you have seen him and this perfect sweet spot. The rush of fresh blood from battle, adrenaline, and rush of desire for more; a hunger.

“Such a filthy mouth, Astarion!” And it is. Gods above it is! You have fallen into his tricks far too many times. Your elbow resting on the stone table as you stare at your cocky lover, both his elbows on the table as his chin rests on the back of his hands' little bridge.

“You like it though... don't you?” An arched eyebrow and sly smirk reveal just enough of his mouth to inspire a thought.

“Maybe, open it for me and I’ll tell you, cheeky bat.” Your other arm is placed on the table. This is going to have to be timed well.

Astarion chuckled, “An oral fixation? I’m learning so many delicious things about you, darling.”  Oh, he to learn a lot more in a minute. When is opens his mouth of course with a long purred out ‘ahh’, you strike… Maybe a little too quick because he almost bites down. You had to stop yourself from backing out of this as you recovered quickly with your head tilted to the side, your lashes low as you dared him with just a look, “Ah, no biting, love.” You say with a hint of intimidation, testing him yet being playful.

Astarion doesn’t bite, he obeys and you trying so hard break your composure with shyness.

Your finger wiggles stroking and lifting Astarion’s all too familiar tongue, “Good boy.”

That had taken aback Astarion; the cheeky pup behavior he used on you is perfectly executed by your actions and words. His eyes are half shut as you cut your finger to let him get the smallest of tastes, which you leave him with as you draw back your finger leaving him wanting more.

Yes, you believe you won this duel as you feel his foot under the table rub your leg then go further up.

“Something you want, love?” You tease with a purr you mimic similar to one he does to you when he knows he has won.

[august-anon]

11. "How can someone not be ticklish??" with Wyll 🥺🥺🥺??

find the list of warmup prompts and which fandoms i am taking here!

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wyll my darling beloved boy!!!!!!!! kdjfhjkdfh because i get so excited about wyll (and also this specific prompt plays into one of my Favorite tropes lol) this ended up being WAY more than a little ficlet or drabble but its Fine it just means more wyll content lol

(also, very funny, but by the time i had this 90% completed i got another ask with the same prompt also with wyll but with a specific companion so i did not combine the prompts lol)

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Playful Exploration

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3

Ship(s): Tav/Wyll

Characters (lee/ler): Ler!Wyll/Lee!Tav

Word Count: 997 words

Summary: Wyll refuses to believe that Tav isn't ticklish. Tav allows him the chance to prove it.

[ao3 link]

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“How can someone not be ticklish?” 

Wyll’s expression twisted into something incredulous, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, his nose crinkling in the most adorable way with the force of his frown. Tav couldn’t help the soft smile that rose to their face at the sight. They relaxed back onto the blanket the two of them had spread over the grass, fiddling idly with the now-empty basket that had previously held their rather late dinner.

“I don’t know,” they hummed. “Just that I’m not.”

Wyll’s frown deepened and he shifted closer, lying parallel to Tav. “Just that no one’s found the right places, you mean.”

Tav laughed, soft and light so as not to disturb the peace of the night, and let Wyll draw them in closer with an arm around their waist. “This seems rather important to you. A favorite pastime of yours?”

Wyll’s nose crinkled again as he lost himself in thought. “Not quite as such, though I remember not minding much as a boy.”

Tav hummed, absent-mindedly running their fingers up and down Wyll’s arm. Of course, it made sense that the Blade of Frontiers wouldn’t have much time to explore frivolities like those in recent years. There was a sharp sense of loneliness accompanying the title of Hero, as Tav was quickly learning over the course of their adventures. It was hard to build a real connection with anyone once you became larger-than-life.

Tav was drawn out of their thoughts by Wyll’s fingers tracing down their own arm, a gentle, barely-there touching mimicking their own ministrations. His fingers slipped between their own once he reached their hand, and he gave it a quick squeeze.

“Everyone’s ticklish somewhere.”

“And is that a fact?”

“I’d say so.”

Tav grinned and shook their head. “Is this you asking permission?”

“Only if you wouldn’t mind a little… let’s call it playful exploration.”

Tav thought back to days that felt lifetimes away by now. To friends tussling, fingers squeezing and kneading, disappointed sounds turning to shocked laughter as tables were turned. They smirked and leaned forward to press a brief, chaste kiss against Wyll’s lips.

“Only if you wouldn’t mind the consequences, once I get bored.”

This time when Wyll’s face twisted, it was into something almost bashful, a nervous smile tugging at his own lips. “I suppose, if that would be the price to pay.”

Tav flopped over onto their back, Wyll following after to prop himself over their prone form with a hand by either side of their head. He leaned down and kissed them, drawing it out until Tav had butterflies swarming around their stomach from the attention. Wyll pulled back with a smirk, all too aware of the effect he had on them, brushing a finger over the flush that now filled their cheeks. They squirmed under his gaze, blush deepening.

“Get on with it,” Tav grunted.

Wyll’s smile widened. “I don’t see why I should. You’re clearly not growing bored.”

“Wyll.”

Wyll laughed, rich and deep, shifting around until he sat next to their prone form instead of looming over them. Rather than diving in with squeezing fingers like Tav expected, Wyll gathered up their hand again, dragging his fingers around their palm with a gentle touch. It tingled a little, enough to be distracting, but not enough to warrant a twitch, let alone a laugh. Tav furrowed their brows.

“What are you doing?”

Wyll raised an eyebrow. “Tickling you.”

“That’s not tickling.”

“Is it not? What is, then?”

Tav waved around their free hand, searching for the words. “It’s not that, it’s like– like–” They grumbled, instead choosing to demonstrate by reaching out and squeezing one of Wyll’s thighs.

They couldn’t help the way they brightened at the choked-off giggle he made, an almost predatory instinct inside them begging them to do it again, to tickle him down to the blanket and steal the laughter from his lungs.

“That’s certainly one way of doing it,” Wyll said. “But tonight, I think I prefer a more gentle method.”

Wyll’s fingers drifted away from their palm, up their wrist and forearm, and into the crease of their elbow. They frowned at the foreign sensation, electric and distracting in the oddest of ways. After a quick wiggle in the crook of their arm, his fingers wrapped around to the outside of their arm, dancing up towards their shoulder. Almost imperceptibly, Tav’s breath hitched. More noticeably, their arm twitched away.

“Oh?” Wyll said. “Have I found something?”

Wyll focused on their upper arm, fluttering his fingers in the stretch between their elbow and shoulder. An involuntary smile tugged at Tav’s lips and they had to fight themselves to not tear away from his touch.

“That feels weird,” Tav said, wholly unfamiliar with the giddy tone that overtook their voice.

“I think you mean,” Wyll chuckled, leaning down to peck a kiss on their shoulder, “it tickles.”

Without warning, his fingers spidered up and over Tav’s shoulder, diving into the crook of their neck. Tav squealed, shocking themselves with the noise, as their shoulders shrugged up in a feeble attempt at protection. It did nothing to drive Wyll off. If anything, it made him all the more determined. Tav’s knees curled into their chest and they rolled onto their side, trying instinctively to dislodge him. A few more seconds of tickling, and uncontrollable giggles started to burst out of them.

“Still not ticklish?” Wyll asked, spidering his free hand up the opposite side of their neck to their ear. “Or have you gotten bored yet?” 

Tav was hardly aware of the unintelligible mess that escaped their mouth, bringing their knees up to their chest to curl up as tight as they could as if it would save them. Wyll laughed, his fingers slowing.

“Well?”

Tav puffed out their cheeks. “Fine. I’m a tad ticklish.”

Wyll smirked. “And not a bit bored.”

“No,” Tav huffed out, then quickly matched his expression. “Though I never guaranteed you free from revenge.

[positivelyholland]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write something with Sebastian Stan x Daughter!Reader where Sebastian brings her to work with him

Magic of Movies

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x teen!daughter!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: i suck at summaries but its just exactly what the request says lol

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bright Los Angeles sun is already high in the sky when your dad drives through the studio gates. The bustling world of a movie set awaits you, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness.

As you pull up to the lot, you notice a mix of trailers, equipment trucks, and crew members moving purposefully around. The air buzzes with energy and anticipation. Sebastian parks the car and turns to you, a warm smile on his face.

“You ready for this, kiddo?” he asks, his blue eyes twinkling with excitement.

You nod eagerly. “Definitely. This is so cool, Dad!”

He laughs and ruffles your hair. “I’m glad you think so. Just remember, it can get a bit chaotic, but it’s all part of the magic.”

You step out of the car and follow him, taking in everything around you. The set is like a miniature city, with people rushing to and fro, each person focused on their specific task. You see camera crews setting up equipment, costume designers fussing over outfits, and actors going over their lines. It’s a whirlwind of activity, and you’re fascinated by every detail.

Sebastian leads you through the maze of trailers and set pieces, greeting various crew members along the way. Everyone seems to know him, and it’s clear he’s well-liked. You feel a surge of pride knowing your dad is such an integral part of this world.

As you walk, he points out different aspects of the set, explaining their purpose. “That’s the director’s tent,” he says, gesturing to a large structure with monitors and equipment. “They’ll be watching everything from there, making sure the shots look good.”

You nod, trying to absorb as much information as possible.

As you reach a large soundstage, Sebastian leads you inside. The transition from the bright sunlight to the dimly lit interior is jarring, but your eyes quickly adjust. The space is filled with elaborate sets that transport you into another world. You can hardly believe this is where the magic happens.

“Wow,” you whisper, looking around in awe. “This is amazing.”

Sebastian grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “I knew you’d like it. Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people.”

“Hey, everyone,” Sebastian calls out, drawing their attention. “This is my daughter, Y/N. She’s visiting the set today.”

The actors turn to you, their expressions friendly and welcoming. You feel a little shy under their scrutiny, but you manage a smile and a wave.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” one of them says, extending a hand. “I’m Jack. Your dad’s told us a lot about you.”

You shake his hand, feeling a bit more at ease. “Nice to meet you too. It’s so cool to see everything up close.”

The others introduce themselves, and you find yourself relaxing more and more. They treat you like one of their own, making jokes and sharing stories about working with your dad. You can’t help but feel like you’re part of this big, extended family.

After a while, Sebastian takes you over to the director, a woman with a kind smile and an intense focus. She’s surrounded by monitors, watching the latest takes with a critical eye.

“Hey, Sarah,” Sebastian says, tapping her on the shoulder. “I want you to meet my daughter, Y/N."

Sarah turns and smiles warmly at you. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Your dad’s a great guy, and an amazing actor. We’re lucky to have him.”

You blush, feeling proud. “Thanks. It’s really cool to see everything you do here. I’ve always wondered what it’s like behind the scenes.”

Sarah nods, her expression thoughtful. “It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. There’s nothing quite like seeing a story come to life.”

You spend the next few hours exploring the set with your dad, meeting more people and learning about their roles. You even get to watch a few scenes being filmed, and you’re amazed by how much effort goes into each shot. Every detail, from the lighting to the sound, is meticulously crafted to create the perfect scene.

At one point, you find yourself alone with your dad, sitting in a quiet corner of the set. He looks at you with a smile, a mixture of pride and affection in his eyes.

“So, what do you think?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“I think it’s incredible,” you reply, your eyes wide with excitement. “I had no idea how much work goes into making a movie. It’s like a whole different world.”

Sebastian nods, his expression thoughtful. “It is. And it’s a world I’m really passionate about. I’m glad you got to see it firsthand.”

You smile, feeling a surge of warmth and connection with your dad. “Me too. Thanks for bringing me here, Dad. It means a lot.”

He reaches out and squeezes your hand. “Of course, kiddo. I’m glad you’re here. And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be part of this world too.”

You feel a spark of excitement at the thought. “Maybe. I think I’d like that.”

The day continues, and you find yourself immersed in the magic of filmmaking. You watch as your dad transforms into his character. You see the work between the cast and crew, the way they support each other and work together to create something amazing.

As the day comes to an end, you find yourself feeling a little sad to leave. You’ve fallen in love with the world of movies, and you’re already looking forward to your next visit.

On the drive home, you and your dad talk about the day’s events, sharing your favorite moments and memories. You feel a deep sense of gratitude for the opportunity to see your dad in his element, and for the chance to be part of something so special.

“Dad,” you say quietly, looking over at him. “I had an amazing time today. Thank you for bringing me.”

Sebastian smiles, his eyes filled with pride and love. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Y/N/N. You’re always welcome on set. And who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one behind the camera one day.”

You smile, feeling a spark of excitement at the thought. “Maybe. I think I’d like that.”

As you pull into the driveway, you feel a sense of contentment and joy. Today was a day you’ll never forget, a day that brought you closer to your dad and opened your eyes to a world of possibilities.

You know that whatever path you choose, you’ll have the love and support of your dad, and that’s all you need to face whatever comes your way.

As you head inside, you can’t help but smile. You know for a fact that with your dad by your side, you’re ready for anything.

[minghaoyoudoin]

Darling - Epilogue

pairing: mafia boss!hyunjin x mafia boss!fem!reader

genre: some residual angst (very little), smut, sooo much fluff

words: 4.3k

warnings: explicit sexual content, bad language, these two are so stinkin' cute and I'm mad about it (even though I wrote them lol)

a/n: I can't believe this series is finally finished! thank you to everyone who has stuck with it, this au will always have a very special place in my heart. I hope y'all enjoy reading, please leave a like and reblog if you do!

part one here!

part two here!

part three here!

part four here!

You stared blankly into the mirror, taking in your appearance. To anyone else, you were certain you looked the same. Your eyes the same shade, your hair the same length, the small scars decorating your body still ever-present. But you could have sworn there was a newfound glow to your skin–a careful hope in your expression that never would have been there before. And, of course, there was the ring now glittering on your left hand.

Despite what anyone said, there was a freedom that came with revenge. An emptiness, too, though you weren’t keen on evaluating that sadness just yet. Even if you wanted to, the man who had just entered the bathroom door behind you chased any thoughts of it from your mind.

A sly smile crept across Hyunjin’s face when he saw you. His eyes roved over your body, drinking in the bikini you wore through the mirror. He strode forward as if he couldn’t quite help himself, his hands ghosting across your skin while you leaned into his bare chest. He, too, was dressed for the beach, his hair already crusted with seawater and wavy around his face.

Fiji looked incredible on him. You had only arrived here a few hours ago and his skin was already flushed with sun, the salty sea air making his lean muscles glisten with sweat. You couldn’t get enough of him.

You leaned further into his chest, allowing your head to rest on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “We made it,” you said, your voice no more than a sigh. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, directly over the small scar where Mr. Chae’s blank had once fired.

He turned you in his arms so you faced him. You ran a fingernail over the long vertical scar in the center of his chest, the only physical evidence either of you had of that night. The scar had faded over the past four months, though it was still rosy and puckered compared to the skin around it. Hyunjin insisted it didn’t hurt, but you still found yourself being unconsciously gentle when you touched the area. He was completely healed now, aside from the mental wounds left on both of you.

You would never forgive Jihyo. It didn’t matter that she was gone–she had paid the blood debt she’d earned by murdering your father. Somehow, though, you felt that she had left this earth without atoning for attempting to murder Hyunjin, too. It was an itch you couldn’t quite scratch, but your therapist–one Felix had insisted you get–said the feeling would lessen with time. You weren’t so sure, but it didn’t hurt to hope.

Hyunjin seemed to notice the direction your thoughts had taken, because his gaze softened as he ran his thumb over your jaw. “I’m right here, Wife.”

You smiled despite yourself. “I can see that, Husband.”

“What do you say we blow off going back to the beach?” Hyunjin kneaded your ass in his hands, pulling your hips flush against his. Your skin flamed. “I think the guys will be fine building sand castles without us.”

You pretended to consider, pointedly ignoring the half-hard length you felt poking your lower stomach. That was how it always was, nowadays. Hyunjin had accepted your “no sex” challenge all those months ago, obviously convinced you would break before he did. You hadn’t. Even after the doctor had cleared him for sex, both of you had been too painfully stubborn to crack first. It made for a lot of cold showers and restless nights.

Now, the evening of your wedding day, the challenge had officially come to its end at a draw. Hyunjin had a half-crazed spark in his eye at all times, looking prepared to jump your bones at the drop of a hat. You were a little surprised he hadn’t bent you over the second the officiant declared you husband-and-wife.

At your silence, Hyunjin looked close to vibrating out of his skin. You shook your head coyly. “I want to go back to the beach. Lee Know and Seungmin will kill each other if we’re not there to mediate.” Your husband threw his head back and unabashedly groaned.

“Fine. I live to serve you, Viper Queen.” You swatted Hyunjin’s shoulder and he pretended to look wounded. He palmed himself through his swim shorts, grimacing. “I’m almost convinced you’re trying to finish what Jihyo started.”

“Not funny,” you griped.

Hyunjin threw his arm around you, grinning by way of answering, and led you out of the beach cabana the two of you had rented for your honeymoon. You greedily inhaled the warm air, scented with salt and brine, as you walked towards the water. Your residence was on the beach itself, much to your delight, and the second you stepped outside your toes squished between fine grains of white sand.

Just out of reach of the waves, indeed building sand castles, were Hyunjin’s Family. Your Family, you mentally corrected yourself. You couldn’t keep the grin off your face. Your heart felt full to bursting at the sight of them, the air filled with competitive shouts and screams when one of them sabotaged other castles.

You didn’t mind that Hyunjin’s inner circle had accompanied the two of you on your honeymoon. They were, after all, his personal protection detail, and yours now, too. Then there was the fact that they were your best friends, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of telling them that.

You and Hyunjin weren’t acknowledged as you settled on the sand a few meters away, you between his legs with your back pressed to his front. Jeongin, foregoing stealth altogether, sprinted to Seungmin’s sand castle and kicked a turret over with a screech of joy.

Seungmin’s head whipped in your direction, his eyes wide with rage. “Did you see that?” He leapt to his feet and Jeongin only had a moment to look panicked before he turned and ran. “I am going to KILL YOU!”

Your laughs mixed with Hyunjin’s, low and warm in your ear. It was the most wonderful sound you’d ever heard. You settled further into your husband, still not able to quite wrap your head around the word.

You’d made it. Both of you. Not only were you in Fiji, the place you had spoken of as an impossible dream for years, but you were married. No longer enemies, no longer king and queen of rival empires, but the royalty of one. Your fathers, for all their sins and flaws, rested easy in their graves.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hyunjin murmured in your ear. You shivered when his warm breath tickled your scalp, raising goosebumps.

“I’m thinking that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been,” you said without hesitation. “I’m thinking that our friends are idiots, but I love them.” You tilted your head to the side so your lips ghosted across his. “And I love you.”

He shuddered lightly. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing that.”

“GET A ROOM!”

You jumped but didn’t move away from Hyunjin at Changbin’s abrupt exclamation. You smiled into each other, certainly looking like a pair of lovesick idiots to everyone around you. It didn’t matter.

You were here, in Fiji, and for the first time in your life, you believed everything was going to be okay.

~~~

Seungmin, despite Jeongin’s attempt at sabotage, won the sand castle contest. He’d done a victory dive into the ocean, the rest of them following suit, while you cackled and took pictures. You stayed at the beach until dusk, watching the sunset with your Family and eating soggy sandwiches and fresh fruit until you were full to bursting.

The rest of the boys waved goodbye and offered parting hoots and suggestive hand movements when you separated for the night. They were staying in the cabana attached to yours, all seven of them crammed into the three bedroom house for the next two weeks. The only one who didn’t look elated about it was Lee Know.

You released a nervous breath when Hyunjin closed the glass sliding door behind you, blocking out his friends’ antics. You just stared at one another for a long moment, basking in the wonder of the moment.

“Convincing me to marry you wasn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me, was it?” You joked tightly. You had no idea why you were so nervous–it’s not like you hadn’t done this countless times with him before.

Hyunjin smiled, as always seeing your humor for what it was, and jokingly rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, you’ve caught me. I still hate you and I’m going to kill you while I’m inside you.”

Your mouth dried slightly at his words but you snorted. “You’d have to catch me first.”

Both of you froze. You hadn’t intended to challenge him. You immediately caught your misstep when Hyunjin’s eyes darkened, a slow smile spreading across his face. Your core tightened, both with nerves and excitement as he ran his tongue over his full bottom lip.

“Run.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You turned and bolted, an exhilarated giggle breaking from your chest when you heard Hyunjin’s footfalls pursuing you. You sprinted around the corner into the hall, nearly knocking a painting off the wall with your shoulder. Hyunjin was giggling too, the sound sweeter than any song you’d ever heard.

You catapulted into the bedroom and, though ending up in that location wasn’t completely intentional, Hyunjin snorted knowingly anyway. You scrambled over the massive bed until you were on its opposite side, bracing your hands on the mattress as you and Hyunjin stared at one another. You were both panting and out of breath from the chase, wide smiles of equal intensity gracing both of your faces.

You feinted to the side as if you’d try to run around the foot of the bed, taking advantage of Hyunjin’s lunge to climb across the mattress again. Unfortunately, despite your flawless battle tactic, Hyunjin didn’t fall for it. He caught you around the waist as soon as you were within reach, effortlessly pulling you down with him until you were flat on the covers, his body half-blanketing yours.

He gazed down at you, grinning and as out of breath as you were. Your breaths calmed, though your smile didn’t fade as you gently trailed your fingertips across Hyunjin’s cheekbone. His skin was smooth and warm, a pretty blush staining his cheeks.

By the time he kissed you, your nerves had quieted. You kissed him back at a languid pace, neither of you battling for dominance or fucking the other’s mouth like you usually did. This kiss was sweet and loving, a promise for a thousand more kisses like it over the decades to come. For once, the thought of spending the rest of your life with Hyunjin didn’t terrify you the way it once did.

Your skin heated against his, your peaked nipples scraping against the material of your swimsuit. You whined quietly when Hyunjin palmed your breast, simultaneously rolling his hips against your core. Your fingers dug into his ribcage then drifted down to his hips, urging him to increase the pace.

After nearly six months of celibacy, you thought you would go insane with your need for him. Hyunjin seemed to share the sentiment, because he loosed an unrestrained moan into your mouth when your hand snaked between you to palm his clothed length. He was already fully hard, an observation which sparked smug pleasure in your chest.

“Not going to run away this time?” He teased against your lips. His tone was strained, shaking with his need to feel you squeezing around his cock. If he wasn’t in your mouth or your pussy in the next five minutes his brain was going to melt out of his ears.

You just moaned instead of verbalizing a response, mostly because the sane part of your brain had already clocked out for the evening. You were going mad with need.

You rolled so you straddled him, pleased by the adoring look on his face as he gazed up at you. Your fingers found the tie at the back of your bikini top, taking your sweet time pulling it loose. Hyunjin growled low in his throat, an obvious command to hurry the hell up. You smiled to yourself as your top fell from you, baring your breasts to him. He wasted no time sitting up so he could suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You both groaned in unison, you at the sensation and he at the taste of your skin.

You ground your hips in slow circles on his lap while he doted on your breasts, switching between them when he felt compelled to do so. He thrusted up against your heat, eliciting moans from your chest. You were already cresting dangerously close to your orgasm and he hadn’t truly done anything yet.

You gently pushed him into a lying position by his shoulders and moved down his body, enjoying the way his eyes focused hard on your every movement. His pupils were blown so wide with lust that only a thin sliver of brown remained. You pressed openmouthed kisses to the skin between his navel and waistband, his knees, the inside of his thighs–you left a love bite anywhere your lips made contact.

He lifted his hips off the bed so you could slide his swimsuit down his legs and his hard cock sprang free, his arousal already gathering at the tip in thick beads. Your inner thighs clenched together, slick enough that you doubted he’d need to prep you at all before he fucked you. Just the thought of the stretch made you dizzy. You were somewhat surprised the two of you had made it this long without exploding.

You experimentally swirled the tip of your tongue across his head. Hyunjin’s hips jerked at once and he released a vulgar moan. He looked so pretty with his eyes screwed shut, his face and chest flushed, that you couldn’t help but moan lightly yourself. You wasted no more time before you wrapped your lips around his cock and hollowed your cheeks.

His fingers tangled in your hair, and you weren’t sure whether he was trying to make you go faster or stop you as you bobbed your head on him. Hyunjin moaned senselessly, his balls already spasming in your hand every few seconds. Each sound he made fueled you to go faster, harder, so intent on making him cum that you could think of nothing else. You willed your throat to relax and ignored your gag reflex with a vengeance when his cock slipped in deeper.

Yet, for old times sake, you released him just as his orgasm threatened to break. Hyunjin didn’t seem surprised, but it didn’t stop him from loosing a frustrated groan when your mouth rose off his cock with a lewd pop. You smiled lazily up at him as he glared down at you, his chest heaving. Even if you didn���t know him so well, you would have known he was close by the tremor in his limbs alone.

You pressed a wet kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Color, Mr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin yanked you onto the bed with enough force that you yelped. You were beneath him in less than a second, his body half-blanketing yours. He shoved your bikini bottoms down your legs and split you with two of his fingers, sinking inside you to his knuckles. You clenched around him instantly, so ready for him that you saw stars the second his fingertips brushed against your g-spot.

He let out a shuddering breath into the shell of your ear at the feeling of you around his fingers. “Green, Mrs. Hwang. And you?” He thrusted his hand for emphasis, his thumb pressing gently on your throbbing clit. You captured his mouth with your own in answer. He didn’t reprimand you for not answering verbally–he was too far gone with desire to bother. Hyunjin just moaned into your mouth at your eagerness, his tongue exploring yours with the hunger of a man starved.

His fingers increased their pace, pounding into you hard enough that all you could do was yelp. Your leg hooked over his, your hand clasped hard around the back of his neck for stability. He watched your face through heavy-lidded eyes, a muscle in his jaw feathering each time you reacted to his movements.

You were lost in sensations. At some point you stopped kissing him, instead pulling him until his forehead pressed against yours. Your lips still touched as you panted into one another’s mouths, catapulting so quickly towards your orgasm that you could barely open your eyes.

“Gonna cum?” His taunting question was weakened by his breathlessness. He was completely enamored by you, by every change in your expression and sound that came from your pretty lips.

“Yes yes yes, please don’t stop–” you chanted. He obeyed, his hand thrusting into your center at a pace that had your knees shaking. His thumb drew tight circles over your clit, knowing exactly the way you needed without having to tell him. Hyunjin was so focused on your pleasure that he didn’t think to edge you as you had him. Instead, he moaned with you as your high crested over you in a merciless wave.

You clenched hard around his fingers, your arousal coating his hand. He didn’t slow his movements, rather attempting to work you through your orgasm as long as he possibly could. After months without this, without him, your body felt like it was consumed by fireworks. He whispered rough praises into your ear as you came down, his hand at last slowing in time with the fluttering of your walls.

The second you were able to form a coherent thought you crushed your mouth against his. Even after the orgasm he had just gifted you, you were nowhere near done. He made a surprised noise into your mouth as you rolled, stopping when you were straddled across his hips.

He traced a gentle finger across the curve of your breast at the same moment he licked the fingers on his other hand clean of your arousal. He held your gaze until every last drop of you was gone. You shuddered, certain your face was dark with lust by the gleam of anticipation bright in Hyunjin’s eyes.

You ground your hips in hard, slow circles over Hyunjin’s cock. Between his wetness and yours, his length slid easily through your folds. You groaned in unison as you rocked back and forth, his tip barely catching in your entrance on each pass. When at last you couldn’t take it anymore, you lifted so you could fit his head into you.

He gripped your hips with bruising force, holding you in place above him. “I’m not going to last long,” he admitted shyly, his voice shaky. You offered him a predatory smile, allowing your intentions to shine on your face.

You slammed down onto him before he could say anything else. Hyunjin’s head kicked back into the mattress, releasing a whine that had your walls clenching again. You stilled, your muscles locking from the shock of taking all of his impressive length so quickly. Neither of you could manage to speak, silently attempting to adjust to the fit without cumming too soon.

When you’d reached your limit, you said through clenched teeth, “Color?”

“Just–” Hyunjin gasped, his eyes closed “–give me a moment.” If you so much as breathed wrong he was going to cum. Somehow, over these months, he’d managed to forget how incredible your tight warmth felt around him.

After what could have been seconds or minutes, Hyunjin exhaled deeply. “Green, baby. Do your worst.”

Thank god.

You lifted until just the tip of his cock was inside you and slammed back down, the stretch making both of you gasp. It didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated, thankfully, and that realization was the only permission you needed to let go. You rolled your hips on him faster, harder, tight whimpers escaping your throat with every stroke. You trailed your hand over the scar on Hyunjin’s chest, pleased at the goosebumps that rose on his skin from the contact.

Hyunjin couldn’t seem to get a grip on himself. He jerked and moaned beneath you, seeming torn between closing his eyes and watching your breasts bounce above him. He sat up abruptly, his hands holding your ass while his mouth found your nipple. He sucked hard, as if to ground himself to reality, and you tugged harshly at the roots of his hair.

He effortlessly flipped you over without removing himself from you. The pace he began was ruthless, far swifter than the one you had set a moment ago. You raised your knees until they were nearly pressed against your chest, allowing him deeper between your walls. Hyunjin’s head fell into the junction between your neck and shoulder, and you groaned when you felt his teeth lightly clamp down onto your skin.

His hips began to stutter, their rhythm losing their usual grace. You grinned at the ceiling, your nails digging harshly into Hyunjin’s shoulders. “That’s it, baby,” you breathed, your impending orgasm taking your breath away. You chased it with lethal focus, your need to cum shuddering through your entire body. “Cum, pretty boy.”

Hyunjin groaned heavily into your hair, raising chills on your scalp. His body locked and he froze, unable to continue thrusting as his high raged through him. The sensation of his cock pulsing inside you pushed you over the edge. You came together, each twitch and pulse only drawing it out longer. He began to lightly thrust again, using your heat to draw every last drop of cum from him.

You tried and failed to catch your breath, tracing the lean muscles in his back as he gradually relaxed on top of you. Hyunjin’s weight was comfortable, his face still hidden in the crook of your neck.

You winced when he removed his softening cock from you, predictably mourning the sensation of being full the second it was gone. Hyunjin gazed down at you with nothing short of adoration on his beautiful face, his cheeks reddened and hair sex-crazed. You smiled softly, allowing your fingertip to trace the shape of his jaw.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Hyunjin kissed you gently, reverently, as he drew you into a sitting position. “And I you.”

He left the bed to retrieve a warm washcloth and some water. His process of cleaning you up was just as sensual as his foreplay, a fact which had you aching for him again far too soon. You shared the water, giggling like children each time you made eye contact.

Hyunjin sighed contentedly as he curled around you, pulling you snugly against his warm chest. You allowed your eyes to fall closed beneath the weight of him, pleased at your ability to relax in his presence.

“We just had sex in Fiji,” you giggled. It still seemed so surreal to you. What you had thought to be your life’s mission was over, and you had come out the other side unscathed and with a husband, of all things. All that was left in front of you were possibilities.

Hyunjin chuckled in your ear. “And we will again.” He pinched your ass for emphasis, eliciting a small squeak from you.

It seemed impossible that the two of you had survived so much in such a short amount of time. You were sure that there would be more dangers to come, given the sort of life the two of you led, but the thought of them didn’t scare you as they once had. Whatever life threw at you, you no longer had to face it alone.

Hyunjin’s Family had a saying, one that meant the Hwang legacy would survive even after the world turned to ash around them. You were the Viper Queen, one of the last surviving members of your bloodline, and you were fiercely loved by a man who stroked the embers in your soul until they turned to flame.

Yeah. You were going to be just fine.

Hyunjin’s lips ghosted across your temple like his thoughts were in line with yours. You turned your head so you could look at him, all too aware your eyes were glistening. His gaze softened as he returned your small smile.

“I’m very glad you’re not dead,” you said quietly. Hyunjin had said something similar once, after you survived your encounter with Mr. Chae. Only now could you understand the overwhelming relief he must have felt back then when you lived.

“So am I. You’re terrifying when I’m not here to check you.” His tone was teasing, though he certainly wasn’t wrong. You were a force to be reckoned with on your best days.

You laughed. Randomly, you remembered that your bedroom bordered the cabana your friends stayed in next door. Hyunjin followed your gaze to the wall and he grinned.

“Think they heard us?” He joked, pulling your body further into him. You both jumped in surprise at the two firm knocks that sounded on the other side of the wall. There were several long moments of shocked silence.

You both dissolved into giggles. They had most definitely heard. Embarrassment surged through you in a rush, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You could only imagine how red Felix’s face was right now.

It didn’t matter. You were happy, and you had earned it. Through heartache and pain and struggle, you had battled your way to this moment. Your giggles finally subsided and you stared at Hyunjin, basking in the way he gazed back at you. He was yours, as you were his, and no one in the world could take that away.

“Until the ashes,” you murmured. Hyunjin looked near-glowing with happiness. He pressed another fierce kiss to your brow.

“Until the ashes, Mrs. Hwang.”

they finally got their happy ending 🥹 thank you again for your support during this series, please leave a like and reblog if you enjoyed reading!

masterlist here :)

© minghaoyoudoin 2022 - all rights reserved. reposts/translations not allowed. I do not assume to know the personal lives of the idol(s) depicted in this fic, this is for entertainment purposes only!

taglist: @midnightchanis, @aerastus, @a-person-with-void, @xhazmania, @coquette-amor, @lenfilms, @cyder-puff, @mongnara-deactivated20220818, I'm sorry to those of you it wouldn't allow me to tag!

[universe-prime]

At long last it's finally DONE😩

For anyone who's been following my old Fugitoid doodles, you'd probably notice that the design has been quite inconsistent between each drawing, so I finally made myself solidify just HOW I wanted my Rise iteration to look. It's kinda funny tbh because I originally started this entire journey thinking "man I like Fugitoid, it's a shame that it's only used as a plot device or exposition machine" to essentially building up an entire new backstory and lore as if this were my own child LOL

Anyway, here are some of my doodle notes and concepts for this lad, as well as other notes to expand even more!!

○ this version of Fugitoid doesn't possess any weapons, except for the tazer-like attachment that their hand can turn into. This is mostly for self-defense and as a last ditch effort because(for obvious reasons) they aren't physically very strong

○ speaking of self-defense, although they don't/can't fight, the Fugitoid is INCREDIBLY bendy and agile to the point that you gotta question if there's even any solid mechanisms in there at all. They can extend and shorten their limbs to an unknown length, all in an effort to be as hard to grab or hit as possible

○ along with these mechanisms, there are so many other attachments and configurations that the Professor is capable of!! What I've drawn is merely a fraction of what they can do, and the stuff I've thought of is about 80% practical and 20% just comedic effect. For instance, the built in skates and extending eye-microscope is totally a daily use thing, but I imagine if it was on the show, there would be gags where a button would be pressed and it'd have a toaster oven in its chest or a full knitting set stored away. My reasoning is mostly that A) the Fugitoid has had a lot of time with this body and wants to be prepared for any situation and B) I just think it's funny°☆

○ on the topic of being in this body, this Fugitoid is WAY older than they might seem. I can't accurately say if they're older than other iterations, simply because I'm not sure if an exact age or time was ever given for those bots, but I can say that the Professor has been dealing with this for many, many, many years. Too many to even count on one hand. It can't stay in one place for long or else it'd risk being found out, but its travels span across many different plants across many different galaxies, all with their own sense of time and distance. Not to mention the time dilation that goes on in travel like that, but needless to say...this bot is incredibly old LOL

○ for those that are curious, "my" Professor goes by any pronouns! They/he/she/it, it doesn't really care at this point. Maybe in its early life it did, but by now, there's bigger things to worry about

○ for any of those also wondering about how this Fugitoid looked before this whole...robot body situation well..👀 I plan on making a separate post for that, but for now just know that they won't look humanoid in the slightest. It always irked me a little seeing the Professor "alive" and he's just...a human or some pointy-eared guy because!! Come on!!! This is an alien! Let it look freaky!!! Where is the spice!! The flavor!?

○ Lastly(and this is mostly just notes on the design) but I added more teal/green to the look cause I liked the color and thought it was such a shame that the only use of it on the Fugitoid was in the face. I just thought it'd be nice to use it more to kinda break up the monotonous white and grey of their usual body

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

Quitting Weed Day 9 Status Report 📝

to start off , i'll say, i do indeed feel like Ass ! this post might get a tad emo. regretting my life choices to smoke for as long as i have 😕 But then again, maybe that's harsh, cus i was just doing the best i could with the circumstances i been dealt in the past.

i couldnt just quit cold turkey cus every time i try that its way too intense and i alwaus end up going back. So the past 9 days i've been hitting my (extremely weak) weed cart a couple times a night, only after 9pm, just to help me sleep. Before that i was smoking probly like. 5-8 bowls a day, followed by hitting the weed pen RELENTLESSLY all night until i passed out. So its still been a huge change lol. From tonight onwards tho i'm done w the weed pen and ready to try 0 thc 🙏

kind friend @palmceader sent me a CBD tincture made for sleep (thanku again 🥹) which im sure has a TINY percentage of thc, but nothing even close to how much im used to.

i cant even imagine how fried my dopamine receptors are, cus honestly, i feel Fucked. spaced out is an understatement. i cant focus on anything and its kinda driving me insane. it feels impossible to read or draw or do any of my hobbies.. my body feels heavy and depressed. No motivation. its kinda the opposite of what i was expecting. i can barely keep my eyes open during the day..

on a brighter note i havent been struggling too much with sleep or appetite. i think sleepy time tea + the tincture + magnesium is rly helping. my dreams recall is already improving so much, and the times i have nightmares arent as bad as its been previous times i tried to quit. i havent rly struggled with cravings at all either, which used to be a huge obstacle for me ! im just so over it now. i was starting to get chest pains and coughing a lot, which was taking any joy out of the act of smoking for me.

morbid to say but I often think of my father and how his rampant addictions directly lead him to such a painful and horrific early death. its a rare perspective of imagery so disturbing , i know i can't go on in such a manner. Like, what a fucking fool i would be! For others i can understand it but for me, no. it has haunted me for a long time to know i'm letting myself go down that path, even with all my insistent self-justification that his death is what brought me to this in the first place. deep down ive been knowing i need to break the cycle like i have the choice and the power, im still alive im still here ..

Sorry if thats depressing to bring up! i do feel depressed tho. i cant use weed to hide from my pain anymore.. i have to rewire my whole ass method of coping with stress at age 30. i know i can do it but its gonnnna be a long winded process full of ups n downs. Running away is no longer an option and thats a lot to face! a lot of old wounds i never rly dealt with, cus i kept my head in the 💨clouds💨 for so long.

i promise not to give up this time tho no matter how hard it gets 🙏 i want to set a good example too like indunno a lot of younger ppl follow me now i dont wanna feed into narratives that may influence them in bad directions. i have a responsible heart. i rly dont think weed is cool i havent since i was like 16. i was just dependent on it so i tried to romanticisze its role in my life. its silly.

im kinda laughing now cus im like god, i initially felt like the reason im quitting is so i can be more active in my dream world, but the more i think about it the more i notice MANY many more reasons to quit that go way deeper.

All in all the reason im talking about it is to maybe inspire other ppl who have been on the verge of quitting but too afraid to rly take the plunge-- Ur not alone, ur not weak for being addicted, if u need to reach out to me u are more than welcome.

Ppl rly downplay weed addiction cus the withdrawals arent life threatening like other substances, but that doesnt mean its a walk in the park. Most ppl i know who are stoners have never been able to quit for similar reasons as me. It takes a major psychological hold over u. if u ever need to vent about it or need advice, im here!

if u read all of this, pls dont worry abt me xD Even if it feels miserable rn i have faith things will improve, the heaviness and brainfog will lift, the emotions will be purged, i am excited for my future. One day at a time....Dont giving up 🙏

Signed, PMD9