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gojonanami · 15 hours

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❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or of you.

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

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

Not yet at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even when it was used against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to give him.

And he lets the water overtake him.

~~~

“You forgot your lunch,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were.

Right?

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

It was enough, for now.

~~~

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

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

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

But only if you let it.

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

But now it couldn’t wait.

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

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

But it doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

And so he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—For now at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another message comes through.

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean it was expected?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knit your brow together, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Professor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But when would it be?

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have agreed to this.

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

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

Literally.

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

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

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

You purse your lips — Satoru?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not just—“

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

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

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

There was something wrong with him.

But there always was — when it came to you.

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

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

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

But he couldn’t.

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

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, come in,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he never would again.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

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

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

For the rest of his days.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to think about other possibilities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, but he could ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it wasn’t him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you soon, baby.”

For now.

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

Of course.

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

And still so hard.

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

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

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

No, you didn’t need to see that.

But you didn’t know why.

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

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

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

But would you ever be done with him?

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

Apparently you would never be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,”

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you say yes if it was Geto asking?

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

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

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

He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it.

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

Double fuck.

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

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

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

And that wasn’t the right question to ask.

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

His hand never leaves yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It wasn’t that.

It wasn’t. Not if you let it be.

“I’m sorry,”

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

There was only silence.

Until you spoke first.

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you couldn’t stoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you were ready to go.

You barely remembered what you said.

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

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

Your eyes slide to him again — no one else.

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

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

So you begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he breaks it first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs.

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

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

But he knew the words.

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

And he would. He did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did it hurt so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuta, what? What’s—“

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

You don’t have words.

No, you have one word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yuta—“

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

“That’s not—“

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

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

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

“Of course—“

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

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

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

“Love doesn’t always have to—“

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

“I know. I love you too.”

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

Not for either of you.

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

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

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

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

“You’re still mine too.”

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

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

You were still in love with Suguru.

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, “Professor Yaga—“

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

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

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

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

Not that he was craving company.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullied into it was more like it,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

And he can’t hold back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, why did that thought also hurt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always, for you.”

Yuta knew it was for the best.

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

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

It was for the best.

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

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

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

His future.

A few months later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he just needed to know yours.

END.

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

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

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

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fanfiction #suguru geto fanfiction #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru x reader

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cutielando · 3 days

Text

conflict of interest ~ lando norris

request: i recently saw a lando fanfic where the reader was a famous football player’s daughter and she was besties with maguis ex bf (joao another football player) but the story line was that she’d gone to a gp lando grew an interest in her but she rejected/dissed him because of the rumors of him and magui and i was wondering is you could do something like that!

warnings: a little hate towards magui (i have nothing against her and her relationship with lando in any way !!!! but it was necessary for the story to be spicier), jerk!joao (for like a split second)

a/n: part 2?👀👀👀

my masterlist

��♡♡♡♡

You didn’t know what you were expecting when you got invited to attend a Formula 1 race weekend.

You knew nothing about the sport or how it worked, the only thing discussed in your household being football and your father’s career. Day in and day out, the only thing that surrounded you was football.

Even though your father had always said that he didn’t want to pressure you into liking or practicing football, he secretly wanted you to follow in his footsteps.

Imagine his internal disappointment he felt when you told him you wanted to become a model. He, of course, supported you and helped you in every way that he could have ever thought of, instead shifting his entire focus regarding football on your best friend, João.

You and João have known each other ever since you were little children, growing up in the same neighborhood and given that he had always looked up to your father and his career. Growing up, whenever you would hang out with João at your house, him and your father never missed out on the opportunity for some early-on training and strategy talks.

That didn’t stop even when João actually became a football player. Your father and him sometimes talked more than you guys did, if you were being honest.

But you understood the shared passion that made their connection so deep.

Even with your modeling, you were keen on following your best friend’s games, always finding time and watching it wherever you were around the world. But that was not the only sport that you followed.

Formula 1 had become your guilty pleasure ever since you did a photoshoot with Charles Leclerc for a jewelry brand in Monaco. You became very good friends with him and his girlfriend, Alexandra, whom you talked to regularly.

To nobody’s surprise, a couple of weeks after the photoshoot was published, you received a formal invitation from Ferrari to the race weekend at Silverstone. The most exciting thing in your life, by far, was getting the opportunity to experience the true feeling of the race weekend from the garages.

Figuring you shouldn’t go alone, you took João with you.

“Why do you want me to come, again?” he asked while on the place, not particularly excited to attend an event in which he didn’t really have interest in or knowledge of.

“Because you love me and I didn’t want to go to the UK by myself” you had replied, which was enough for the footballer.

After you had checked into the hotel and made your way to the track for the qualifying session of the weekend, you were amazed by the multitude of people screaming all around the paddock and reporters taking dozens of pictures of you and João.

An interviewer motioned you over for a quick interview, prompting you to halt your walk towards the garage.

“Y/N, such a nice surprise seeing you here. Not really the kind of sport we’re used to seeing you attend, is it?” the woman asked, making you smile and laugh

“I suppose not, haha. I’ve been a huge F1 fan for a while now but my schedule has made it impossible for me to attend an actual race up until now” you explained, making the woman nod.

“And who are you the guest of today?” she continued.

“Ferrari. I did a photoshoot with Charles in Monaco a couple of weeks back and we because friends, so I’m guessing he talked the Ferrari team into inviting little old me to Silverstone”

“We saw you came with João Felix, is he your partner? What can you tell us?”

You laughed, hearing João snort from behind you.

“No, far from it. We’re best friends, we’ve known each other since we were little kids, but there is nothing else going on between us”

You answered a couple more questions before deciding it was getting late and you would miss qualifying if you spent anymore time with the woman.

João and you made small talk as you walked towards the garage, seeing Charles talking to a guy in papaya.

“Hi Charles” you greeted him once you were within earshot, the Monégasque immediately hugging you and João.

“Y/N, João, I’m so glad you could make it. This is Lando, he drives for McLaren. Lando, this is Y/N, a model and very good friend and João Felix” Charles introduced you, making you smile at the curly haired man.

Making eye contact with Lando had been one of the most intense feeling you had experienced in a long time. The intensity of his gaze and the way his eyes moved over your body had your senses tingling.

“It’s very nice to meet you” he said, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

You almost blushed, but a scoff from your right made you snap out of your happy bubble. João was glaring daggers into Lando’s head, which made you furrow your eyebrows as you looked at him.

He shook his head and mouthed later, making you nod.

“Well, we have to get in the cars, but I hope you have a great time” Charles said, saluting you two before departing with Lando, who smiled and winked at you as he walked back to his garage.

“No” João demanded once he saw the way your eyes were following Lando as he disappeared into his garage, giving you one last look before he was out of sight.

“I didn’t do anything” you defended yourself, scoffing once you saw the distaste with which João was looking at you. “What the hell is your problem? You don’t even know the guy and you’re acting like he killed someone”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have to know what he’s like to know that he’s an idiot. Do you not read the news?” he asked, at which you shook your head.

You didn’t really have the time nor the desire to read tabloids, knowing what kind of articles they tend to write.

“You know I don’t believe in anything the media writes” you explained, rolling your eyes.

“Well, I believe what videos say. And he’s been seen with Magui” your eyes widened at the mention of his ex-girlfriend.

The mere thought of Magui being in a relationship with anyone made you sick to your stomach, especially after what happened with João.

“Oh” was all you could say, and the conversation ended there.

You couldn’t lie and say that the new information didn’t disappoint you. Wanting to see it with your own eyes, you decided to look it up on the internet and, fair enough, there were videos and pictures of Lando and Magui driving around Monaco.

While driving around didn’t really mean anything, you felt it like a punch to your gut. Every single time you would become slightly interested in someone, something had to come in between.

Shaking the thoughts from your head and deciding you would not speak to Lando for the remainder of the weekend, you enjoyed qualifying to the most, the feeling of watching firsthand what was happening was unlike any football game you had ever attended.

It was something special.

After you had arrived back at the hotel and were left alone once João decided to hit the city, you decided on having a quiet night in with some room service and a movie. Settling into the comfy bed, you had barely put on the movie when you heard your phone go off.

Looking at the notification, your heart starts racing when you see it was a text from Lando.

lando

hi there

is this y/n?

y/n

yes?

how did you get my number?

lando

charles gave it to me😅

y/n

hahhaa lol

did you need something?

lando

yes, actually

i think we both felt something earlier today

when we were introduced

and i was wondering if you wanted to go out?

y/n

ummm

hahaha

i don't think that's a good idea

lando

why not?

did i misread the situation completely?

i tend to do that sometimes

y/n

you didn't misread anything

i felt something as well

but i don't think your girlfriend would agree to you asking me out

or even talking to me right now

lando

girlfriend?

i don't know who you're talking about, i'm not dating anyone

y/n

lando

let's not pretend people don't follow the news

you've found magui, and i wish you both happiness if you're together, but given what happened with her and joao, who's my best friend, i don't even think we should be speaking right now

lando

woah, woah, woah

slow your horses

i don't know what news you've been reading

but i'm not dating magui

she's simply a friend, we have the same friend group but that's it

i know about the situation with joao and i would never associate myself with someone like that

does joao think i'm with her?

y/n

yeah

he's the one who told me to be careful

cause he saw the photos and video and shit

lando

i can assure you

i'm not dating her and i don't have the intention to date her

y/n

i don't know

lando

please, just think about it for some time

you don't have to give me an answer right now

y/n

okay

i'll think about it and let you know

lando

thank you, thank you, thank you

Throwing your phone on the bed as far away as possible, you let your mind wonder. Was Lando telling the truth? Was he really not dating Magui?

João had seemed so sure that they were together, so sure that she had just moved on to the next celeb and sure that Lando had just fallen for it. That’s why he had been so hostile towards him and so against you even talking to him.

But you couldn’t deny the butterflies that you felt when you talked to him just now, how excited the mere thought of being with made you. You couldn’t ignore it, and frankly, you didn’t want to ignore the feeling.

You hadn’t realized how long you had been stuck in your own thoughts, not until you heard the hotel room door open and João stepped into the room.

“What were you thinking about? You were lost in thought” he said, shrugging off his jacket and falling backwards on the bed beside you.

“You’re gonna hate me if I tell you” you said, playing with your fingers.

He raised his head at that, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Hate you? I could never hate you, no matter what you would do”

You sighed, knowing he was right. There was no way he would ever hate you, he physically couldn’t think badly of you.

But this would test that idea pretty well.

“I talked to Lando tonight” you said, not even looking at him but knowing how he was glaring at you.

“I told you to stay away from him and her” the venom dripping from his tone at the thought of Lando and Magui didn’t go unnoticed.

“Look, I know what she did to you was unforgivable, and I hate her for how much she hurt you. You know that. But I talked to Lando, and they’re not dating. She’s just a friend he has in common with the people close to him, he would never date her because of what she did to you” you explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

João sighed, shaking his head. He turned to look at you, seeing the look on your face; a look he knew all too well.

He knew he had no right telling you who you should or shouldn’t talk to. He didn’t like it when you did it to him, he had no right doing it to you. But he had just been so angry at Magui for what he had done to him, time and time again after he had forgiven her, and he lost it when he saw the man in front of him.

However, looking at you in that moment, he knew you needed this. And he didn’t want to be the one depriving you of that.

“Okay” was the only thing he said, making your head shoot up and your eyes widen.

“Okay? What does that mean, okay?” you asked cautiously.

“If you want to go out with him, you can go out with him. I have nothing against it” he said, which prompted you to squeal and jump on him to hug him, chanting thank yous in his ear. “But, if he does anything to hurt you, I’m not afraid to fight him” it made you laugh.

Without wasting a single moment, you picked up your phone again and sent Lando a message, smiling giddily.

so, about that date?

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keerysfreckles · 2 days

Text

coming of age — MV1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!driver!reader

summary: in which a silly bet between the two redbull drivers becomes a reality when y/n wins the first race of the 2024 season.

warnings: not proofread, sorry for spelling mistakes!!

a/n: LET ME COOK ‼️‼️

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

ever since y/n l/n joined f1 in 2019, joining her best friends, lando norris, alex albon and george russell, her life flipped upside down.

she's been in four teams since her debut. she started in mclaren with lando in 2019, then got told the news carlos sainz would be taking her seat in 2020.

she then got moved to williams, which proved she deserved to be in a better car. she excelled as best she could with what she was given, securing the 10th spot in the drivers championship. but she wanted more.

so for the next two years y/n joined ferrari, alongside one of her formula one idols, charles leclerc. both ferrari drivers proved they earned their spots every year, until y/n got into a crash during an australian free practice. to put it lightly, she was forced to use crutches for the rest of the 2022 season. therefore at the end of 2022, she was told carlos would replace her for the upcoming years.

january 2023 rolls around, and y/n still didn't have a seat. however, a certain redbull driver had his eyes on her ever since she joined, watching as she made her way up the fornula one ladder. climbing each step in order to get to the podium, but not a win. the driver believed if she worked at redbull, she'd get that long awaited win.

so max verstappen had a plan. he spent the whole week trying his best to convince christian horner to take y/n in for the 2023 season. they needed a second driver anyway, and needed to announce it as soon as possible.

after days of constantly bothering the team principal, it was finally announced to the world that y/n would be joining redbull under a multi-year contract.

to say y/n excelled in redbull the past year would be an understatement. y/n was proudly on the podium nineteen out of the twenty-three races held. so close to the win, but always settling for second and third place.

y/n was done settling. she knew 2024 was going to be her year, and the pre season training was already going more than smoothly. both her and max were the fastest on track every day, with merely seconds between them.

from her first day in the redbull car, y/n and max had a bet going on; if y/n could win whatever race they were participating in that weekend, she'd have to kiss max. it started out as a small joke, but y/n couldn't help but wonder what max's lips would feel like on hers. would it be a quick kiss? or something more? all questions that wouldn't be answered until she won, and she was trying to do that here in bahrain.

it was a redbull front row, making the start of the race easy for both drivers. both pit stops went by smoothly, and their strategies were working wonders.

with only five laps to go, her race engineer spoke into her ear pieces.

"pace is still good, max is in front with 1.3 second gap," john spoke calmly, watching through the screens from the pit wall.

y/n replies shortly, before focusing back on the task at hand. every single race she's wanted to beat max, but this time felt much more real. maybe there was more adrenaline from the crowd, or maybe the car was going faster this year. whatever it was, she wouldn't know.

"gap .9 now, drs is enabled."

y/n pressed a button in response, turning on her drs as she passed down the straight. the muffled screams from the outside world seemed to get louder and louder as she got closer to the rear of max's car.

if she blinked, she would've missed the moment she finally over took her teammate. for a second, even she was confused.

"did we just pass max?" she asked john, her voice shaking slightly.

john chuckles into the microphone, "you did my dear. only two laps to go now, keep the pace."

y/n did as instructed. the world around her went quiet again as she saw the checkered flag, only a few feet away from her.

"y/n l/n wins her very first formula one grand prix! she wins in bahrain, making it a redbull 1-2 this evening!"

y/n instantly screams into her helmet, hearing the laughs and shouts from the pit wall and redbull crew coming out of the garage.

she slowed down for a cool down lap, waving and pumping her fist as she drove by the grand stands. max drove besider her now, giving her a thumbs up. he could practically hear the girls laughter and cheers from his own car.

y/n wasn't sure when the tears started to flow, but she kept wiping her face after taking her helmet off. as soon as she weighed in, she was running to the redbull crew waiting for her behind the barricades.

she yelled before being lifted into the air by the sea of navy blue. y/n was on cloud nine as she was being set back down onto the ground.

christian was waiting just outside the barricade, with his arms wide open.

"you stinker! i knew this day would come," he congratulates the girl, enveloping her in a warm hug.

the smile never leaves her face as the drivers come to congratulate her. max gives her a hug first, and y/n can't tell if he kissed her temple, or if she was just imagining it with all the adrenaline coursing through her.

lando was next, considering he got third, he was already waiting for her once he parked his car. he spun her off the ground, when the other 2019 rookies came running up to the pair.

a cameraman patted lando on the shoulder, gesturing for them to lift y/n up. he complied, as the three boys somehow lifted y/n onto their shoulders, posing as the shutters of the camera went off.

carlos and charles congratulated her next, both telling her how proud they were of her.

finally being able to sit in the middle seat in the cool down room felt unreal for y/n. putting on the winner's hat was more than enough, but sitting in between lando and max sealed the deal.

lando got to the podium first, with the mclaren crew cheering him on from the ground.

max was next, still with a big smile on his face, despite not winning the race.

finally y/n emerged from around the corner. y/n's heart swelled as the crowd below her cheered louder than anyone has ever heard it before. lando and max both held out their hands for high fives as she stood on the top of the podium.

she couldn't control the smile on her face as she recieved your first medal, and first formula one trophy. as anyone else wouldve done, she held the trophy low to the ground as the crowd below started to roar. once she lifted it above her head the crowd went wild once again.

she watched proudly as max and lando were handed their trophies, lifting them above their heads as well.

y/n basked in the bahrain sunset as the national anthem of her country played through the speakers. shortly after the austrian anthem played, while both her and max looked down to their team in awe. neither of them would be where they are today without them.

not even a second passes after the austrian anthem is over, and max and lando are ambusing y/n with their champagne. she laughs and screams as the cold alcohol sprays down her racing suit. she tries her best to spray max and lando, but can't help but continue wiping her eyes as a mix of tears and champagne fall down her cheeks.

as y/n's still wiping her eyes and the champagne in the bottles is almost empty, max takes her chin softly in his hand. she looks up at him, her heart starting to race again once she realized what her win means in terms of the silly bet the two drivers have.

y/n would've gladly payed a thousand dollars to see the look on everyone's face when max pulled her lips to his. still with her champagne bottle in one hand, she grabs onto max's bicep. making her realize he's really here and kissing her, and to keep her on her feet.

lando was the most caught off gaurd. he turned just in time after leaning down to grab his trophy. his eyes went wide as he watched the two redbu drivers.

the redbull crew all cheered, all silently hoping this moment would happen. they all knew about the longing glances between drivers, and how they got along so quickly when y/n first joined the team.

"finally a race winner," max mumbles against the top of y/n's head, kissing her hair. he wraps his arm around her as the two begin to walk out of the champagne covered platform. she waits for lando, pausing her and max's movements. once lando's by her side, she walks with both of them. her smile still never leaves.

after getting a group picture and video with the redbull crew, and probably taking a million pictures to post on the teams social media platforms, y/n and max go to their drivers rooms.

y/n facetimes her parents quickly, knowing how early in the morning it is for them.

finally changing into dry and much more comfortable clothes, a knock interrupts her thoughts.

"race winner looks good on you," max smiles after closing the door behind him.

y/n can't help but laugh, her smile growing once again.

"i can't believe it finally happened," she shakes her head. max sits on her sofa, watching as she packs her backpack.

"we all knew it would happen, it was just a matter of when," max states, causing a small blush to adorn y/n's cheeks.

"i hope you know i'm more than proud of you," max admits, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

y/n zips her bag, not looking at the dutchman next to her, "yeah, the whole team seemed so." she laughs again at the thought of how happy the redbull garage was for the girl.

max chuckles, "no y/n, i'm saying i'm more than proud of you." he looks up at her now, meeting her eyes.

"thank you max," she smiles again.

before he can contemplate his own thoughts any further, he stands to walk out of the room. he rubs his hand on y/n's shoulder before exiting, "i'll be right out, so we can walk out together, yeah?"

y/n's lucky to catch max's attention just as his hand grabs the door handle.

"i'm surprised you stayed with your word, and kissed me today," y/n turns to face max.

he turns as well, still leaving a fair amount of space between the two of them.

he shrugs and y/n doesn't miss the slight blush on his cheeks, "well yeah, a bet's a bet. no one can back out of one."

y/n takes a few steps forward. the confidence could've been from the dying adrenaline, but whatever it was from, she was going to use it.

"so if it weren't for the bet, you wouldn't have kissed me?"

max chuckles, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. a stutter becoming more prominent between every word, "no, no i mean if it were a right time i would've kissed you. i just wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, yeah?"

he continues stumbling over his words, causing the girl in front of him to giggle. his heart bursts at the sound.

"are you just going to stand there while i make a fool out of myself?" he asks, out of breath from rambling. his hands fall to his sides.

"i could," y/n states, watching max's smile falter slightly. "or i could just kiss you."

before max could get a proper response out, y/n leans up to press her lips against his for the second time that night. his hands instantly find their way to her waist, as hers hold both sides of his face.

"so if i won a race earlier, would i still have gotten a kiss?" y/n asks, just centimeters away from max's lips.

"screw just a kiss, we would've been a couple a whole lot sooner."

max cuts off y/n's giggle with another kiss.

the second kiss of many between the drivers.

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slvttyplum · 3 days

Text

taking yall off nanami punishment

nanami was very understanding when it came to you; he never made you feel as though you were little and that he was more superior than you. with that being said, even though he was a very understanding partner, the both of you still clashed heads almost every week, and it was always about petty shit. nanami wasn't one for petty arguments, yet he still found himself arguing with you. he would've left by now, so why was he still going back and forth with you almost every day?

standing across the bedroom, yelling even though every word that was coming out of his mouth he didn't mean; he was just trying to calm you down, and eventually he did, but it wasn't with his words. instead, it was with his fingers in between yours as he slowly slid himself inside of you, kissing you. those bitter words that were slipping out of his mouth now turned sweet when he was whispering in your ear how much he loved you and didn't mean anything.

his eyes were soft while looking into yours, and even when arguing with you, his eyes never turned dark; they were always light with love because, no matter what, he couldn't help but love you. nanami didn't like to argue with you, but he always seemed to stand in the same spot in your shared bedroom, justifying his action, explaining to you his real intentions, and firing back.

it was until he started to really think that he realized why you always spewed nonsense in his direction, nitpicking at every little thing he did to start up an argument—you just wanted one thing. you wanted him to fuck you and pamper you while he was inside, making you feel good while he gave you kisses all over your face.

sometimes he had to work overtime; that was a given everyone had to do once in awhile, and that was when you would fuss and just say anything that came to your mind to spew at him, but the real reason is that you just wanted him with you; you wanted him to be with you, cuddle you, kiss you; you didn't want him to be gone all the time, and there he was, gone all the fucking time.

once he realized that was why he always found himself arguing with you, he made sure he wouldn't be working over time anymore, and if he did, it wouldn't be every week. it definitely changed your attitude and the way you acted.

as much as you wanted him, he wanted you too; all he wanted was to be inside of you, telling you how much he loved you and was always going to be there for you, and that's exactly what he did every night. fucking you slow and deep, telling you he would never let you go each time he slammed inside of you, his hands roaming all over your body.

your cheeks were heating up knowing it was true. nanami always stayed true to his word.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento #kento nanami #nanami fluff

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pwinkprincess · 2 days

Text

prettiest thing ୨ৎ

you and onyankopon rarely argue. you’re his good girl, you never had a remark or debated with anything he said. he would never tell you anything to hurt you or put you in harm's way which is why you allowed him to be the provider and the thinker of the relationship while you just had to be pretty and spend his money. it’s a dynamic that the both of you liked and preferred. another reason why the dynamic works so well is because onyankopon is naturally dominant, he tends to take over situations without even trying. that goes for both his personal and business life.

you hated when those moments of tranquility between the two of you got interrupted from emotions and overthinking. both you and onyankopon are very secure people, there’s no qualms about attractiveness and if your personalities matched up. but, at the end of day you’re human. and with onyankopon being your first ever serious boyfriend, you sometimes doubted yourself and even worse; him and the relationship. you couldn’t help it! you really couldn’t, you tried to remind yourself that onyankopon has never given you a reason to doubt him but your overthinking didn’t care.

your bottom lip pokes out as your glossy eyes reread the map. onyankopon’s location is nowhere to be found and your man always shares his location with you. most of the time, the roles were reversed and he was very stern about you sharing your location with him 24/7. you couldn’t understand why he’d suddenly stop sharing it with you. your heart thumps heavily in your chest as you instantly start thinking about the worst.

“when’s the last time y’all talked?” zinnia asks. she sits beside you, a look of irritation etched onto her face.

you sniffle as you think back to the last time you talked to onyankopon. he had been driving you home after a long day of running errands. they were more so his errands than yours but you just wanted to be around him so you begged him to let you come with. the day has started off great. the two of you laughed, rapped and sung songs together, the vibes were just right. it was nearing night when onyankopon had gone inside the wingstop to order the two of you food as a completion of the day. while he was inside the restaurant, you were on his phone; scrolling on his facebook. you always claimed his facebook is way more interesting than yours which is why you lurked on people’s accounts through his. as you were reading facebook drama in a very messy comment section, onyankopon’s phone suddenly gets a notification from instagram.

‘you’re welcome handsome’. almost instantly, your hands begin to shake as you press the notification tab. you watch, breathless, as messages pop up from onyankopon and the mystery woman. onyankopon had posted a video of himself on his story. of course he looked good, your man always does. he’s an attractive guy so you had prepared yourself from the beginning to witness women texting and complimenting him. which is fine, but you would've never thought he’d disrespect you by responding back. with a shaky finger, you scrolled to the beginning of the message thread which wasn’t very far.

‘you so fine omggg’ which is something you’ve seen many girls telling him. your eyes focus on what the man had said back,

‘lol preciate it ma 💗’ you didn’t know if you wanted to scream or cry. ma? a heart? you couldn’t understand why he decided to respond to her in the first place. taking an uneven breath, you locked his phone and threw it down into the cupholder. tears form in your eyes as you stare out of the window, watching as cars of various sizes and colors zoom past the parked car. so many thoughts were racing through your head, you’ve never felt so much betrayal in your life. you sniffle as a few spare tears roll down your face.

when onyankopon returns with two wingstop bags and a holder that had two large cups sitting in it, he’s all smiles. his gold grills glint under the streetlight. he opens the door and sees right away that your attitude has completely changed. he can’t stop the confused expression from forming on his face. he sets the cups into the cupholders and the wingstop bag onto your lap. he doesn’t pull off right away. instead, he sits there for a few moments trying to wreck his brain on what could have possibly gone wrong in the span of about ten minutes.

“what’s wrong, mama?” he asks, cautiously.

you don’t respond, vocally. instead of using your words you just twist your body towards the door and tilt your head completely towards the window. you were so upset with him, just hearing his voice caused you to grow ten times more upset. your sniffles fill the quiet car while onyankopon waits for you to reply to him.

he raises an eyebrow as he comes to the realization that you’re not going to respond to him. “you don’t hear me talkin’ to you?” you were being disrespectful right now and this isn’t like you. he attempts to give you leeway because you have never behaved in such a way before. “talk to me, baby..” he pleads.

and god, when his voice deepens like that and he sounds so needy一you have to remind yourself to stay mad at him. you let out a loud sigh when you decide to look at him.

onyankopon’s heart almost skips a beat when the two of you finally make eye contact and he sees that your eyes are bloodshot red and there are stray tears still threatening to spill. he asks in a tone that shakes, “why you cryin’, mama?”

“c-cause you’re fucking disrespectful.” you cry out. the dam that was straining to hold up broke just by you looking at him.

onyankopon looks at you with wide eyes. he’s never once disrespected you. he’s never called you out of your name, mocked you, spoke condescendingly to you. you two have barely been together for an entire year and he had already gifted you everything and more. he tries to not be offended by your accusation.

“how am i disrespectful?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“how are you not? why the fuck ar-�� you’re cut off from onyankopon kissing his teeth.

“stop cursin’, deadass. you can explain yourself without cursin’ like a damn sailor.” his tone doesn't make room for discussion.

you roll your eyes at his statement. onyankopon has always been firm when it comes to your habit of cursing, he always says ‘pretty girls don’t curse’ and tries to catch you every time you let a curse word slip out. right now, you didn’t have the time or patience for his lecturing.

but still, you rephrased yourself. “why are you replying to girls on instagram?” you ask in the most composed manner you can manage.

onyankopon gives you a confused mean mug, “what girls?”

you breath roughly through your nose. “you know what girls, onyankopon.”

onyankopon sighs, “i genuinely don’t, mama.”

you felt like crying from annoyance, why did he feel like now was the time to play? “look on instagram.”

ony grabs his phone and opens instagram. he sees that you had already opened his most recent chat. he reread the messages and viewed the account and quickly realized why you were upset. he stays quiet because he genuinely had no explanation on why he decided to respond to her. of course, he didn’t see her as attractive or anything. he had eyes for you and only you, no other woman could get in between that.

sighing, he set his phone down. he bit down on his lip as he tried to gather the words to tell you. he didn’t compliment her back or completely indulge in her, all he said was that he appreciated the compliment. he didn’t see what was wrong with that.

“look, i know-” he cut himself off as he continued to struggle.

“look at you, fucking struggling to talk cause you know you fucked up.” you spat the words out angrily. your pretty glossy lips are frowned up and onyankopon didn’t like that one bit.

“stop cursin.” he muttered.

“i’m fucking grown, nigga. just like you chose to respond to that bitch, i choose to curse whenever the fuck i want.” you were talking recklessly because you were mad. on an average day, those ugly words would never be spewing from your pretty mouth. also, you would never be talking to your man like this.

“bro chill with yo fuckin’ mouth!” onyankopon ‘s tone rises by a lot. there’s a pointed look in his eyes as he tries to put you in your place.

“me chill? you chill, nigga! fucking disrespectful ass! texting bitches back and calling them ma and shit.. fuck you, nigga!” your voice cracks at the end of your sentence. you weren’t crying out of sadness, you were crying out of anger. truthfully, you wanted to swing off on him but you’ve never thrown a punch in your life and onyankopon would probably choke you the fuck out.

“’m not puttin’ up wit’ dis shit.” onyankopon grumbles. he presses the start button and his car roars to life. “ain’t never called you out yo’ name. ain’t never did shit to hurt you, man. i try to give you the damn world.” your eyes widen when you hear onyankopon’s voice crack throughout his rant, you throw a quick glance at him and have to fight the surprised look on your face when you see his pretty brown eyes glossed over.

you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. “texting other girls and calling them ma is giving me the world?” you chuckle sarcastically. “there’s no telling how many girls you entertain behind my back.”

onyankopon shakes his head while listening to you accuse him. “you can go through my entire fuckin’ phone right now and you ain’t gon’ find shit besides that. i ain’t talk to no other girls since i’ve been knowin’ you.”

“i can’t trust anything you say anymore.” you mutter.

“really? i’ve told you shit about me that i ain’t told no one else. shit about my childhood, about my life, how i became me ‘nd now you can’t trust me..” he lets out a breath that resembles a chuckle while shaking his head. “you’re my world, you’re my fresh breath of air from the streets, ‘nd now the reason why i’m going so hard. pickin’ up new clients, ‘nd putting my life at risk so i can buy you shit ‘nd now you’re sayin’ you can’t trust me anymore. alright, bro.”

you don’t say anything, you only turn your head and look out of the passenger seat window for the remainder of the drive.

onyankopon puts the car in park once he arrives in your driveway. you’re quick to hop out grabbing only your purse. you skim the driveway and realize that your parents aren’t home which you’re grateful for. you don’t have time to be bombarded with questions. while you’re unlocking the front door, you could hear onyankopon’s feet traveling behind you. you almost felt bad for leaving him to carry the bags and cups alone but in the moment of anger, you couldn’t care less if he needed help or not.

you open the door wide enough so that the two of you could step in. you kick your shoes off by the front door while he walks into the dining room and sets the food onto the table. the silence between the two of you is tense, you’ve never been so quiet around him and vice versa.

“‘mma go.” onyankopon suddenly says while looking down at his phone. he’s tapping furiously and his eyebrows are clenched in a way that shows annoyance.

“what? what about our food?” you ask with a frown. you go to stand in front of him. his towering height causes butterflies in your stomach whenever you stand near him.

“eat it or somethin’. i don’t care what you do with it.” he shrugs, finally looking away from his phone. you almost want to cry again. you’ve never heard onyankopon be so disinterested with you. he’s usually always so soft and understanding when he’s around you, so to hear him talk to you like you’re some stranger off the street; more than you'd want to admit, hurts your feelings.

“okay..” you sigh, obviously defeated.

usually, when he’s leaving out he’d litter your face and lips with kisses while telling you he’d be back. but this time he only gives you a brief side hug. “i’ll see you around, _.” your heart absolutely hurts when he uses your government name. when you hear the front door slam shut and the loud cranking from his car, you instantly burst into tears.

“three days ago.” you tell zinnia as your sudden flashback leaves your head. just thinking about what happens causes your eyes to go glossy. you’ve been crying ever since he left you standing in your dining room.

“after that incident?” zinnia asks, nosily.

“i messaged him an hour later.” you tell her. “i-i told him i loved him.. and he.. he just left me on read.” your shoulders shake as you clutch your face, you were so tired of crying but you didn’t know what else to do.

“awe, boo..” zinnia says sympathetically. she quickly clutches you into a hug. the smell of her perfume fills your nostrils as you cry onto her.

“i.. should’ve never said anything.. i should’ve j-just pretended i didn’t see it.” you say through sniffles. regret has been lingering on your heart a lot lately. you’ve been filled with should've, could’ve, and would’ves. your life has consisted of moping around the house and crying in bed.

onyankopon wasn’t exactly giving you the reassurance you desperately needed at the moment and it was causing you to absolutely spiral. you just wished he would at least text you a simple ‘i’m not mad at you’ or something of that sort. you’re aware of the type of lifestyle he lives on a day to day basis, you’re always making sure to pray for him asking for him to be protected as he gets his money in the only way he knows how. and for his location to suddenly go off has you on the absolute edge. “nah, snookie.” the childhood nickname has you momentarily cringing. “you did the right thing by speakin’ up, boo. you seen bullshit so you spoke on it. what he did was that.. uhm.. what they call it…” she pauses and seems to be deep in thought. “ohh! that manipulation shit.”

you instantly sit up from her arms. “nah, zinnia ‘m not getting manipulated.” your soft voice has a defensive edge to it. “he just felt some type of way ‘cause he does so much for me and i called him out of his name and stuff.” you defend onyankopon way too quickly for someone that ghosted you.

zinnia gives you a look that you can’t exactly read. “whatever you say, boo.” she says. it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you from the way she shakes her while saying it.

“can you just..” you sigh out, the way you were feeling over onyankopon was a feeling you have never felt in your life before. it felt as if your heart was tearing into two pieces and no matter how much you tried to take your mind off of him and the situation, it still replays in your head. “can we cuddle?”

“awe, snooks, of course, boo.” she makes quick work of ashing her blunt and shuffling the two of you so that she could hold you comfortably.

the two of you lay there, silently. your head is adjusted onto her chest, the sound of her heart thumping fills your ears as you lose yourself to your thoughts. so many what ifs are running through your head. your overthinking is almost suffocating you in a way. as you lay there, thinking of the worst you try to rationalize and also think of the good. that was a habit you tended to do. you always tried to see the good in people and every situation. because of your optimism, you were often taken advantage of.

you didn’t purposely upset onyankopon. you felt hurt and as a result you felt the need to hurt. if you had known that bringing up the message, you would have never brought it up. you would rather suffer and not speak on it than to fully stop speaking to onyankopon. it was different, going from spending all your time with someone to not talking for three days straight. this being your first ever serious relationship, you didn’t know what to do. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to blow up his phone or give him time to cool off. all you want is to speak with him and hear his voice, to get reassurance that he’s well and alive, to hear him admit that he isn't angry with you.

you don’t realize it but you somehow doze off in zinnia’s embrace. your soft snores fill her ears and she coos out a soft “awee” while rubbing your back. with her being the older cousin and you not having any siblings, she felt as if it is her duty to help you get through your first heartbreak. she’s been through your shoes many times before; overthinking, crying, getting upset, getting manipulated, she’s gone through it all. as much as she wants to just shake your shoulders and scream for you to gain some sense, she won’t. she has to allow you to maneuver through life with firsthand experience, that includes getting your heartbroken.

she’s known onyankopon for many years, since middle school to be exact. she witnessed the man mature and adopt his doggish ways. to her, you’re too naive for ony. since you’re an only child your parents tended to shield you away from just about everything during your childhood and teen years. their overbearingness has rubbed off on you giving you this innocent curious nature. of course, you get upset and curse but every threat you give off is empty. she knows onyankopon, and she knows that he likes girls like you. girls who are easy to manipulate and have access to. she regrets deeply advising you to come to the party with her. if she would’ve let you stay home, you would’ve never met him.

you’re suddenly awakened by a phone buzzing. you yawn and stretch, your eyes dart to your window and you could see the light from the moon peeking through your opened blinds. you rub your eyes and stretch once more before looking at zinnia’s phone that’s ringing on your nightstand. you reach over her and grab it, once you see that it’s sasha you press the answer button.

“hello?” your voice is scratchy from the hours you went without water. “snookie?” she asks. by her tone you could tell she’s upset and that causes you to fully wake up. an angry sasha is a scary sasha. “hi, sash. it’s me.”

“hey, boo. where’s zinnia?” she seems impatient, her words are rushed out.

“beside me, sleeping.” your eyes do a once over on zinnia who’s drooling onto your pillow. her chest heaves while heavy breaths escape through her nose.

“yeah, no. wake her up for me.”

“sash, you kno-” you’re cut off by sasha��s loud sighing into the phone.

“snookie, boo, just listen to me. wake zinnia up and put her on the phone.” she says. without another word, your hand lands onto her side and you begin shaking zinnia awake. after a minute of repeating her name and shaking her, she finally wakes up. a mean mug is immediately on her face as she rises up from her sleeping position. she stretches, letting out a loud dramatic moan. “whatchu shaking me for?” her tone is hostile. zinnia absolutely hates being woken up which is why you were hesitant from the beginning. “sasha wants you.” you hand her her phone, watching as she rolls her eyes before speaking up.

“girl, what you want?” her full lips are pulled into a frown as she listens to whatever sasha says. “wait, who’s story?” she asks while opening instagram. she types on her keyboard for a few seconds and then stops. she goes quiet as she watches whatever sasha told her to watch. you could hear multiple voices and the sound of loud music coming from her phone, you curiously lean over to see and that’s when zinnia quickly tilts her phone. she ignores the confused look you throw to her.

“bro.. ’m gonna fuckin’ kill dis nigga.” zinnia says after a few moments of silence. she puts the phone back up to her ear, her hazel eyes dart to you a few times and then they look away. “brooo, we’re about to throw something cute on. come scoop.” at those words, you’re entirely intrigued. you mouth at her ‘what’ and she only shakes her head and ignores you. “yeah, i thought i saw connie’s baldheaded ass in the background. ‘mma get his ass too.”

once zinnia says her goodbyes, she hangs up and lets out a heavy breath. “snookie, y’know i love you right?” she asks, suddenly.

“yeah. i love you too.” you giggle nervously.

“‘nd i just want you to know you don’t need a nigga for shit as long as i’m livin’ and breathin’.” she continues.

“i hear you.” you reply.

“what ‘m about to show you, you gotta practice me you’re not gonna cry.” she negotiates.

“you know ‘m a crybaby!” you groan with a smile. “i promise you i’ll try to not cry.”

she deems that good enough because she’s hesitantly showing you her phone.some might think you’re being dramatic if they were to hear you say you physically felt your heart break. and you could understand, heartbreak is a literary term and not literal one. however, you were experiencing a heartache at that exact moment. gasping was all you could do as your breathing became trapped in your chest. because you couldn't, you didn't cry. in total shock, you were motionless. you could feel zinnia’s arms wrap around you but it’s almost like a barrier was completely stopping her from touching you, or that’s what it felt like anyway.

your eyes rewatch the screen for what felt like the 100th time. your ony is right there, but so is a woman. she’s bent over in front of him, her ass is pressed against his pelvis. she’s shaking her ass to the beat of the song that’s playing and onyankopon’s hands are clutching her wide hips while she twerks. they both have a big smile on their faces while people in the background hype them. you watch in horror as onyankopon brings a hand up only to quickly bring it down onto her ass. as the video comes to an end, the camera darts to connie who’s obviously drunk, hyping them up the most. he’s pouring a half full bottle of hennessy into onyankopon’s mouth while screaming absolute nonsense out.

“we’re going to get dressed and we’re going to that party. we’re gonna whoop onyankopon, that bitch, and connie’s ass.” zinnia says. her tone is serious and the glare in her eyes tell you that she means every word she’s saying.

“there’s no point, zinnia.” you shrug as tears race down your face. “he’s single, he can do whatever he wants.”

zinnia gives you a look of confusion and irritation. “girl, to hell with that. y’all get into one big augment and now he’s moving like this. we’re not letting this shit slide, bro.” her tone excludes any kind of debate.

it doesn’t feel like you’re there physically when zinnia urges you into the bathroom to clean yourself up a little. you’re zoned out the entire time while brushing your teeth and applying light makeup. your eyes stay glossed over but tears don’t fall. your legs shake like jelly, you feel weak; emotionally and physically. you didn’t know where to go from here. all you wanted at the moment was for ony to come over and hold you while kissing your head and promising you everything would be alright like he usually does. the person that hurt you is the person you’re craving the most.

zinnia is sympathetic the entire time the two of you get dressed. you didn’t want to go confront ony, honestly. you just wanted to lay in bed and rot away. the thought of being in an outside setting at this current moment seemed draining. what would you even say to him? there isn’t even anything to say to him.

everything moves too fast and sasha pulls up in front of your house sooner than you wanted her to. an uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you look over your outfit. a pink spaghetti strap sleeveless dress hugs your figure, loudly emphasizing every curve you have. you couldn’t even feel pretty if you wanted to, your mind goes back to the woman that was twerking on ony and your heart quivers. the way he grabbed her hips, the same way he did that one night where he had you chanting his name like a prayer. you let out a breath and quickly look away from the mirror.

zinnia leads you through the living room where your mother is sitting in the living room watching judge judy in a nightgown she's had since you were born. meanwhile, your father sits exactly beside her, playing pool on his phone. “ohh, where y’all going?” your mother asks.

you can’t find it in you to talk and zinnia seems to quickly catch on to that. “we’re gonna go pop at this party right quick.” she tells her.

your mother’s eyes dart from your head to your toes. her eyes go back to your face and she can instantly tell something isn’t right with her daughter. she decides she’ll wait until it’s just the two of you to comment on it. “y’all be safe ‘nd stay together. if one has to go to the bathroom, the other follows in tow.” your mother lectures.

you both agree to her words and walk out of the house. you could feel her eyes burning a hole into your back but you refuse to turn around. if you were to break down crying, she would immediately forbid you from going out tonight. that’s one of the difficult parts of being an only child. your parents sometimes get too overbearing without even meaning to. privacy is something you just started getting once you turned 18. you still remember the way your mother almost fainted when the two of you were having girl talk and you had admitted that you and ony had sex for the first time. you still haven’t forgiven her for running back to your father and telling her, he had given you the cold shoulder for two weeks. as much as your parents could be a handful, their intentions were never bad. you’re their only child so they tend to shield you a bit too much because of that.

when you enter the backseat of sash’s pink wrapped dodge charger, the smell of weed immediately hits your nose. your nose scrunches in reflex. you absolutely despise the smell of weed, it’s too strong for your liking.

“wassup, bitches!” sasha greets the two of you. sexyy red plays lowly, she had gotten those overdramatic speakers installed so the bass was almost overpowering.

“pass the blunt, hoe.” zinnia rolls her eyes.

“hi, sasha.” you greet with a slight smile that almost hurts to put on your face.

“you okay, bookie?” she tilts all the way in her seat so that she could make eye contact with you. her almost cracks seeing the redness in your eyes. “we gon’ get shit straight. trust. when i see connie and ony ‘m punching them dead in their shit.”

zinnia quickly agrees as she lights the blunt up. you let out a soft laugh, “y’all there’s no reason to get violent.”

she inhales for a few seconds before letting out a large cloud of smoke. “yeah, okay.” she says sarcastically.

sasha pulls off, the song f my baby dad and instantly sasha turns the music up. both her and zinnia begin screaming the lyrics.

“my nigga actin’ up so you know ‘m finna pop it!” zinnia screams to no one in particular.

“y’all,” sasha turns the music down once she gets to a red light, “me and connie had our first pregnancy scare some weeks ago.”

both you and zinnia shook your heads at her words. you truthfully were surprised that sasha wasn’t on her second child with connie, from the extreme stories she told the two of you about her love life, it’s only a wonder that she isn’t carrying.

“girl! why you shaking your head?! a lil’ birdie told me that ony had to buy your lil ass a plan b!” sasha looks at you through the rearview mirror.

your eyes immediately dart towards zinnia, she’s the only person you disclosed that information to. zinnia quickly turns the music up, pretending she didn’t hear sasha’s accusation.

when sasha parks near the house that’s throwing the party, you feel so afraid that you immediately want to throw up. you were doing good not crying but reality seems to settle in and you realize you’re actually about to confront ony. a lump forms in your throat that you struggle to swallow down. you’re looking out of the window, at the house. you’re so caught up in your head that you don’t realize both zinnia and sasha are looking at you in worry.

you’ve been anxious since a child. you’re the ‘come with me’ friend. it’s something you hated. there’s been numerous times you’ve wished and prayed that anxiety didn’t control your life. you struggled extremely with confrontation. maybe that’s why you and ony got along so well. you never questioned him or any of that sort. you prefer to sit back and watch rather than being in the spotlight, being perceived. that goes for family, friends, and strangers. you weren’t even tearing up from what ony did, while that did have a part in your tears, you were more so dreading the thought of speaking up to him.

“you okay, snookie?” zinnia asks, worriedly.

you inhale sharply, “y-yeah. can we just.. get this over with, please?”

they both share a glance before agreeing. the three of you exit the car, the sounds of purses, bracelets and y’all’s slide sandals sync as you walk towards the house.

“we’re so bad.” sasha sighs while looking over the three of you to make sure you all looked good.

once you enter the house, you’re immediately blinded by flashing lights. the air is hot and humid as numerous people rub against each other. loud speakers blast rap music and you could faintly hear people rapping along with the rapper. alcohol, weed, and sweat fills your nose making you internally gag. this is the second party you’ve ever came to and you want to leave right away. sasha grabs zinnia’s hand, and zinnia grabs your hand. sasha leads you three to the kitchen that’s only filled with a few people. out of the corner of your eye, you could see a couple sloppily making out against the refrigerator.

“here.” sasha hands you a small glass that is filled with something clear. “take a shot or two and loosen up.”

following her instructions, you take two shots straight. bile rises and you have to swallow it causing you to gag. you feel your body shiver as you attempt to digest the alcohol. you take a gulp from the red bull that zinnia gives you, trying to ease the burning sensation in your throat.

“they’re all in the livin’ room, i seen them all huddled up and shit.” sasha comments while holding a cup in her hand.

“les go.” zinnia doesn’t waste any time making her way over to them.

you follow the girls along with legs that feel like jelly. the closer you come to the group, the faster your heart beats inside your chest. when you're just a few steps away, the scent of weed hits you powerfully.

“ohhh!” connie screams once he sees the three of you walk up. “we got zinnia in da housseeeeeee! ohhh shitttt! y’all don’ got itty bitty’s ass to get out of daaa houseeee! whaaaatttt! oh, ‘nd sasha is here too.. i guesssss.” connie is obviously intoxicated as he slurs over his words.

immediately, the rest of the guys' heads snap in y'all's direction. you somehow hear armin let out a “oh lord” once he sees the expressions on sasha and zinnia’s faces.

“connie shut that shit up, boy! what that hell are you screaming for?!” sasha wastes no time grabbing connie by his shirt.

“unhand me you beast!” connie screams dramatically.

sasha rolls her eyes at connie’s antics. her eyes dart from face to face until they land on ony, who’s sitting there manspreading. there’s an uninterested look on his face as he views your trio before his eyes locate onto you and you only. eye contact that you haven’t held in three days. that lazy head tilt and seeing his full lips pressed straight, you have to force yourself to look elsewhere. you refuse to get sucked into his hypnotizing eyes once again.

“you. stand up, i wanna fight.” she tells ony.

ony looks at her boredly, his eyes are glossed and lidded. “sasha, gone somewhere, man.” “beat her ass, ony. ‘m too scared t’do it.” connie says from his grasp in sasha’s hand.

ony's eyes dart over to you. there's a look on his face that makes your knees almost buckle. your heart speeds up in your chest and you can tell from the shift in the atmosphere that something is about to pop off.

#5k wdc #idk abt dis one yall #pls do leave feedback i might private this #pwinkprincess ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა #₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ #aot ପ૮๑ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ๑ აଓ #ᡣ𐭩 #aot onyankopon #ony x black reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x reader #onyankapon #aot x black reader #aot x reader

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atyourmerci · 1 day

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Gold wing, angel

meanloser!ellie X classpresident!r

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!ellie, sub!reader, v angsty, slight bondage, cunt slapping, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasms, lite angel symbolism, no y/n, no pdor

A/N: actually surprised I finished a req (you all applaud me) this is inspired by “GOLDWING” by billie.

Ellie was a sick drug. Something not to be desired. She was the epitome of the allure of indulging in something you shouldn’t have, shouldn’t know, try at very least.

How did she get this way- who made her like this? Anger taken out through bodies of admission in an act of revenge. Taking back what was taken from her. Her pride regained by your submission.

You could have never fathomed the aggression the loser from AP American literature could obtain. You thought she’d beg on her knees for you. Worship your every move, starstruck by even getting the chance to touch you.

But she didn’t. She reveled in taking you off your high horse, got off on watching the student body president, proper and witty, utterly depraved by getting her cunt abused by a fucking moron.

98- A fucking 98, you did not deserve a 98 on the midterm paper. Your work was frankly sloppy, lacked comprehension. It made you ill knowing you were turning in something so lackluster with your name slapped across the front so proudly. The only thing that made you sicker was the thought of receiving special treatment- you had an image to uphold. You got to your position in this society from your own intellect, blood, sweat, tears and all. Kissing ass for a fucking 98 wasn’t in the cards.

The class began filing out as usual, like wild animals in a pack, shiny white teeth like daggers. Meshing together in their navy steam-pressed blazers, hair like defining fur, the only indication of individuality.

Except for her, sticking out like a sore thumb, the great big elephant in the room. Breaking many rulebook codes with her black nail polish, unkept hair to the standard policy, her white polo unbuttoned at the top two buttons that revealed her freckled chest. Despite her all around degenerate persona, she was irritatingly smart. Maybe if she had an ounce of charm she’d take your place.

With the rest of the class out of sight she stares at you. Not cutting off eye contact you both rise from your chairs you practically run to Mr. Stevens desk. The slap of two papers hit his desk, a 98 and a 90 shining in red sharpie ink on the white papers.

“I don’t deserve this,” comes out in unison, the sincerity in your voice cut open by the harshness in Ellies.

“Please one at a time, ladies.”

Before the words can even escape your lips Ellie rages, “I worked my ass off on this. I deserve better than a 90,” she spits out. “I know you can do better than this Ms.Williams, I expect more from you.” Ellie scoffs back at him, “this is bullshit,” she muffles but continues standing at his desk.

Mr.Stevens nods his head in your direction for your speech, you glance at Ellie with her arms now crossed, awaiting your protest. You brush off her insistence on staying and begin, “Mr.Stevens, I appreciate your grading and understanding my agenda for the midterm, but objectively this is sub-pare work. I think you may have given me someone else’s grade… maybe you mixed up my grade with Ms.Williams.”

He doesn’t skip a beat, “I don’t mix up grades, you earned it. Now if you two will excuse me,” Mr.Stevens directs you both to the now empty hallway.

Ellie storms out with rage, cheeks flushed and lips pressed closely, you follow behind. “‘ms Williams’? the fuck was that?” Ellie presses in a scowl, words echoed in a bare hallway.

“Look I read your paper, I think you deserved better,” you retort in an attempt to soothe her. You cant seem to keep your eyes off her cupids bow, the contrast of soft pink lips against her tired skin.

“Oh thats fucking rich coming from ‘ms I don’t deserve my grade’ you’re pathetic,” she points, eyes thinning.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch more people would like you,” you attempt, heat rising in your own cheeks, heart thumping roughly in your chest.

Ellies cruel disposition contorts into a grin, inching closer to your body, “you’re fucking him aren’t you? Ms. perfect sucking off the teach so she can stay on top?”

A power so foreign comes before you, using force to push your wrist into her chest, though she doesn’t budge, “shut up.”

She returns your aggression, pushing your bodies flesh up against the brick wall behind you, ripping the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively grip into her shirt. Her eyes are wild, as if she was surprised she’d taken it this far, or rather puzzled by the fact you haven’t broken your grasp.

You both pant from the intrusion, glaring, waiting- waiting for someone to cave.

Like a dog on a leash you dragged her in, pulling her by her fabric until her lips met your own. A depraved act, met with open mouths and wandering tongues. Hatred in its finest form, digging into her as if you’d ever thought of it. A subconscious desire pulled from the depths of your cravings.

Before true indulgence she pushes you off, taking a moment to look at your hazy disposition, drunk on delinquency, “don’t ever do that again,” she pants out. Taking her thumb she wipes the saliva from your bottom lip and takes off without your response.

Time after time you went back. You told yourself you’d stop, never talk to her again. Yet there the keys were in the ignition, a path that you knew like the back of your hand. Leading, controlling your own fate of defacement.

“Can you please just open the door,” you plead on her doorsteps, mind and body corrupted- to only be pleased by the mental games, the destruction in forms of submitting to her.

Strung up like an old doll long forgotten in the attic, bound wrist behind your back and ankles tied to the head of her bed, vulnerable and needy.

“What now? Use your fucking words,” Ellie remarks before spitting on your neglected cunt. Your body winces at the sensation of the hot liquid dripping down the pulsing flesh, “please I promise I’ll do whatever you ask.”

She hovers over your squirming body, carful to not give you the satisfaction. Gripping your jaw in her hand, “do you ever pay attention to what I tell you? You don’t deserve to come,” cocking her free hand back to lay a purposeful slap to your slick folds causing you to scream out from the blissful pain.

She lays another one into the already beat red skin, a cruel grin growing on her lips as she hears you enjoying it. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” she asks glaring at your tucked in lip, eyes glossy. You nod back at her, signaling your approval for using your body as her personal vessel.

Somehow it was good enough for her, dropping down to your perked nipples and sucking it into her teeth as she uses her hand to cover your eyes. You’d learn very early on that you weren’t allowed to watch her use her mouth on you. In the odd occasion she’d let you have your cunt in her mouth shed have your face shoved in the sheets while she took you from behind. She never told you why- and you didn’t dare ask.

Your wrist wriggle behind your back as your chest arches into her mouth, hot and wet. You obsess over what it would feel like on your mouth again, most nights were spent only thinking of her mouth- foreign, an impenetrable fortress. You began to chase the chance of the feeling her again.

You feel as her mouth comes off of the swollen bud as she removes the hand on your eyes, “don’t look,” she says with no threat in her tone, but you don’t risk crossing her.

You shut your exhausted eyes, dropping your head back as you feel her wrap her arms around the meat of your thighs. She drags an antagonizing strip up your slit, jolting your body into the mouth.

She goes as slow as possible, providing as little pressure she can muster up to the swell of your clit, but from her slaps it wouldn’t take much. Your body akin to a fish gasping for air out of water, squirming under her touch. She digs her fingers deep into the flesh as a warning.

“If you ever want to come again Id advise you behave.”

“P-please,” you plead to her, legs shaking as you whimper her name over and over like a prayer.

“I said no, i swear to god I’ll ruin every fucking orgasm,” sliding her two fingers into your clenching hole she drives slow pumps as she returns her mouth to your clit.

Your face contorts in concentration, attempting to hold yourself back but you could only be held off for so long.

“Ellie- Ellie!” bursting at the seams, your body detesting her rules, letting the hot white cum coat her fingers. She only fucks you harder, faster through your orgasm. This is a game you weren’t to win, rather to allow herself to revel in your pain. She got off on destroying your mind, making it to where you can only be pleased by her punishment.

Ellie kept her word, working you up on the edge of finishing and stopping completely, laughing at your pathetic state, crying and begging to come.

Clipping your wings, she hung them on her walls as a trophy. Pleas echoing her room, come splattering her sheets, your lips chapped and neglected.

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foreingersgod · 17 hours

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Pls pls something about emily engstler where the reader ( they can be friends at the beginning) keeps staring at her tattoos especially on her hands and emily catches her

Tattoos . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

A/N: i’m thinking let’s stay home pt 2 next??

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

“what’re you staring for?” a familiar voice sounded from across the couch. it was so sultry, so smooth. you couldn’t help that your body was drawn to it instantly.

it was a normal day, you and your girlfriend tucked away in the comfort of your home for the weekend. she had had a rough week of intense practice and you had a draining week of work, so the both of you decided to take some time to relax. but it was a dangerous game for you, emily within your reach at all times. she was practically irresistible and you found yourself gawking at her nearly every chance you got.

she was quite literally the hottest person on the planet in your eyes. her hair, her body, her lips, her eyes…everything about her made you crazy. but your favorite thing about her, that made you want to pounce on her at any given moment, are her tattoos. you really couldn’t explain it, why you were so drawn to them. the intricate designs that littered her skin just had some sort of grasp on you, had you drooling like a teen girl over her high school crush. you would squeeze your thighs together in desperation as you’d watch her hand run down her face, ink ridden fingers mindlessly tracing the outline of her lips. god the things it did to you. how her muscles would flex when you’d watch her work out, your eyes glued to the way the tattoos moved with them. everything she did, you’d be admiring the beautiful works of art.

emily wasn’t quite aware of your fixation with her tattoos. rather she knew you liked them, but clueless to the near obsession you had. she never caught onto the stares or the amount of times you’d trace them with your fingernails when you’d lay in bed at the end of the night. she had always figured you’d liked them just like any normal person would. so you would continue on with your infatuation, let yourself indulge every now and then without her noticing.

until now.

“hm?” you blinked rapidly, shaking yourself out of a daydream.

your legs were draped over hers as you laid horizontally across the couch, your head rested against the cushioned arms of the sofa. emily was running her hands up and down your shins aimlessly, making little imaginary drawing here and there. she was scrolling on her phone to pass the time and you were sat there, just looking. for the past, probably 10 minutes, you sat there watching her. watched how her tatted fingers glided smoothly along your skin. watched how they moved effortlessly. it was hypnotizing to watch, getting lost in the print on her fingers. you couldn’t lie, you were getting hot and bothered just thinking about those fingers.

when you had emerged from your fantasies, finally looking over at emily, she was already staring back at you. her phone now discarded somewhere next to her and her gaze glued to you. her fingers had stopped tracing and she had one eyebrow quirked at you in curiosity.

“you’ve been staring at me for like 10 minutes” her head tilted to the side, she was so damn cute “everything ok? is something wrong?”

“m’not staring” you pursed your lips. now it was your fingers, fiddling senselessly out of nerves. you were too embarrassed to admit that you’d been caught.

she just chuckled, tongue running along her bottom lip. her hand rose up to scratch at the back of her neck in amusement at your poor excuse of a lie.

“come on, baby” her eyes still shooting daggers into you, eyelids low but still alluring and intrigued “don’t lie t’me”

“i’m not, honest! i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” you scoffed playfully, hoping she wouldn’t pry any further. but you knew she would. she always did.

“i’m talking about how the whole time we’ve been sitting here you’ve been eyeing me”

“i have not” you emphasized even more.

“oh really?” she said, and you nodded in return. she leaned in closer to you and you watched as her eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes “then why is it that every time my hand reaches your thigh your breathe catches in your throat?”

if your breathe wasn’t hitching when she was touching you, it certainly was now. she looked so divine, practically hovering over you just to tease you like this. you wanted to be mad at her for making you feel so humiliated, but how could you when she was so tempting.

“talk to me,” her voice lowered to a rasp “you know exactly what i’m talking about”

unable to handle the heat, already feeling the blush creep onto your face, you sighed in defeat. you bit your lip and squeezed yours eyes shut as you tried to think of the right words to say. how does one say your tattoos make me want to tear off your clothes and take you right here, right now without sounding like a freak?

“it’s embarrassing, emily. don’t make me say it”

“you don’t have to be embarrassed around me, baby, s’ok” she was met with a moment of silence as you groaned in frustration “why were you staring?”

“your…” another sigh fell from your lips, you were at a loss for words “your tattoos”

“my tattoos?” she smirked “what about them?”

“they’re just so, i don’t know, attractive?” your body cringed as you said it. you tried to avoid her gaze to ease the shame you felt, but you couldn’t help but catch how her smirk formed into a toothy grin “like…god this is so stupid…like they just look so good on you and you look so fucking good all the time. and i just can’t stop looking at you, em, i’m sorry”

with a new found confidence, you continued “your fingers, just the tattoos on them…oh my god emily you have no idea what you do to me. even when you’re just sitting here i can’t resist you”

“wow” she breathed out, lips curled tauntingly “can’t resist me, huh?”

“shut up”

“no no” another laugh fell from her lips. but this time it was soft and relaxed, not seductive to try and coerce some confession out of you “it’s cute, babe. you shouldn’t be embarrassed”

you just rolled your eyes at her, part of you still irritated that you were put in such a position, but another part of you relieved she didn’t mind.

emily let her hands fall down to you legs again, palms flat against you. you could feel the slight callousness of her skin. they pressed into the plushness of your thighs gently as they agonizingly crept their way towards you. she kept her eyes on you, eyelashes low, lips slightly parted. your mouth fell dry as her hands approached the bottoms of your shorts. her fingers toyed with the hems, then eventually pushing their way past the loose fabric until she was met with the silky skin of your hip just under your shorts. then, with little warning, she let her head lower down to your neck. her breathe was hot against you as she let her lips attach, kissing along your body. you gasped upon feeling the sudden sensation, your hands flying up to the back of her head in an attempt to brace yourself.

“all this over some tattoos?” she whispered into your neck “baby…you’re killing me”

“will you be quiet and just kiss me?” you blurted, unable to handle the built up tension.

“anything for you”

and with that, her lips were on yours in an instant. your bodies melting into each other as she showed you just how much she loved you with those damned tattoos.

#wcbb #wcbb x reader #washington mystics #indiana fever #emily engstler #emily engstler x reader #wlw #wlw imagine #lesbian imagine #lesbian #foreingersgod

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nocturnowlette · 1 day

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I accidentally revealed a little experiment I was doing to my subject, today, so I finally get to tell you all about it.

I honestly didn't think that covert hypnotic triggers were a thing due to the constant annoying mysticism and years of bad science around hypnosis, as well as stuff like subliminals having absolutely zero actual effects. However, with some testing, I have been delightfully surprised.

To be clear, by a covert trigger, I do not mean a trigger that was given under trance explicitly then had the subject forget or be unaware of when used. I mean a trigger that is installed, reinforced, and used entirely without the subject noticing. It'd be more accurate to call this a preconscious trigger, but the linguistic gods disagree, I suppose.

I decided to use my favorite subject, and someone I'm close with in many ways. I've already trained general obedience into her over time, but have always allowed her to be rebellious because it's fun for the both of us. However...

There's a phrase I liked to use on occasion during trance and outside of it when I'm being a little gently degrading: the phrase, "Isn't that right?" at the end of sentences. Leading questions are natural for gentle domination, and I had already been doing it, so I decided to use it a little bit more often, and with intention.

For about two weeks straight, while under trance and while training general obedience or otherwise while messing with them, I would go, "Isn't that right?" exclusively for questions that were an absolute yes. There's no reason she wouldn't say yes to it, and so, she did, every single time.

The next week or two, I would start peppering in the phrase for slight disagreements. That's to say, things that were a yes, but something that she'd make a small fuss about normally to be rebellious. To my surprise, any time I used the phrase, all rebellion seemed to stop. I actually thought she caught on and was doing it intentionally, but she didn't respond when I signaled that to her.

A few weeks later, after more and more reinforcement, to the point where it was a very common part of my everyday vocabulary, I was able to completely quell any fire she brought up. I would do a short explanation or rationalization, then end the sentence with, "Isn't that right?", and poof, the rebellion goes away.

I accidentally revealed it today as stated due to showing a list of notes I used to keep track of triggers for subjects, but luckily, by the time she found out, it was one of the most potent triggers I had for her. It still works just fine.

Before she did find out, I finally got to hear what she sounded like after all the training when I said it out loud, as I mostly reinforced it via text. It sounded like her voice turned droopy and monotone entirely and only for when she agreed, then went back to normal. It was really, really cute, and I had to stifle a giggle or two.

Luckily, I didn't write down the other few covert triggers I have for her. I'll be having fun with those for a good while longer.

#owlette #hypnosis #hypnoposting #hypnokink #hypnok1nk #hypnotized #hypnotic #hypnotism #hypno pet #hypno sub #hypnosub #text hypnosis #brainwashing #hypno toy #mind conditioning #covert hypnosis

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ivymarquis · 3 days

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Not me vividly hallucinating about a certain scot eating me out until I cry

What you wish for

Pairing| John “Soap The Munch (tm)” MacTavish x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| ~500 Kinks/Content/Warnings| Cunnilingus, squirting, mentions of safe word, Johnny is A Munch(tm), the author is an American still trying to dial in a Scottish accent

Date a munch, they said.

It would be fun, they said.

And it is, for the most part- you can admit that with no hardship.

It’s just that occasionally (like now), it becomes obvious that Johnny is eating you out for his pleasure and your own is just a happy by-product.

“Shit, ah! Johnny! I’m gonna- hgn- Johnny I’m gonna cum,” you pant in warning as the Scot buried between your thighs goes to town on you like a man starved.

Every time this man drops to his knees in front of you, it is a guarantee you’re going to see stars.

This time he’s got you pinned on your back on the bed. You seem to be wiggling too much for his taste as he’s banded one forearm across your waist and the other hand grips one thigh to keep your legs spread for him.

No matter how much you cry and moan and buck and cant your hips, he just leans his weight on you to keep you still.

He alternates between broad swipes with the flat of his tongue or more pointedly circling your clit or lapping at the inside of you.

While he’s yet to disappoint, he really seems into it (re: you) today. Like teetering on has-something-to-prove into it.

With that sort of dedication and attention, it’s no wonder he’s got you squirting and squealing in record time as he slips two fingers inside and abuses that spot that has you seeing stars.

Johnny works you through your high, lapping up every drop of it like it’s his last meal. Your legs twitch weakly in his hold as he continues on.

You think that maybe he’s working himself down, that he’ll leave you be in a minute.

He doesn’t.

Less attention is paid directly to your clit, but he’s still honed in between your legs even as you squirm. “Johnny,” his voice is a whine in your throat. “Johnny I came- I already came,” like there was any possibility that he is unaware of that- given how you squirted all over his face.

He pulls off momentarily, eying you with a skeptical look. “The fuck’s that got to do with me, bonnie? Cum or don’t, I'm finished when I'm finished.”

Your brain needs a system reboot at that- you stare at the ceiling dumbly as he gets back to business.

He’s trying to kill you- there’s no other explanation for it.

(Distantly you remember how your ex never went down you- still expected head on a routine basis, of course!- and you swore that the next guy you dated would have to be okay with reciprocation. You certainly got your wish in spades, hadn’t you? Almost like the universe was apologizing in the most mind-melting way possible)

It’s all you can do to lay there and breathe. If it actually gets to be too much- well, that’s what safewords are for. But Jesus fucking Christ the man doesn’t do anything in halves.

It’s only after he’s wrenched your second orgasm from you that he lets up, crawling up the bed to collapse to the side of you.

“Soon as my legs quit twitching, I’m returning the favor,” it takes you a couple tries to stammer out the words. Johnny looks every bit like the cat that caught the canary.

“Oh I’m no done with that sweet cunt o’ yours- ye just looked like ye were gonna pass oot. We’ll give ye a break an then back tae it, hm?”

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #cod x reader #if i find out who made ‘john soap mctavish’ a popular tag im fighting them #cause it gets EVERY FUCKING TIME #my writing #congrats u get two posts in 2 days

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 days

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He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

__________

Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later.

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting.

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room.

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright.

“Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet.

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.”

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile.

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned.

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down.

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse.

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Part 2 coming soon!

#Russell Shaw x reader #Russell Shaw #Russell Shaw Fanfiction #Tracker Fanfiction #Tracker #Russell Shaw x you #Russell Shaw series

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arieslost · 12 hours

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reader and little leclerc meeting at a karting comp when they were tiny and growing up charles developed the fattest crush on the reader but only later in his f1 career does she find out. not from charles himself but from carlos who ‘accidentally’ slips up and mentions it

i’m assuming by little leclerc u meant arthur so i hope i was correct 🤞🏼🤞🏼

crush | cl16

you always thought charles leclerc had some sort of underlying hatred for you, even though he was nothing but kind to you every time you interacted. maybe it was the way he’d always look at you with what you could only describe as a pained expression, like it hurt to even be in your presence.

not that he had much choice, considering you’d been racing with his brother arthur since the beginning of time.

it never evolved into a career for you, but having formed such a close bond with arthur, as well as the rest of the leclercs, you stuck around. you remained a close friend even after arthur was promoted to single seater racing and you never left karting, not until their father passed and you dedicated all of your time and effort to comforting the family and helping however you could. eventually, that evolved into you working for ferrari in pr and other various communications a year after charles signed to ferrari.

wherever a leclerc was, you were bound to follow.

which leads you to now, having landed in imola a few days before most of the team (including the drivers) to coordinate interviews, filming, photography… the list is endless sometimes, but you love your job. even more so when you’re given the privilege of briefing the drivers on what to expect for the day.

except for the fact that charles comes in and sits down without sparing you so much as a fleeting glance.

that’s how your suspicions had started— when he stopped looking you in the eye. it used to be you who was intimidated by eye contact, those green eyes of his never failing to make your cheeks heat up. but eventually you got over it, and one day you fixed him with a brave stare that left him unable to mask his surprise. and then he stopped looking at you. then the incoherent mumbling started, then the abrupt “i have to go” in the middle of a conversation. you never understood why he was acting the way he was. you still don’t.

“good morning, querida,” carlos greets you smoothly as he enters the room, and you swear you see charles’ brows furrow for a split second.

“good morning,” you smile at him, chancing a look at charles, who is still deeply engrossed in whatever’s on his phone. “there’s a decent amount of things i want to go over with you guys, so i really need you to pay attention.”

you went through the itinerary, pausing every now and then to make sure both drivers were paying attention. charles had shut off his phone, but he was still looking anywhere else but at you. when you caught his eye upon glancing upwards, he looked down at his lap like you had told him he massively screwed something up.

you’ve often thought about confronting him, but to be honest, you could never really come up with a solid reason to do so. if he didn’t want to look at you, that was more his problem than it was yours.

“okay, i think that’s all i have for—” you’re not even finished with your sentence before charles is uttering a hasty “thanks” and rushing out the door.

“you’d think he would’ve caved and told you by now,” carlos muses when the door clicks shut, shaking his head.

“told me what?”

“you know,” carlos begins, rising from his seat, “that he’s madly in love with you.”

“what?!” you exclaim.

“oh, dear,” he continues dryly. “did i say that out loud?”

“carlos sainz, so help me—”

“you’ll have to excuse me, i don’t want to be late to the media pen,” he interrupts, making to leave as well. “i suggest confronting him, that’s probably the only way to get him to talk.”

your opportunity comes after the free practice sessions the next day, where you manage to corner charles as he’s leaving his driver room.

“is it true? do you—” you want to say love me, but the words just won’t come out. they feel too intimate. “do you have feelings for me, charles?”

he opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to respond. “you won’t look at me, you barely talk to me anymore, and it feels like you hate me. so honestly, just tell me anything other than saying you hate me.”

“i don’t hate you,” he says immediately. “not at all— why don’t you come in so we can talk? i don’t want to have this conversation knowing someone with a camera could come around the corner.”

fair point. you allow him to guide you into his driver room, watching as he shuts the door behind him.

“who told you?” he asks.

“carlos. in a weird, unnecessarily cryptic way.”

“classic carlos,” charles huffs, raking a hand through his hair.

“is it true?” you repeat quietly, beginning to fear his answer.

he looks at you. “what if it was?”

“charles—”

he interrupts you now. “i can’t look at you because every time i do i think about how much i want you. i look at you and i wish more than anything that i could hold you, kiss you, make you laugh. things just haven’t been the same since… since papa.”

you reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly in your own.

“and eventually i just couldn’t talk to you, because if i did, everything i want to say would come out… like it is right now,” he smiles shyly.

you never thought you could make charles leclerc shy.

“anyway, i like you. a lot.” he declares, taking on a confident tone. “i’ve had a crush on you for a while, and i’m sorry that it manifested as something else. i don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“maybe…” you begin slowly, watching his eyes light up. “maybe you could take me out.”

he smiles widely, squeezing your hand. “i think i can make that happen.”

“good. i’ll be waiting for your call.” you lean up, pressing a brave kiss to his cheek before exiting the room.

the blush creeping over his cheeks stays imprinted on your mind for the rest of the day. it won’t be the last time you see him that way.

word count: 1,041

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: this was such a cute request. i hate the ending (when do i not, honestly) so if this flops it’s fully my fault

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e @watersquirtpewpewboomm

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angel-of-the-moons · 1 day

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Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

#Cooper Howard #Cooper Howard x Reader #Cooper Howard x you #The ghoul #The ghoul x you #The ghoul x Reader #Omegaverse AU #Omegaverse #Fallout #Fallout on prime #Fallout prime #fallout tv show

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halfmoonaria · 2 days

Text

not allowed II

pairing: sam carpenter & female reader

summary: sam faces the consequences of her own actions out of panic.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: sexual content.

"What's on your mind, Sammy?" Your soft, raspy voice spoke while your finger was tracing random lines on her bare chest, legs intertwined with hers.

'Sammy'.

That was your new nickname for her.

And Sam hated it.

She hated how it made you sound like a child, how it reminded her of how wrong it all was. She hated how hot you sounded while you said it, how you whined it out every time you were desperate for her.

It seemed like that specific question about what was on her mind came up every single time; when you were wrapped up in her sheets, next to her after hours of pleasure.

"Nothing." She answered; just like every time, smiling down at you softly, hand reaching down to cup your warm and rosy cheek.

That wasn't true. Not at all. It never was.

She had hundreds of thoughts rushing through her head, if not thousands. Which she always ended up with, every single time you guys did something.

You had her hypnotized, blinded like a starless night searching for a guiding light while stumbling through darkness; you were the light.

When you were around she couldn't help but put all her focus on you. Whether it was in the classroom or during free time, her gaze was drawn to you. Inspecting your eyes and expressions like a detective examining every detail of a crime scene for clues.

But after it was all done, after you both finished with each other. It all came crashing down on her.

It was never supposed to happen again. After the second time, Sam had promised herself not to let it happen again. She planned on how she was going to tell you that what you were doing wasn't allowed and inappropriate.

Explain to you how the whole situation would end badly, no matter how good the sex was.

Though that conversation never happened.

You made it impossible for Sam to tell you that. You looked at Sam as if she had hung the stars on the midnight sky. You touched her like a whisper brushing her skin, caressed her as if you were sculpting a marble with the gentlest of touches.

You left her notes when you had access to leave them on her desk while walking out of class. Flirty, admirable compliments that Sam's body couldn't help but getting flustered while reading.

You were irresistible.

The second time you had asked for a reward after getting the highest score on a given test in your class. Not in the form of a medal, not some silly shoutout in the classroom, you wanted Sam. You barely had to hint it for her to understand that.

She had endured a rough week at work; sleeping schedule was off the charts, alongside Tara picking petty fights and being bothersome all week. Which resulted in her allowing herself to say yes to your tries at seducing her.

You made Sam forget about all of the chaos at work, about her annoying sister. You made her forget about everything.

Eventually, that turned into some kind of obsession.

It felt like she couldn't go a whole week without you as her stress reliever.

But you were so good at it. You made everything disappear, you made Sam feel loved. Loved in a way she'd never experienced.

And she just couldn't get enough of you.

She couldn't get enough of the intensity of your gaze, the magnetic force that dragged her in and leaving her breathless with anticipation. She couldn't get enough of the softness of your lips against hers, igniting a fire with each kiss.

The way you explored her body with such reverence and passion, as if each touch was a prayer to the goddess of love. The way you ran your finger through Sam's hair afterwards, sending more shivers down her spine than when she released.

The way your scent lingered on her skin hours after you had left, it was a constant reminder of the intoxicating allure you possessed.

You didn't even seem concerned about the fact that Sam was your teacher. And she honestly couldn't tell if it made you even hotter or her more terrified; perhaps it was both.

You were alluring, and Sam found herself unable to resist.

This was the fifth time.

The fifth time Sam had been unable to stop herself.

Sam wanted to laugh at the thought. How low could your self-control possibly be? Are really that desperate to be touched by someone? Loved by someone?

It was as if she could faintly hear someone scolding and admonishing her in her subconscious.

Was it Tara? Her boss? Or even her twisted father who had managed to make it into her mind again?

She didn't know, nor could she tell. But the idea was enough for her body to fill up with nerves and apprehension.

What if Tara found out? She would hate Sam for all eternity when she had just recently gotten her trust back after leaving. What if your friends at school found out? Even though you had promised not to tell, what if you did? Would the rumors eventually spread to the principal? Her boss?

God, what if Sam's boss found out? That would certainly result in her getting fired, the news being troubled enough to end up on her professional record, which would make it difficult to secure a future employment, ever again.

Sam's heart began racing, her mind rushing to the worst scenarios ever possible.

And of course, you had to notice it. Your eyes filled with admiration was now gazing up at her with concern.

"Sam, What's wrong?" Your serious voice snapped Sam out of her bubble of catastrophic thinking. She noticed your patient gaze, the subtle furrow of your brow indicating that you had asked the question more than once.

It wasn't until then that Sam noticed your hand was resting over her chest, feeling her heartbeat shift from steady and rhythm to a rapid pace.

She looked down back at you. Hesitating before speaking up; not sure if she would regret or relish the words that would leave her mouth.

"I think you should leave."

***

Sam had panicked.

A primal surge of fear had overtaken her, driving her to act without truly thinking about anything but the worst.

Regret washed over her in waves, each one heavier than the last. The consequences of her impulsive actions loomed large, a stark reminder of the price she would pay for succumbing to her panic.

The remnants of it still lingered, a bitter taste in her mouth as she surveyed the aftermath of her impulsive decision.

She stood frozen in her bedroom, hands tangled up in her hair. Disbelief clouding her thoughts as she tried to grasp why she had done what she did, the consequences now glaring back at her with unforgiving clarity.

Sam tried to blame it on the panic. It had fogged her mind and made her unable to think before moving or talking.

It was the panic's fault, she tried. But it didn't work. Not at all.

It was her fault, she let the panic take over, and now she was being forced to face the consequences.

You had called Sam today. Asking if you could come over.

This time Sam didn't feel the tingle in her body or the need for your touch that she felt whenever you spoke. All she felt was the sensation of remorse and anguish.

Sam herself was the only one to blame for that.

She had gone to the principals office. Tattling like a foolish child.

Showing the playful flirty notes that you had sneaked onto her desk whenever you walked past. Telling how you had been trying to throw yourself on her for months, trying to seduce Sam.

Sam basically found herself lying about the whole situation, to protect herself and her job career.

She couldn't comprehend what she was saying when she was answering the questions that was asked. The small office that belonged to her boss felt suffocating, which was why nervous rambling was what all her answers consisted of.

Before Sam left, the principal had told her that she would be having a talk with you. Separately.

It would've been obvious for anyone in that situation that was going to happen. Although that hadn't crossed Sam's mind a single time.

It was uncertain when or how the conversation would happen. But Sam was dreading it.

You would tell them she was lying, how it all went down in reality, and you would get Sam fired.

Sam had ruined everything for herself, now she was forced to watch it all fall down. Onto her.

And it came faster than anticipated.

Prior to exposing the situation, she had no clue on how long the process would be. But now, when she was standing outside the principal's office waiting for her turn to walk inside. She understood that it would not be a short one.

Sam had been told that this was the meeting where she would be told how they would handle it all.

Sweaty hands and shaking legs; more nervous than she'd ever been before besides the nerves she carried while fighting Ghostface.

The door was still closed, and Sam was supposed to walk in minutes ago.

Maybe they forgot or even cancelled it all? Sam could only hope for herself.

Sam fiddled with her hands, fighting the urge to knock on the door; the nerves almost taking over.

She had never felt this nervous before, not even when going on her first date, taking her driver's license or when she returned to Woodsboro after Tara had gotten stabbed.

The door abruptly swung open, causing Sam to startle and quickly step back. The sudden movement and creaking sound disrupted her train of thoughts.

Her gaze fell to the open door, now standing further away trying to act as if she didn't know the purpose for her being there.

But the idea fell flat as she saw who walked out the door.

You.

You walked out of the door, your expression unreadable, leaving Sam's heart pounding in her chest as she watched you.

Your skin looked pale, gaze empty, legs that were usually visible due the short skirts and shorts were now covered with sweatpants that carried the school uniform logo.

Sam lifted her gaze to your face, and unfortunately for her, you were already looking at her.

But to her surprise. You didn't look resentful or outraged, in fact you barely looked mad at all.

You looked at Sam the same way you did when she was teaching in the classroom, when you were sitting in the front row.

You looked at her the same. But she couldn't reciprocate. At all.

Which only made it all worse for her.

Sam wanted to run after you. Hug you and apologize, explain to you how she had panicked and couldn't see any other exit. She knew you would understand, you understood everything. She had half a mind to just do it. To just tell you that she didn't actually want this to happen.

That was until she heard Principal Morgan clear her throat inside of the office.

You were out of sight, basically forcing Sam to walk inside; not being able to blame her focus on something else, since the hallway was fully empty.

With each step, the air grew heavier, laden with unspoken tension as Sam made her way into the room. The door creaked as she softly pushed it wider open, revealing the scene she had been dreading; a stern faced woman already seated behind her desk, her gazed fixed upon her with a mixture of concern and scrutiny.

Without a word, Sam approached the desk, her footsteps almost echoing in the quiet room. She lowered herself into the chair opposite of the woman, her movements deliberate as she settled into the uncomfortable silence that hung between them.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Sam's eyes wandered around the room, searching for some semblance of reassurance in the familiar surroundings. The walls were lined with shelves of books and academic awards, while a row of potted plants added a touch of life to the otherwise sterile environment.

Despite the intimidating atmosphere, Sam couldn't help but notice the small details that hinted at the person behind the desk; a well worn coffee mug, a stack of handwritten notes, and a framed photograph of the principal's family, smiling back at her from the corner of her desk.

Sam hadn't had time to analyze nor notice all of the stuff the last time she was there.

With a deep breath, Sam prepared herself for the conversation that laid ahead, knowing that the decisions made in the room would shape the course of her future, the rest of her life.

Wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans she watched Mrs. Morgan browse through papers at her desk.

Finally, she looked up at Sam. Taking a deep breath before speaking up, breaking the thick layer of silence.

"So, Samantha."

Sam despised being called Samantha. Especially under these circumstances, and especially by someone who was on a higher level than her, and with so much power over her.

Here it comes, Sam. You're getting fired.

Mrs Morgan's words were met by silence, Sam felt like she was going to throw up if she opened her mouth.

Although the principal didn't seem to care. She just smiled briefly at Sam and continued. "I've convened this meeting to inform you of the forthcoming developments regarding the current situation between you and our student Y/N."

Sam responded with nothing but a nod. Yearning for closure and for it all to be over so she could leave and go back to living the tragic, uneventful life she had before the tumultuous events involving you, but this time; without a job.

"Y/N has confessed to being involved with the distribution of the notes and engaging in inappropriate conduct. Therefore, we have reached the decision to proceed with exclusion from the school."

Principal Morgan's words hung in the air, casting a heavy silence over the office as Sam struggles to process her implications. This was not the outcome she had anticipated, a knot formed in her stomach as she grapples with the reality of the situation.

Exclusion? You were going to be expelled?

Why had you went along with her lies? Why didn't you tell Mrs. Morgan what actually happened?

"Is that really necessary?" Sam's voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her eyes meeting the principal's with a mixture of desperation and disbelief.

"I-I mean wouldn't it be easier if she just dropped my class or changed to Mr. Dawson's?"

Principal Morgan regarded Sam with a stern expression, her tone firm yet empathetic. "I understand your concerns, Sam. However, given the severity of the allegations and the impact on the student body, we believe exclusion is the appropriate course of action."

Sam's heart sank at the finality of the decision, her mind racing with thoughts of the repercussions that laid ahead. She had hoped for a much different outcome, a chance to salvage her reputation and move past this ordeal, but now it seemed that option had slipped through her fingers.

As the weight of the situation settled upon her shoulders, Sam felt a sense of resignation wash over her. She had brought this upon herself, and now she had ruined everything for you, and not herself, like she had thought to begin with.

Sam hadn't been fired, but you had.

#sam carpenter #melissa barrera x reader #jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera

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romanovthinkver · 15 hours

Note

What about Nat taking you for the first time, being soft and careful but losing control for a bit and filling you up to the brim 🥴

sorry for the wait anon, i needed to get rid of my uni things, but here we go! it came out longer than i imagined, hope you enjoy either way!

warnings: sex scenes, dom/sub dynamic, g!p nat, daddy!nat, p in v, gxg, breeding, blowjob, fingering, orgasm, age gap, dirty talks.

daddy! nat was a completely a soft bear during your first time. you weren’t nothing but an inexperienced little virgin thing and natasha was this older woman who clearly had lots of sex in the past.

she took so much care of everything. the bed had towels for the eventuality of blood loss, bottles of water were lined up on the bedside table, the room was in the right temperature, a hand towel ready to wipe you off and she already set items ready for the aftercare. everything was under her control and ready to assure every of your comfort.

wet, needy and ready you were on her big bed being eaten and stretched out for the first time, at every whimper of discomfort natasha would softly hush you and press a kiss on your thighs. she was slow, lovely, giving you time to process and let her taste you in the most delicate ways.

natasha could’ve swear she would have been happy to die between your milky thighs with her mouth and fingers deep inside you, the sweet taste of your juices tempting and the most sinful sounds rolling off your tongue were driving the older woman drunk and lustful.

she was there with you, living the moment, living the passion, living the love flowing between you. starting to memorise your body that eventually became her favourite place to be, to mark, to own.

her knee sunk into the bed and while you were worshipping her plump breasts, she was jerking herself off with grunts and moans. your pussy was soaked thanks to the two orgasms she already gave you.

she shifted both of you on the bed, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows on the bed. fully naked, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. her breath came in shallow gasps as natasha watched you, who was positioned between her legs.

natasha’s cock was standing erect and ready as you leaned closer, breath hot against the warm flesh. you kissed the tip hesitating, lips soft and teasing. your daddy eyes fluttered closed momentarily, a low groan escaping her lips.

“oh, bunny,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

your tongue darted out, feeling bolder to giving the tip a series of playful kitty licks looking up at the redhead for guidance which was immediately given as big veiny hands found their way into your curls, gently tugging to guiding your movements.

“look at me, baby girl,” natasha commanded, her voice firm yet tender. you obeyed, gaze locking with her and slowly taking the cock in your mouth starting with just the tip, tongue swirling around it before starting to take more, inch by inch like a drug.

the woman’s hips bucked involuntarily, desperate to thrust deeper into your wet and welcoming mouth, hands tightened in your hairs, trying to maintain control. “take it all, bunny. I want you to take every inch.”

your eyes filled eventually with tears as the cock reached the back of the throat, but you didn’t pull away because you wanted to make your daddy proud, so you relished the sensation of pleasing her, the power and submission blending into a heady mix that made your own body tingle with arousal. bobbing head, cheeks hollowing as you sucked, tongue working the length of the massive venous cock.

natasha’s breathing grew ragged, her moans louder and more desperate. “fuck–you’re amazing, baby girl. just like that.” her fingers twisted in your hairs holding you in place firmly.

you could feel the twitching of the prick as the heavy balls of the woman prepared to release its contents, you redoubled efforts, mouth moving faster, eyes never leaving natasha’s. the connection between you was electric, the intensity almost overwhelming.

“daddy needs you to swallow, bunny,” natasha growled, her hips trembling with the effort to stay still, she was so close and only god knows how she wanted to pin you down and fuck your mouth with mercy. “can you do that for me?”

you nodded as best you could, eyes filled with determination and devotion. with one final, deep thrust, natasha released her load, filling your mouth with the warm, sticky cum. you gagged slightly but quickly composed yourself, swallowing every drop as your daddy had commanded.

the redhead whole body shuddered with pleasure as she watched you. “that’s my good girl. you took it so well, baby.” pulling you up for a kiss, your mouths meeting in a passionate, messy collision. the taste of the cum was still on your lips, and natasha licked it off, savoring the flavor.

"you're so beautiful, baby," natasha murmured against your lips. she kissed her way down to your body again and her thumb found your clit, teasing your folds. you moaned softly, body arching towards the woman.

natasha made sure you was wet enough, she was so worried to hurt you like you were made of glass. patting the tip of her cock against her pussy and brushing the tip gently over her entrance, she breathed softly "are you ready, my little one?.”

you nodded with eyes filled with trust and need. "yes, daddy. please."

the redhead positioned herself and slowly pushed the tip inside you, inch by inch, ensuring you didn't feel too much pain, her lips found yours in a slow, sweet kiss, muffling your mutual groans of pleasure and then finally she bottomed fully inside you.

"you're doing so well, princess," she praised, her voice tender and head resting on your neck, you were so warm and tight and natasha was already on the brick of blowing. she kissed you softly while you gripped at her back with nails digging in slightly.

natasha, once sure the pain went away, began to thrust gently, setting a slow and intimate pace. each movement was filled with love and adoration, her hips moving rhythmically against yours. "you feel so good, bunny. so perfect.”

you whimpered, body trembling with pleasure and need for more. "daddy! oh–more, more. please!”

natasha increased her pace gradually, her thrusts becoming more intense. "fuck–baby, i need to cum inside of you. i need to fill you up, sweet girl. daddy needs to claim you." she continued to move, her body pressed intimately against yours until she felt the climax building.

with a final thrust, the redhead released the cum inside your warm pussy, humping softly to ensure it stayed within you. "take it all, princess. you're so good for me," natasha praised, her voice full of pride and affection.

foreheads touching, breath ragged and sweet smiles painted your lips and bodies locked close, natasha caressed your hair, kissed you gently, and whispered sweet nothings. "you're my everything, bunny. you did so well," her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

she kissed you deeply again and again. your connection building stronger than ever, as you held each other close, the world outside fading away in the warmth of your shared love.

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alrightieaphroditie · 1 day

Text

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones! an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format! check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps.

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life.

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection.

Because it was a different story, now.

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it.

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face.

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today.

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning.

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

And so, that’s what you did.

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling.

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread.

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway.

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up.

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body.

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response.

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils.

And the occasional sniffle.

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about.

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body.

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go.

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously.

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see.

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking.

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response.

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream.

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace.

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps.

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it.

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material.

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it.

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever.

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him.

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice.

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared.

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him.

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin.

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours.

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven.

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body.

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh.

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg.

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close.

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed.

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you.

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream.

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core.

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out.

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down.

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you.

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open.

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?”

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock.

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger.

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm.

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers.

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.”

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body.

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested.

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body.

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up.

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even.

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours.

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together.

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure.

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless.

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure.

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.”

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you.

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit.

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent.

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours.

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse.

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed.

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh.

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house.

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly.

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm.

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body.

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach.

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself.

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?”

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men.

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open.

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up.

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up.

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom.

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours.

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.”

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