#dealing with that and also just i have c's in like three of my five classes and just school stress and yeah

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[ashblooddragons]

As The World Caves In

Request made by @valuemyheart1

Word Count: 1742

Summary: it's been three weeks since you lost your son to Blood and Cheese. and yet your breast will not dry, they become painful, and Aemond is all to happy to help relive that pain. (also Aemond was not with Syliv he was busy talking to some unnamed lord)

Warnings: memories of B&C, grief, P in V sex, breast worship, lactation kink, still new to smut so please be kind!

I can feel the weight of my breasts, feel how they are filled with milk for babe, it's painful and I should relive it, but there is no babe to feed to take this pain away. I've been fighting the memories, fighting the image of my little boy, my little Aenar.

Oh my sweet little Aenar, he was only five moons old when those monsters came in and took him from me. All for that little Strong boy. 

They were supposed to kill my loving Husband, my dear brother, Aemond. They might have if he wasn't speaking to some Lord that was in need of ‘dire advice from the prince’ I scoff at the thought. He was in dire need of my husband? Him? As I had to stand with a dagger to my throat as that blast cheese cut my son's head off? He needed my husband more? 

No, and there is a reason that the Lord is now being sharply questioned in the black cells. 

I can still see Aemond's face when he saw what they did to our little boy. He must have heard my screams after they sliced Aenar's little head off. He looked like he was going to be sick.

I hear something behind me, like stones scraping against stone. When I turn around to see what is wrong I see two men with knifes grinning at me, one rushes forward when he sees I'm about to scream. 

“You can scream lass, but if you do I'll kill ya. Do ya understand?” He asks, gliding the dull edge off his knife down the side of my face. 

All I can do is nod and pray that all they want is my jewelry. 

My nod seems to satisfy them as the bulky one lifts his hand from my mouth moving to reach for Aenar.

I gasp and step back holding Aenar closer to my chest cooing to him when he starts to cry. 

“What do you want? My jewels, you can have them just don't just my baby boy.” I plead helplessly. I gasp when the scrawny one rips the gold and ruby necklace from my throat.

“We were sent by the Queen, the true Queen. She wants payment for her son, and we were sent to make sure the deal was done.” The scrawny one says twirling his blade in his hands as he grins at me menacingly. 

For some reason this one scares me more than the goliath. 

“What does she want? What has my sister, the ‘true Queen’ , asked of you?” I ask feeling the pit in my belly grow, I have a sick feeling my jewelry is not what they are after. 

“A son for a son.” The goliath says pointing to Aenar who is still crying. 

I can feel his little tears soak into my silk robe, feel his little heart pumping in. I feel my throat constrict in dear, feel the bile rise in my throat. Black dots flood my vision as panic takes over.

“Give a price, want double the amount done. Just don't hurt my little boy. He's only five moons, please.” I beg but from the menacing smirk on the scrawny one, and the look of mock sympathy on the goliath I know they will kill my boy.

I tried to run but the Goliath grabbed me around the waist and held my head in place. “Told to take you to watch lass.” 

I watch as the scrawny one lays little Aenar on his changing table, raise his blade and strike down. It was a clean cut at least, as it only took that one swing for my little boy's head to fall off the table and  roll across the floor only to stop at my feet. 

I don't hear them leave, I don't hear the guards run in, I don't hear Aemond calling my name. I only heard screams and the blood rushing to my ears. When I turn I see nothing but Aemond, the way he can't decide where to look, our little boy or me. I watch as the blood drains from his face and his skin turns green. 

I don't know what to say besides one word. One word is all I need to say for Aemond to know who to kill for this crime against us.

“Rhaenyra.”

I'm cut out of my thoughts by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I whip around ready to attack only to find not a goliath nor a scrawny man, but my wonderful husband, my dear brother, I find Aemond.

“Sorry, I asked if you were alright?” He says with that tone that tells me he knows I wasn't here.

I about laugh at the question, how am I supposed to be alright? How am I supposed to ever be alright after what I went through? But instead of bringing up that night I decide to go a different route.

“My breasts hurt, the Maesters say I just have to wait for them to dry up, but they won’t. It hurts Aemond, it hurts.” I say flinching when I touch my tender and swollen breasts. It has only been three weeks since we lost our boy, and I haven't let a drop leave me. 

I watch his pupil dilate and hear him take in bated breaths. I know that look well, he's always adored my breasts but once I came with child and they grew, and once Aenar was born he seemed enthralled with the sight of our son suckling at my breast, one of the reasons I continued even though it is frowned upon for a Princess to feed her own child. 

“I could help,” he says breathlessly, making me confused how he could help me. “I could– I could relive that pain for you.”

“H–how?”

I feel his bated breath against my lips, feel the hardness of him against my hip. Try as I might I can't fight the desire that courses through veins, nor the wetness between my thighs. 

I watch as he moves so he is now hovering over me before he kisses my lips like a man starved. It has been so long since I felt desire, felt this need. I think as I move my hips so my core can meet his length. Though we're both still clothed, the friction is enough to make me breathless.

I gasp when he sits back on his haunches and lifts me so I'm on his lap. “Time to take that Nightgown off, Darling.” He says already raising it and I'm all too happy to help.

“Fuck.” I hear him whisper as he takes in the swell of my breasts, the rich pink of my nipples and the veins that have risen from prolonged fullness.

“Gods I've missed these.” He says kissing along the tender skin making me whimper in almost pain.

“They've missed you, my love.” I say smiling when I hear the guttural growl that leaves him.

Before I know it I'm laid on my back my Husband resting his hips against mine and my peaked nipple in his mouth. I feel each draw he takes, it's a strange relief, for the desire it brings to my core is undeniable, but so is the relief of that painful fullness and stretch. 

“Aemond.” I sigh out rocking my hips against his, I need more, I need him. 

“Fuck, if you keep doing that I won't be able to hold back.” He growls out gripping my hip and kicking up the milk that has dripped down my right breast. 

“Then don't.” I say gripping his hair and forcing him to look at me.

He may hate his eye, but I find there's something ethereal about his scar and sapphire. And even if it is the last words I say, the last thing I think before my last breath I will have him know I adore every part of him, even the scars and darkness. 

I feel him untying his trousers as he continues to suck and lick at my right breast. I feel each draw of milk leave me, hear the groan of pleasure he lets loose at each taste.

I feel the leaking head of his cock against my core, feel him hesitate from gliding into me.

“Please.” Is all I need to say before he drives into me with a punishing force. 

I can hardly catch my breath as he starts bullying my cunt with sharp hard thrusts as he moves over to my left breast. All I can think of is him, no more pain, no more grief, only Aemond and the pleasure he gives me. 

With each thrust and each drag from me teat I see stars, he has always known my body better than I ever could. He could always pick up the slightest frown or smile, and now he is seeing how he drives me mad with desire, how he takes my breath away. 

“You were made for me, from your nature to this sweet little cunt that grips my cock like a vice. There is no man, or god that will ever take you from me. Do you hear me?” He says emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust to the spot he knows makes me see stars.

“I was made for you, my love, only you, always you!” I scream out feeling my peak upon the precipice. 

With one more hard thrust, I’m screaming his name as I grip his long silky hair like a lifeline. My eyes go black from the force of my peak, and I can only barely hear him let ut a groan of pleasure before he spills in me, for all I can hear clearly is the beat of my heart. 

We lay like this for a while, his hands gripping my hips, my legs around his waist, and my fingers in his hair, and him buried deep within my core his cock acting as a stopper so his seed does not leak out of me.

We don’t say anything, for we do not need to, we know this was only a moment of release, of bliss, and that within time we will hold each other close, me sobbing into his chest and him letting silent tears fall into my hair. But we will have each other and that is all we will ever truly need.

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff

[myownwholewildworld]

THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y���know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

 “We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or of you. 

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

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

Not yet at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even when it was used against him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to give him. 

And he lets the water overtake him. 

~~~

“You forgot your lunch,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were. 

Right? 

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did. 

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

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

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

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

It was enough, for now.  

~~~

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

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

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

But only if you let it. 

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

But now it couldn’t wait. 

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

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

But it doesn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

And so he was here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“ 

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—For now at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another message comes through. 

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean it was expected?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knit your brow together, “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Professor.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But when would it be? 

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have agreed to this. 

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

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

Literally. 

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

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

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

You purse your lips — Satoru? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not just—“

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

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

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

There was something wrong with him. 

But there always was — when it came to you. 

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

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

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

But he couldn’t. 

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

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do. 

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

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

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

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

“Yes, come in,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he never would again. 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

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

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

For the rest of his days. 

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to think about other possibilities. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, but he could ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it wasn’t him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you soon, baby.” 

For now. 

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

Of course. 

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

And still so hard. 

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

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

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

No, you didn’t need to see that. 

But you didn’t know why. 

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

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

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

But would you ever be done with him? 

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

Apparently you would never be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,” 

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

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

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

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

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

What? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you say yes if it was Geto asking? 

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

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

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

He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it. 

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

Double fuck. 

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

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

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

And that wasn’t the right question to ask. 

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

His hand never leaves yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It wasn’t that. 

It wasn’t. Not if you let it be. 

“I’m sorry,”

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

There was only silence. 

Until you spoke first. 

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you couldn’t stoke. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you were ready to go. 

You barely remembered what you said. 

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

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

Your eyes slide to him again — no one else. 

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

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

So you begin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he breaks it first. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs. 

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

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

But he knew the words. 

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

And he would. He did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did it hurt so much? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuta, what? What’s—“ 

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

You don’t have words. 

No, you have one word. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yuta—“ 

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

“That’s not—“ 

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

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

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

“Of course—“ 

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

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

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

“Love doesn’t always have to—“ 

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

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

But you can’t. 

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

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

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

“I know. I love you too.” 

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

Not for either of you. 

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

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

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

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

“You’re still mine too.” 

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

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

You were still in love with Suguru. 

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

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, “Professor Yaga—“ 

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

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

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

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

Not that he was craving company. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullied into it was more like it,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

And he can’t hold back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, why did that thought also hurt? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always, for you.” 

Yuta knew it was for the best. 

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

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

It was for the best. 

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

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

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

His future. 

A few months later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? We can—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he just needed to know yours.  

END. 

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

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

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

[reasoningdaily]

My former U.S. Track and Field teammate Tori Bowie, who was found dead in her home in Florida on May 2, of complications related to childbirth at 8 months pregnant, was a beautiful runner. She was effortless. At the Rio Olympics, I ran the second leg of the 4 x 100 relay. Tori was the anchor. When she got the baton, I remember thinking, “it’s over.” She just accelerated. When she crossed the finish line, I couldn’t wait to run over to her to celebrate. It was her first, and only, Olympic gold medal.

She also picked up a silver (in the 100-m) and bronze (200-m) in Brazil. The next year, at the 2017 World Championships in London, Tori won the 100-m title, earning the title of “world’s fastest woman.” Tori started out as a long jumper. So seeing her thrive as a sprinter was a huge deal. She was just such a bright light, and people were getting to see that.

Tori grew up in Mississippi and had this huge Southern accent. She didn’t take herself too seriously. You felt this sense of ease when you were around her. I last saw her in early 2021, in San Diego, where she was training. She gave me the biggest hug; something about her spirit was just very, very sweet. I felt her sweetness come over me that day.

Tori was 32 when she died. According to the autopsy, possible complications contributing to Bowie’s death included respiratory distress and eclampsia—seizures brought on by preeclampsia, a high blood pressure disorder that can occur during pregnancy. I developed preeclampsia during my pregnancy with my daughter Camryn, who was born in November 2018. The doctors sent me to the hospital, where I would deliver Camryn during an emergency C-section, at 32 weeks. I was unsure if I was going to make it. If I was ever going to hold my precious daughter.

Like so many Black women, I was unaware of the risks I faced while pregnant. According to the CDC, in 2021 the maternal mortality rate for Black women was 2.6 times the rate for white women. About five days before I gave birth to Camryn, I was having Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I mentioned that my feet were swollen. As we went around the table, the women shared their experiences during pregnancy. My cousin said she also had swollen feet. My mom didn’t. Not once did someone say, ‘oh, well, that’s one of the indicators of preeclampsia.’ None of us knew. When I became pregnant, my doctor didn’t sit me down and tell me, ‘these are things that you should look for in your pregnancy, because you are at a greater risk to experience these complications.’

That needs to change, now, especially in light of Tori’s tragic passing. Awareness is huge. Serena Williams had near-death complications during her pregnancy. Beyoncé developed preeclampsia. I hate that it takes Tori’s situation to put this back on the map and to get people to pay attention to it. But oftentimes, we need that wake-up call.

The medical community must do its part. There are so many stories of women dying who haven’t been heard. Doctors really need to hear the pain of Black women.

Luckily, there’s hope on several fronts. Congress has introduced the Momnibus Act, a package of 13 bills crafted to eliminate racial disparities in maternal health and improve outcomes across the board. California passed Momnibus legislation back in 2021. These laws make critical investments in areas like housing, nutrition, and transportation for underserved communities. Further, several pharmaceutical companies are making advances on early detection and treatment of preeclampsia.

Three gold medalists from that 4 x 100 relay team in Rio set out to become mothers. All three of us—all Black women—had serious complications. Tianna Madison has shared that she went into labor at 26 weeks and entered the hospital “with my medical advance directive AND my will.” Tori passed away. We’re dealing with a Black Maternal Health crisis. Here you have three Olympic champions, and we’re still at risk.

I would love to have another child. That’s something that I know for sure. But will I be here to raise that child? That’s a very real concern. And that’s a terrifying thing. This is America, in 2023, and Black women are dying while giving birth. It’s absurd.

I’m hopeful that things can get better. I’m hopeful that Tori, who stood on the podium at Rio, gold around her neck and sweetness in her soul, won’t die in vain.

—as told to Sean Gregory

[persevereforahappyending]

A Legacies Secret |5|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.9k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Sam had held Tara as she cried, it had been a long time since she got a hug from a member of her own family. Tara almost forgot how nice her big sisters’ hugs were. She had missed Sam like crazy, she still didn’t understand why she left. Tara thought Sam loved her, even when she was struggling, she always treated Tara well, but if she actually cared she wouldn’t have left. It seemed like Tara’s entire family left her at some point, her only constant was you.

Sam was pacing back and forth in front of her hospital bed. It seemed after their emotional reunion; Sam didn’t know how to act now. Tara wasn’t sure how to act either, she was curious where Sam had been, what she had been doing, why she left, it didn’t feel like the right time to bring any of that up though. She was also curious as to why Sam came back, Wes had called her and she came as soon as she learned Tara was hurt, that had to mean Sam cared about her, but if Sam only came back because she was hurt then that meant Sam didn’t actually want to come back.

“So,” Sam said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Y/N,” she nodded.

That quickly snapped Tara out of her thoughts. “Yeah, we’re together,” she said, taking on an edge in her voice. “What about it?”

“I just didn’t realize you two knew each other.” Sam’s eyes darted around the room, but Tara could tell Sam wasn’t thrilled about the idea of her relationship with you. “How’d you meet?”

“School,” Tara glared at her sister. She really didn’t appreciate the fact that Sam was gone for five years, left without notice, and was coming back trying to comment on her romantic relationship.

Sam’s eyes snapped to Tara. “She would have been a senior when you were a freshman.”

“Yeah,” Tara rolled her eyes. “We shared a class, we sat next to each other, had to do projects together.” Sam let out a little scoff, clearly not liking the sound of that. “It’s not like we started dating then,” Tara snapped. “We were school friends and then became actual friends the summer after sophomore year when we ended up working together.”

“Oh, you also worked together?” Sam couldn’t hold back her humorless chuckle, the judgement dripping from her voice.

“Yes,” Tara groaned. “Liv and I got summer jobs at the video store. Y/N already worked there and before you ask, they weren’t like my manager or anything.”

Sam closed her eyes, tilting her head to the ceiling. Tara glared at her sister, she hadn’t even been back five minutes and she was already judging her relationship with you. Tara really didn’t understand what the big deal was, you were amazing. The judgement from her friends, from her mom, from Judy, and now from Sam was so unnecessary. All those people claimed to care about Tara, so they should just be happy that you were so good to her, that you loved her and expected nothing from her.

“Don’t you think they’re a little old for you?” Sam sighed. She put a hand to her head as if she was trying to stop an oncoming headache. Tara wasn’t going to back down; Sam was the one who wanted the argument after all.

“Two years!” Tara scoffed, rolling her eyes. Sam opened her eyes, raising an eyebrow at Tara. “Practically three, whatever,” Tara rolled her eyes. Three years was hardly a big age difference.

“I know,” Sam let out a tired sigh. “You’re so young and they’re-where do they even work?”

Tara opened her mouth, the fire in her eyes was fueled solely by defending you. “The bar in town,” she mumbled.

“That’s just great!” Sam threw her hands in the air.

“It’s good money and they need to pay rent!”

“Oh, they have their own place as well, that’s great!” Sam clapped her hands together.

“They’re literally the only person who’s always there for me!” Tara snapped, glaring up at her sister. She didn’t care how much she missed Sam, she would not let Sam say anything bad about you or talk down about her relationship with you. “Even before we started dating, they were there for me, every time mom…” Tara aggressively wiped the tears that had started to fall.

Sam uncrossed her arms, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Tara I-”

“The only reason they’re staying at that that shitty job,” Tara didn’t allow her sister to speak. “Is to help save money, so when I graduate, we can get the hell out of this town.”

Sam’s head snapped up, looking at Tara with wide eyes. “You haven’t graduated yet?” Tara’s eyes fell to where her good hand was picking at the fabric of the hospital blanket.

“Why do you think I’m still here?” Tara asked quietly.

Sam blinked rapidly, shaking her head and gave a little shrug. “I don’t-I thought maybe you were pushing college a year, maybe putting it off because of mom, or Y/N-”

“I got held back,” Tara snapped. “I had to repeat junior year.”

“What?” Sam breathed out. Tara was sure she would have missed it if they weren’t the only two in the room.

“Mom wasn’t doing great,” Tara’s voice got smaller.  “I missed too many classes.” Tara watched as Sam closed her eyes and slumped back against the wall across from the hospital bed. “My relationship with Y/N was literally the only good thing to come out of that shitty year. When they saw me struggling, they helped as much as they could, whether it was making sure I had a ride to school or helping me deal with mom, if I needed something, no matter what it was, they were right there.”

Sam nodded; she kept her head pointed towards the floor. “That’s very nice of them.”

“I don’t know what version of them you knew.”  Sam finally looked up, meeting Tara’s eyes. “But, the one I know, is someone who would take time out of their day to bring me food, just to make sure I ate, they would stay up after working all day just to help me get all my homework done because they knew I couldn’t have any more missing assignments.”

Tara ignored the way her vision began to blur again as tears filled her eyes. “So, if you’re going to just judge my relationship with her,” Tara said, her voice stronger than she ever imagined it would be with what she was about to say. “Then you can just go back to wherever the hell it is you’ve been hiding.”

Sam’s eyes were once again glued to the floor. “You really trust them,” Sam said, though it didn’t come out as a question.

“With my life,” Tara said without hesitation.

Sam nodded to herself before pushing off the wall. Tara’s eyes tracked her movements as she crossed the room and took the seat you had previously occupied at her bedside. “So, how did you two get together?”

Tara gave her a soft smile. Maybe Sam did miss her after all, maybe coming back wasn’t just because she got attacked, Sam didn’t approve of Tara’s relationship with you, but she was willing to accept it, she was actually asking about you. No one had ever actually asked Tara about how the two of you got together, not without a snide comment following the question at least, or there was always an eyeroll of some sort.

“I had a crush on them for forever,” Tara said, giving a small eyeroll. She thought you were cute from the second she saw you. “We were in photography together.” The class was usually filled with seniors because the teacher was fun, and most students didn’t have the previously needed classes before then, but Tara took nothing but art electives in middle school, so she was able to take it as a freshman.

“They didn’t complain when I sat next to them and they got stuck doing partner projects with me,” she continued. Most seniors would complain about being stuck partnered with a little fourteen-year-old freshman, but you didn’t complain one bit, you even listened to Tara’s ideas of what to photograph, you treated her just like any other peer.

“It was a yearlong class, we became friends,” Tara looked down at her fingers continuing to pick at the blanket. “That December, I turned fifteen, mom went out of town. I’m pretty sure she forgot what day it was, but she was very busy.” Tara shook her head, even after all the years of consistent disappointment she was still making excuses for her mother. “But Y/N learned it was my birthday after I was grumpy all of class, or at least that’s what they said.” Tara pouted; she still didn’t think she had been grumpy.

“That night she knocked on my door, it was the first time we saw each other outside of class.” Tara shook her head at the memory of her opening the front door to see you standing there, an awkward smile on your face as you shifted from foot to foot. “She brought me a cupcake.”

“What are you doing here?” Tara asked, her mouth hanging open as she stared at you. Out of all the people to be knocking on her door she never expected it to be you.

“Oh, I,” you said, chuckling awkwardly as you rubbed a hand on the back of your neck. “I know it’s your birthday and I-” you held out a little plastic container.

Tara furrowed her brow but took the little container from you. She opened the lid, revealing a singular chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. She looked back up at you, her wide eyes beginning to fill with tears. No one had done anything like that for her before. Her mother forgot her birthday and the last true celebration she ever had was before her father left, before Sam left. Her friends offered to do things with her, Judy would offer to bake for her, and Chad and Mindy’s mom would invite her over for dinner, but it always felt like they pitied her, like they felt bad that none of her family loved her enough to stick around or remember her birthday.

“I-I know it’s not much,” you said, breaking Tara out of her thoughts. “Maybe it’s weird-it’s weird I did this,” you gestured to the cupcake, though your eyes were glued to your shoes, refusing to meet Tara’s gaze. “I just think everyone deserves a little something on their birthday.”

Making sure to be careful of the cupcake in her hands, Tara stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of you and flinging an arm around the back of your neck. You froze as soon as her arm went around you but after a second, she felt you slowly relax. You knew what it was like to be alone, your parents gave you up when you were a baby, you never even knew what it was like to have a family. Even though Tara didn’t know what it was like to be an orphan, she knew what it was like to be abandoned by her entire family.

“Thank you,” Tara mumbled before pulling away.

You gave her a soft smile, your eyes flicking down to the floor for a second before meeting her gaze again. “Happy birthday Tara,” you said.

Tara gave you a wave as you made your way back to your car, quietly closing the door once she saw you driving off. A part of her wished you had stayed but just the idea that you had gone out of your way to bring her a cupcake was enough. She took her cupcake to the kitchen, sitting it on the island before picking it up and taking a huge bite. It was perfect and delicious; Tara was going to make sure to do something nice for your birthday as well.

Tara smiled at the memory. You and Tara never talked about that day, the next day at school Tara went to class, she sat next to you, and it was never brought up. You didn’t make a big deal out of what you did for her, she knew it didn’t change anything, but it definitely didn’t help her crush on you. You were nice but she couldn’t even bring herself to classify the two of you as friends, you were just someone who talked to her in class, and yet you were kind enough to go out of your way and get her a cupcake when you realized she didn’t have anyone there on her birthday. Tara never forgot that day though, she knew you didn’t forget about it either because when the two of you became true friends you always managed to get her a chocolate cupcake and it tasted just as good as the first one.

“I didn’t see her after she graduated, not until the next summer,” Tara continued. “I was bored, mom was gone, so I got a summer job at the video store with Liv.”

“Where Y/N happened to work,” Sam said.

Tara nodded. “Ended up bonding over the fact that we were doing all the work while Liv would flirt with guys.” Tara chuckled to herself, she didn’t know how many times she and you were restocking movies and she’d look up to see Liv flirting with someone at the counter. “She would also give me a ride home when we got off at the same time.” Her car rides with you back to her house were her favorite moments of the day, she wasn’t stressed about work, or worried about her mom, she was just at peace with you talking about whatever new movie she had seen, you would listen as she rambled on and on.

“We became actual friends, and I still had my crush,” Tara said. “I would ramble to Amber for hours about her despite Ambers clear disdain for her.” Tara rolled her eyes, even before she got together with you Amber practically hated your guts.

“I wasn’t sure if she liked me back,” Tara admitted. “Not in that way but then on my seventeenth birthday I decided to take a chance.” Tara smiled; it was more like she was talking to herself than to Sam now. “We had a small party, she stuck around to help me clean up and I just kissed her.”

“You don’t have to clean up,” Tara said. “You are technically my guest.”

“And leave the birthday girl to do all the cleaning up?” you asked, spinning around as you continued to walk around filling a trash bag. “That’s just bad manners.”

“Thank you.” Tara grabbed a few more empty cups, bringing them over as you held the trash bag open for her.

“Anytime.” You looked at Tara with the same soft gaze you always did, wearing the same small smile you always seemed to have around her. “Oh!” you dropped the garbage bag and ran to the refrigerator. “Before I forget.” You rummaged around in the fridge before turning around, holding a little plastic container with a chocolate cupcake inside. A shy smile slowly took over Tara’s face as you made your way back towards her. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

You flipped open the lid, then pulled out a little box of candles from your pocket. Tara chuckled as you stuck one of the candles in the cupcake. You brought out a lighter next, lighting the candle and holding out the cupcake towards her. Tara shook her head, hoping her inevitable blush wasn’t noticeable. She closed her eyes before leaning forward and blowing out the candle.

“What did you wish for?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tara gently took the cupcake out of your hands and sat it on the kitchen island. She looked up at you, letting out a shaky breath for what she was about to do. “For some courage and for you not to be mad at me.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why would I-”

Tara reached up, grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss. She felt your entire body freeze and just as she was about to pull away you leaned forward, eagerly reciprocating the kiss. Your hands found her waist, instantly pulling her closer to you. Tara smiled into the kiss, feeling you do the same as it went on for a few more seconds.

“We’ve been together ever since,” Tara said, smiling the same way she had the first time she kissed you, the same way she always did when it came to you.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about your relationship,” Sam said. Tara opened her mouth, ready to go on a tangent about you again but Sam continued before she could get a word out. “But I’ll try to learn to accept it.”

Tara looked up at Sam, giving her a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Sam got up, opening the door to allow you and her boyfriend to come back in. You instantly moved to Tara’s side, silently asking her if everything was okay, not taking a seat by her bedside again until she gave you a small smile. You glanced at Sam who spared you a side glance before going back to talking to her boyfriend. Tara sighed, she knew it would take time for Sam to get used to you being around, which she would have to do if she actually wanted to be a part of Tara’s life.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that” 

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.

[gerec]

Whenever you’re getting back into fic recs - Erik whump please please please it’s so hard to find

Hi Anon!

There are lots of great Erik whump fics on Ao3; here are some favourites.

Also, check out Redring91 's and Groot_the_tree 's fics in general as they have written a treasure trove of hurt!Erik stories!

Spark Me Up by blarfkey

"This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles."

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

All About Love by kath_ballantyne, treasuredleisure

He wants a comfortable night, enough money to last him a while, and a distraction from the grueling monotony of his life on the streets.

But the kind man in the alleyway gives Erik something he needs the most; something he never thought he could ever obtain.

Subject E by Ook

In which Subject E, unwilling medical experiment, runs away from the lab which has him captive, and is taken in by Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

For these two men by novera_nope

When Erik has a panic attack on the plane, even an emotionally stunted man as Logan realizes the nature of the relationship between Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr.

Be dead, be alive, be something in between by The_Aleph

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Major.”

“Forgive me when I say the feeling is far from mutual.”, he grimly took the hand: “Goodbye, Professor Xavier.”

He turned to walk out of the room, but before leaving he stopped by him, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to whisper in his ear:

“You are no longer my problem. The Professor is now your Master. I heard some things about him. I wouldn’t anger him. See you.”

Stryker threw him back on the floor and left without another word. Left him alone. Alone with a foreign human. The room was warm. He started to tremble.  

In Solitude by Red

In all their time on the road, of course they'd slept together. They'd been close as lovers, but never--despite Charles's best efforts--had they been sexual.

Why now, in a tiny Paris hotel, Charles doesn't know. He can't even look to see, but it's not like he's about to deny Erik after all this time.

Need by unearthlydust

Erik’s gaze is so haunting, so evocative. Logan recognizes that look, for he has seen it many times in the past when he looked into the mirror, his broken and lost self staring back at him. It’s too familiar, too close to home, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of his dark past.

Peaceful thoughts, peaceful thoughts.

Skin to Skin by TurtleTotem

Erik, freshly rescued from solitary confinement, hasn't touched another person in years.

Five times Charles made the first move and one time Erik did.

you're trying to save me (stop holding your breath) by seemeunseelie

Erik arrives at Westchester one night with a stolen government file labeled Xavier, C. and a bullet lodged in his side.

When Erik becomes unbalanced, Emma presents him with three options: go back to Charles for three months and learn to deal with whatever he has going have going on, lose his Brotherhood, or let Emma control his mind.

He really only has one choice.

Hushed by Redring91

A storm rages outside, but there are worse things to weather, and Erik can’t sleep.

Sleep by Groot_the_tree

The bed next to him dipped and he jumped, looking around. Logan was sitting next to him, the cigar was gone but the smell was still there. For some reason, it was comforting to Erik, giving him something to focus on other than the panic.

“Just breath, Bub,” Logan said. - Erik and Logan share a room after Erik has been broken out of the Pentagon. They talk and it leads to something they'll never talk about again. Or perhaps they will.

Fever Pitch by Wolfcry22

Dealing with a metal manipulating mutant with a fever isn’t something Charles was prepared for.

Wir Schützen Was Wir Lieben by Cylin

Erik comes back to the mansion hurt. The kids try to help - they really try - but things escalate. What has happened to Erik affects all their relationships, but most severely Charles's and Erik's.

Reverberation by Redring91

Sound, like magnetism, travels in waves. After being deprived of metallic resonance for so many years, Erik suddenly finds himself drowning in it.

Stricher by Cylin

Prompt fill from the kink-meme: You know, I've only seen stories with Charles as the rent boy or the prostitute, never Erik. Do something, I would like to read heartbreaking stories with Erik as a prostitute.

Vulnerability by TheRedGlass

An attack while recruiting leaves Erik horribly injured but Charles faces a challenge in getting him medical help and has to improvise.

[aanoia]

Live for you

JJ Maybank x reader

Summary; reader is fresh out of the mental hospital

Warnings; huge TW, suicide, self harm, mental hospital, mentions of alcohol and weed

Words; 1000+

If you are struggling please reach out. To me, or someone you trust. Please. I will sit and listen to your problems all night. Coming from someone who has attempted suicide and who self harmed for years, in the end it does not help. I understand the feeling of never getting better, but please try. I am here for everyone.

Requests are welcome and encouraged! I have a anon submission box and you can ask in comments!

  There’s one thing no one prepares you for in a mental hospital. Leaving. Great deals of dread and loneliness fill my body as the beach rolls by. Memories of surfing and messing around with friends flood my mind. My friends. I haven’t heard from them in two months. The hospital didn’t allow anyone who wasn’t family to contact me. I missed them. I missed the Pogues. 

    We pulled up to my house. It was a decent size. My parents didn’t make as much money as Kook parents, but not as little as Pogue parents. We were in the middle. Not rich enough to be a Kook, and not poor enough to be a Pogue. The car stopped and my mom turned around in the passenger seat with a comforting smile.

    “We’re home, sweetie.” She said softly. That’s one of the many things I hate about just being out of a mental hospital for trying to kill yourself. Everyone states the obvious as if I’m too numbed by the want to commit suicide that I can’t see what’s right in front of me.

    I undid my seatbelt with shaky hands and opened the car door. Slowly I rose out of the car and took a deep breath as my dad got out of the car himself. He gave me a smile, which I weakly returned before he went to the door of the house and unlocked it. The bags and worry lines were prominent on his face. I pinch my thigh, feeling guilty to put him and my mom through so much turmoil.

    I walked through the doorway and was greeted with the familiar warmth of lavender candles and soft knit blankets which my mom made. The house was exactly how I left it, nothing seemed to be different. Everything was the same, except a painting. One I made when I was in seventh grade. It had moved to a different wall, and was closer to the ground then I remembered. 

    I gently rubbed my wrist, soothing the small ache of my scars. My mom and dad lingered in the living room, not saying anything but closely watching me. Their eyes burned into my back as I slowly walked up the stairs, savoring the feeling of the smooth wood railing. My leg tingled as I remembered when I tumbled down the stairs and broke my ankle when I was ten. I was so sure I was going to die as I laid in the backseat of the car with tears streaming down my face. In the passenger seat my mom tried her hardest not to have a heart attack as my dad was slightly amused at the situation, but still had slight worry for his daughter. 

    I walked down the hallway to the door of my room. The door was still painted black with white specks of paint and five hand prints, all different colors. The F/c handprint was mine, the red one was JJ’s, pink was Kiara’a, blue was Pope’s, and purple was John B’s. We painted it together only three months before I was rushed to the hospital. Only three months where my world almost ended. It seemed like a lifetime ago, despite it only being five months ago. 

    The golden doorknob was cold as I gently twisted it and it creaked as I opened the door, the sense of familiarity making me feel a little bit better. My room was the same. The only difference is it was clean. And also probably stripped of all the shards of glass, blades, pills, joints, and alcohol I had hidden. It even smelled the same. Vanilla, with a hint of cinnamon, as JJ would say.

    Tears stung my eyes as I looked at the polaroids that were taped onto my wall into the shape of a heart. My favorite, which was in the middle of the heart, was JJ and I kissing during sunset. Pope had taken the picture without us realizing and gifted it to me for my birthday. I touched the polaroid, wiping away a speck of dust before exiting my room with a new found urgency.

    I walked down the stairs quickly to meet my parents sitting at the island, talking quietly with each other. They looked at me with confusion.

    “What’s got you in such a hurry?” My dad asked with a small smile to show he was joking. I half smiled back.

    “I need to go to the chateau. I need to see my friends.” I said with a steady voice, which surprised even me.

    My mom and dad looked at each other before my dad nodded. “I’ll take you.” He said and grabbed the car keys. He kissed my mom goodbye and I waved to her as we left the house. The car ride was silent as we drove, the only sound being the radio.

    My dad parked a little ways away from the chateau, the Twinkie taking up parking space. I hesitated once I saw the group. They were laughing but they seemed unenthusiastic. JJ was smoking, as usual, as he sat against the big tree, a small, broken smile on his lips.

    “Dad?” I asked, not taking my eyes from the group.

    “Yes?”

    “What if they hate me?”

    “Why would they hate you, sweetheart?”

    “I tried to leave them. I tried to leave him. How could he ever forgive me?” I questioned, a single tear falling from my eye.

    “JJ loves you. I don’t think a single bone in his body could hate you. He’s your boyfriend, and your best friend, and he’s JJ.”

    I nodded. “Yeah, he’s JJ.” I said as Pope looked in the car's direction. A moment passed before he shot up and pointed.

    “Go.” My dad said and I looked over to him.

    “Okay. I love you.”

    He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, “I love you too.”

    I looked back at the group. They were all standing now, looking over as I opened the door and stepped out. After a second, a second of recognition, a second of disbelief, a second of relief, JJ broke out in a sprint. His body collided with mine and I didn’t waste a second. I wrapped my arms around his shoulder as his body shook in my grasp. The rest piled in. We were just a group of friends, hugging desperately as tears streamed down our faces. I didn’t even hear as my dad drove away.

    After a few minutes, we broke apart, the only one who didn’t let go of me was JJ. And I was perfectly content with it as I ran my fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.

    “JJ, don’t suffocate her.” John B said with a teary laugh. Slowly JJ pulled away and I placed my hand on his cheeks, wiping away his tears with a smile.

    “You’re okay?” JJ said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

    I shook my head, “No. But I’m alive.” I said and he nodded, another tear dripping down his cheek.

    I pulled away from JJ and Kiara gave me a quick, tight hug.

    “Sorry, I just had to give you another hug. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” She said and wiped her face.

    My smile fell as I looked over the group and their tear stained faces, “I am so sorry, guys.” 

    “Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything we’re sorry for not providing you the support you needed.” Pope said and a sob fell from my lips.

    “I’m sorry, it just hurt too much. I’m sorry for trying to leave you guys behind.” I said with a shaky voice and JJ wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

    “Shh, sh, it’s okay. We’re okay. You’re okay.” He whispered and I took a deep breath and nodded.

    “Yeah.” I whispered. “We’re okay. I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay.”

   

    I laid in the hammock with JJ as we looked up at the stars. I could feel the warmth of the slowly dying fire on my legs.

    “I thought I lost you.” JJ muttered and I closed my eyes.

    “I know.”

    “I was so worried. Your mom she- she kept me updated, but I wanted to hear from you about how you were.”

    “I know.” I opened my eyes.

    “I thought you were dead, Y/n. I thought the only reason I had to keep living was dead.”

    “I know. I-” I sighed. “I’m gonna try to get better. I’m gonna try.”

    I looked at JJ who was already looking at me. “And I’m gonna be there for you every step of the way.” He said softly and placed his lips on mine for the first time in months.

    I used to think there were two types of love. The kind you’d die for. And the kind you’d kill for. But JJ, he was the kind of the love I would live for. I will live for JJ.

[tiny-pretty-sana]

be as one | twice

pairings: nayeon x jeongyeon, momo x mina, sana x jihyo genre: christmas fluff warnings/tags: au, unnie line as mothers, school meal club as kids, twice reunion, stablished relationships, domestic fluff, christmas day, subtle past angst, now proofreaded and edited w/c: 11.3 K a/n: i wanted to post this for christmas but it's too cute to stay in my drafts, so take it as a belated christmas gift from me 🧸🤎

"Aren't you excited to meet the dogs?" Sana asks the little girl in the back seat as Jihyo watches her from the rearview mirror. 

Tzuyu looks at her with her eyes wide open and nods her head sheepishly, being so shy you wouldn’t tell she has been waiting a whole week to meet not one but three doggies as promised by her new moms, Sana and Jihyo. They also told her she will meet two girls like her and their mothers, but this part of the deal is not as thrilling for her. 

She is a really shy kid. She gets nervous in crowded places and it takes her a while to feel comfortable around new people. It took her around five visits to start talking back to Jihyo and Sana and she finally told them she wanted to go home with them after six months of almost weekly visits. So the idea of meeting six new people at the same time is not very appealing, that is why their moms have made sure their friends bring their dogs too. 

Tzuyu loves dogs and Sana and Jihyo love Tzuyu. They are both willing to do whatever it takes to make her feel comfortable, safe, protected, cared for and heard. 

A month ago she arrived home, since then the three of them are adjusting to their new life together. It is still an ongoing process, but with these small steps they hope that little by little this will become their new normal as a family.   Soon she will have to start school, so when Jeongyeon told them that her sister had rented a hanok for her to spend Christmas with her family and invited them to join them with Momo and Mina as well, they did not hesitate to accept the offer. It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce them to Tzuyu and besides, their daughter could start socializing with children her age and it might go better than their attempts to get her to interact with other kids at the park.

A little farther away, in Jeongyeon and Nayeon's car, Chaeyoung asks her moms in concern "Does Tzuyu like strawberries?" while absent-mindedly caressing Kookeu that sleeps resting his head on the girl’s lap.

Jeongyeon sighs after losing count of how many questions her daughter has asked them about the new member of their unique family. After finding out she is not a baby but a six-year-old girl like her, her interest increased and she has been asking nonstop about her. Things like her favorite color, if she likes painting or drawing, what food she likes and a dozen other things that Nayeon and Jeongyeon can only answer by saying she can ask them herself when they arrive.

Something similar happens with Dahyun, although her questions are undoubtedly much more complicated,probably due to the one-year difference between the two. It all started because she doesn't understand how her aunts have had a daughter of Chaeyoung's age instead of a baby. “I don't get it,” she says, crossing her arms slightly frustrated and looking at her mother with distrust. "It doesn't make sense, mommy" she says fussing and raising her voice slightly "How can auntie Sana have a 6 year old girl in her belly? She can't fit in! And auntie Jihyo is even smaller!" she whines.

In the driver's seat, Momo tries to contain her laughter, but can't help letting out a chuckle at her last statement. Next to her, Mina just giggles as she realizes the reason behind her daughter’s worry, maybe they should have had a conversation about this whole thing earlier and not on the way to meet Tzuyu. However, with everything that Mina has had on her mind these past few weeks she has been letting the now inevitable conversation slide.

"Honey, Tzuyu doesn't come from Sana's or Jihyo's belly. Remember when we talked about the different types of families there are?" Mina begins to explain.

"Yes" Dahyun nods energetically. "Some people have a daddy and a mommy, other people have two daddies or two mommies and sometimes they have just a mommy like me, but there are as many types of families as there are colors" she quotes the explanation her mother has given her so many times.

Mina can't help but smile as she hears her daughter repeat word for word the phrase she has told her every time she leaves the father's information blank on school trip authorizations, when other children ask her where her dad is, or that time she had to make a family tree as homework. Her daughter knows these words by heart and she can only hope that Dahyun truly feels this way. 

"That’s right love” she asserts. “There are also children who don't have parents and there are families who don't have children, so they adopt those children and become a family. Tzuyu used to have no mommy and daddy, but now she lives with Sana and Jihyo who are her mommies".

She speaks slowly taking into consideration every word that comes out of her mouth, trying to simplify it as best as she can, so that the information can be processed by the child's brain. Mina knows she has to make it easy and clear while discussing it with the importance that such a topic requires. 

During the explanation Dahyun listens attentively and her mother can see her opening her mouth slightly showing the gap left by her baby teeth that are no longer there. Mina immediately recognizes that look, her daughter is considering all this new information and she gives her some time. 

"What does it mean to adopt?" she asks, frowning at the new word. 

This time it is Momo who gives an answer "It means they take her home to live with them and now they take care of her, give her hugs, help her get dressed, feed her...just like I did with Boo and-".

But before Momo can illustrate the definition, she is cut off by a slap from Mina on her thigh. 

"Oh my god you're not comparing the dogs to Sana and Jihyo's daughter" Mina scolds her in a hushed tone so Dahyun can't hear her. 

"Sorry" Momo mutters as she turns her attention back to the road.

The conversation is interrupted by Boo’s bark after hearing his name, still this distraction is not enough to stop the gears in the kid's mind. Both adults are willing to indulge her curiosity whether she is aware of the weight of the matter they are talking about or if this is just part of her ‘why?’ phase.  

"But if she wasn’t in no one's belly, why is she their daughter?". 

"She doesn't need to be in any of your aunt's belly" Mina smiles softly "Don't you love Momo?" she tries.

"I love Momo" she says, nodding quickly. 

"And I love you, Dubu" Momo speaks again with a big smile. 

"And she's your family, right?" Mina already knows the answer. It is something that has been confirmed by all the drawings pinned on the fridge door with three stick figures surrounded by hearts and joined by two circles with ears that are supposed to be Boo and Dobby. 

"Yes!".

"But you weren't in her belly and Momo takes care of you just like I do. She makes you breakfast, walks you to school, takes care of you when you are sick, dances with you and lets you sit on the counter while she cooks. She loves you just like I do" she says, watching Momo's cheeks blush.

"MOMO IS ALSO MY MOTHER?!” she screams shocked by this newly found fact. Still surprised, she adds a second question  “CAN I CALL HER MOM?" Dahyun screams again, causing Momo to almost swerve the car.

This time there is only one person who can answer the question, so Mina just looks at her partner with the most loving gaze while Momo is short-circuiting. It's not as if the conversation has never come up before, the two have talked about it many times and she knows that, to Momo, Dahyun is her daughter and that she loves her as such. Even if she hasn't vocalized it yet at least consciously. On some occasions the little girl has called her “mom” or “mommy”, but she always assumed she did it accidentally, so to hear from her own mouth that she wants to call her the same way she does with Mina is a big deal.

“S-sure” Momo stutters after a few seconds and just smiles widely.

Beside her, Mina feels like her chest is going to burst as she grabs Momo's hand and looks at her smiling with eyes sparkling with love. The truth is that for some time now when she thinks of family she no longer thinks only of Dahyun and her older brother but also of Momo, Boo and Dobby. When she thinks of family she thinks of her friends whom she sees as sisters and her daughters whom she sees as nieces. It's just a word, but it makes it all more real. They are a family. 

In the front seats both women do their best to hold their tears back, behind them Dahyun starts rambling about how she will tell Chaeyoung that now she has two mothers too and that her mom can cook just like Jeongyeon, so she has a mom and a mommy who can cook yummy things as if it's some kind of competition. They know that at some point they will have to tell her that she should not brag about these things to other children, but for now they let her enjoy the moment.

The way is long, but they all think it is worth it when they see the stunning place that Jeongyeon's rich and famous sister has rented as a belated birthday present and an early Christmas present so that they can enjoy this holiday with their other family, the one that her sister and sister-in-law have built and chosen. The gift was well received and greatly appreciated by all, except for Mr. and Mrs. Yoo. Jeongyeon's parents did not like the idea of not spending Christmas spoiling their only granddaughter, but when her daughter told them that it would be a good opportunity to meet the newly adopted daughter of Jihyo and her wife, they were quick to ask her and Nayeon to organize a lunch at their house with all the kids. It took them only a few hours to buy matching pajamas for Chaeyoung and the other girls.

Now they are all in the large traditional style house surrounded by nature, away from the city, but close enough to a village not to be too isolated. The air is fresh, there is no pollution and the only thing that can be heard is the one or two birds, since at this time of the year most of them have flown to other places in search of higher temperatures. Without a doubt, it is the perfect place to celebrate Christmas and take a well-deserved rest that will last until the last days of the year. The truth is that there is still no agreement on whether they will celebrate the New Year here as well, but at least they will stay long enough to celebrate Sana's birthday together.

They all arrive around the same time and as soon as the cars stop two little girls who are a bundle of nerves  jump out of Jeongyeon and Jihyo's cars.

"BROOOOOOO!" they both scream at the same time as they do their – not so secret – handshake before melting into an embrace as if they hadn't seen each other a few days ago at school. 

Mina sighs and covers her face with her hand "I need to have a word with my brother" she says aloud as a reminder to herself. 

"I think she's so funny and adorable" Momo replies. 

"Momoring, you are the least objective person in the world when it comes to these two" she smiles at her girlfriend. "They can literally do anything and you'd say they're adorable." 

Between all the fuss caused by the two children, who are slightly over a meter tall, Tzuyu goes almost unnoticed for a few seconds as she clings to Sana's leg and grabs Jihyo's hand with her other hand.

"These are Chaeyoung and Dahyun, I promise you they are usually quieter" Jihyo informs Tzuyu as Sana laughs at the sight of the two's handshake and greeting. 

At the sound of their names the two immediately turn their heads to their Aunt Jihyo and then to the girl holding her hand. Their eyes widen and point at her, then they look at their aunt again and it is Dahyun who speaks first.

"Is she Tzuyu?" she asks in excitement.

Jihyo and Sana nod at the same time while Tzuyu shyly waves her hand without saying a word. 

They again turn their gaze to Tzuyu and then look at each other. 

"You are very pretty" Chayeoung says, looking at her again. 

"You are very tall" Dahyun says.

“Thank you” Tzuyu says almost in a whisper while she tries to hide even more behind Sana’s legs.

The rest of the women, noticing how scared their new niece looks, decide to give her some space before starting the introductions. For now she has enough with their enthusiastic daughters. 

"Why don't we start taking things inside?" Jeongyeon asks, drawing the attention away from the timid girl. "You girls can give the dogs a walk so they can pee, since there are three I think we're going to need Tzuyu's help, don't you think?".

The children nod their heads and Tzuyu’s eyes light up at the suggestion, because since she got out of the car she hasn't taken her eyes off the three doggies still waiting in the cars for their seat belts to be unbuckled. 

"Tzuyu would love that, right?" Sana states as she crouches down to Tzuyu's height to explain that she is her friend Jeongyeon, the mom of Chaeyoung and a pomeranian named Kookeu.

She just nods and stays silent but lets herself be guided by Sana, who walks with her to Momo's car, where Dahyun starts with the introductions. She introduces herself first, then her mommy Mina, her mom Momo. The latter who introduces her to Boo and Dobby while she puts the leashes on them and hands Boo's to Dahyun and Dobby's to Tzuyu who, despite her shyness, is clearly filled with joy. 

At all times Sana stays by her side and gives her comforting glances every time she looks up and gently squeezes her hand reminding her that she is by her side. The gesture reassures Tzuyu who dares to thank Dahyun, Momo and Mina and then says in a whisper "I am Tzuyu, nice to meet you", just as her moms have taught her.

Dahyun smiles as she grabs the leash and seconds later Chaeyoung and Kookeu join in. This time, the oldest girl introduces Chaeyoung and Tzuyu formally, explaining that they are both the same age even though Chaeyoung is shorter and Tzuyu is even taller than Dahyun herself. Sana watches the interaction closely and can't help but laugh, her heart melts every time she sees Dahyun taking on the role of unnie as she usually does with Chae, and now doing it with her own daughter. She walks and watches over the three of them as they explore the surroundings of the house with the dogs before going inside while the rest of the mothers are taking bags and backpacks full of clothes, food, supplies and - of course - gifts out of the cars while the girls are distracted and out of sight.

"No, no, no, no" they hear Nayeon say as she takes some bags from her wife's hands. 

"Oh come on honey, are you serious?" grumbles Jeongyeon. 

"I'm dead serious, join Sana and the girls. I'm not going to let you carry anything."

"Nayeon... Even if I was you-know-what, I could carry this. I'm already following all the precautions and recommendations as well as having a bunch of vitamins, but I'm not going to be getting the pregnant woman treatment as if I can't do anything. I refuse to do that" she argues and in response receives a negative head shake. 

"Look, I have a good feeling so I'm not going to let you carry anything. And the only reason I'm letting you drive, for now, is because we both know that between you and me only one of us is capable of driving us safely to a house in the middle of the mountains. And obviously the one who owns a car with scratches in the three colors of the parking column is not the one".

"Don't tell me you scratched the car again" sighs Jeongyeon tiredly. 

"Don't change the subject and go inside the house now or go stretch your legs a bit with your daughter before we lose her among these plants that I'm sure are taller than her."

After hearing her reasoning, Jeongyeon has no choice but to accept his wife's suggestion and joins Sana, the three girls and the three dogs. 

Once inside the house, Nayeon, Momo, Jihyo and Mina put everything in order and catch up with each other. Since the friend group was formed they try to see each other regularly and in the case of Momo, Mina and Nayeon - along with Jeongyeon - they often see each other at school and occasionally on play dates in the park. However, with the hectic pace of work, raising their daughters and taking care of the house, sometimes it is almost impossible to meet all of them together. Besides the fact that Jihyo and Sana have been practically absent these last few months, since they spent some time preparing everything for Tzuyu's arrival at home, and that this last month has been entirely dedicated to adapting to this new situation. This is the main topic of conversation among the women who ask Jihyo how she is handling it, if it is difficult, assure her that the best is yet to come, ask her how Sana has been doing and give her some parenting tips.

Jihyo is euphoric, she and Sana are the extroverts of the group and in general she is a very vocal person, but it is more than obvious to everyone that she is more talkative than usual. It is not the first time they see her like this, she was the same way when she met Tzuyu for the first time and when they started the adoption procedure. They love to see their friends like this and Mina and Nayeon remember that feeling of being new moms and how their friends were there to share the joy, fears and doubts. For a moment they are both brought back to the times when they listened to them talk for hours about names, diapers, cribs, milk, clothes, ultrasounds and a thousand other things. 

In fact, it was Jihyo and Sana who were present during their pregnancies, respectively. Jihyo was the one who took Nayeon, who was suffering from contractions, to the hospital while Jeongyeon at her side told her how to breathe, even though she was the one who needed the breathing exercises the most at that moment. And well, Sana was even present when Mina gave birth to Dahyun taking the place of the biological father - or the sperm donor as Sana calls him -.

Momo, despite being the most recent addition to the group, almost three years ago, shares the excitement equally as the three of them listen to the first anecdotes that Sana and Jihyo have already experienced with Tzuyu at home. The truth is that they have all been hearing about her for more than half a year and although today they have finally met her, they already feel that they have known her for a long time and that she is part of their family. 

"And it looks like Jihyo and Sana aren't the only new moms in the group, right Momo?" asks Nayeon arching her eyebrows looking at her "new" best friend. 

Mina hearing it can't help but smile and Jihyo makes a surprised face, they both look at Momo who smiles shyly.

"That’s right" she says while still smiling "Dubu has officially given me the title".

"I was honestly surprised she hadn't called her mom by now. There are times she looks more like your daughter than mine" she says to Momo as she holds out her hand and strokes it with her thumb. 

Mina takes advantage of Nayeon bringing up the topic of conversation and explains that it all came up in the car talking about Tzuyu and the adoption thing. Nayeon almost gets tears of laughter listening to Dahyun's confusion with the logistics, and like Momo she can't help but let out a laugh when she hears that one of the things she was really worried about is that Jihyo would have had someone so big in her belly when she was so small. Nayeon, for her part thanks aloud that Chae's questions were not so complicated, although they all agree that she and Jeongyeon have admirable patience after hearing that the questions didn't stop during the three-hour drive. 

Jihyo's heart warms, despite her height being a joke even to her seven-year-old niece, listening to how the little ones have taken the news. It was a fact for her that both her friends and their daughters would welcome Tzuyu with open arms, but hearing the girls' doubts and their mothers' responses gives her peace of mind knowing that her daughter is surrounded by such wonderful people. For a while she felt guilty for not being able to give Tzuyu some grandparents to spoil her since the relationship with her own parents is non-existent and given that Sana's parents live in another country, but that thought disappears from her head when she listens to her friends. This is her family.

Not only is she comforted by listening to the three women but she takes note of their experiences and especially Mina's explanation to her daughter about the different types of families in case she ever has to use it with her daughter. 

"Wow that's great" says Jihyo excitedly "Tzuyu still calls us by our name from time to time, but at least she has stopped calling us Mrs. Jihyo and Mrs. Sana" she laughs.

Once everything is in place, Mina starts preparing tea for the adults and milkshakes for the girls. Chocolate for Dahyun, strawberry for Chaeyoun and for Tzuyu... When she is about to look for Jihyo to ask her about it, the three dogs run in followed by the two children, Jeongyeon and finally Tzuyu who hasn't left Sana's side the whole time. Seeing the cute scene makes Mina smile tenderly, it reminds her a bit of herself when she was a child, so she can't help but laugh a little as she imagines how such a shy girl will handle having the most outgoing people she knows as mothers, for now they seem to be handling it quite well. She doesn't remember seeing Sana this calm in her life. 

"Tzuyu, which milkshake do you prefer? We have chocolate, strawberry and vanilla" she asks her.

The girl looks first at her mother who gives her a little squeeze on the shoulder encouraging her to answer herself, even though she already knows the answer.

"Vanilla, please. Thank you" she replies immediately.

"Good choice. Dahyun is going to be delighted but you might break Chaeyoung's heart". 

"Don't worry about that part, Mitang. We brought that ice cream that has all three flavors and I think everyone will be happy" says Sana looking at her daughter. 

"Is Jihyo still competing with Nayeon for the favorite aunt spot?" Mina asks while Sana nods, rolling her eyes. "I think Nayeon brought the ingredients to make hot chocolate, I just hope Dahyun doesn't try to eat it all." 

Sana laughs and replies "If it happens let's hope then she won't get a stomach ache like that time. I just can't stop Jihyo, you know how she is. She is very sexy when she gets into competitive mode." 

"Have some decorum" she says laughing, covering half of her face with her hand and looking towards the little girl. "I can imagine, it's going to be fun when school starts. Remember when Nayeon almost got into a fight with a parent on sports day."

The two laugh while Tzuyu plays distractedly with her mom’s fingers and rings. The conversation does not last much longer because when the girl sees the dogs, she asks her mother to come with her to play with them.

As soon as Sana disappears from the kitchen Jeongyeon shows up, offering to help Mina, but they both know it's just an excuse. Like Momo and Nayeon, they haven't known each other practically all their lives - as is Jeongyeon's case with Nayeon and Jihyo - but from the beginning they connected very well and are now quite close probably because of how similar their personalities are. As people who sometimes deal with a bit of anxiety and have a tendency to overthink, they have found someone to lean on who understands them.

"You haven't done it yet, have you? "Jeongyeon asks Mina first. 

She shakes her head "I've tried, I promise. But the truth is I'm glad I waited, if you give me a hand tonight I think I will do it" she says, unable to hide her gummy smile as she thinks about it.

"Yeah sure, just tell me what you have in mind and we'll find time to set it up."

"Same goes for you, I overheard your conversation with Nayeon earlier. So if there's anything I can help with, let me know" she offers.

"Don't worry about me, I've got it all planned out, Mitang" she tells her as she starts placing the cups of tea and milkshakes on a tray. "Or should I say bro" she teases her. 

"Oh shut up Jeong, I'm regretting letting my brother babysit. The other day she called me 'bro'!" she says, making her friend laugh.

When Mina and Jeongyeon appear in the living room, they all sit around a table and start drinking tea while the girls drink their milkshakes, obviously Tzuyu's choice of flavor doesn't go unnoticed by the other two. Just as Mina predicted, Dahyun couldn't be happier to keep all the chocolate for herself while Chaeyoung is a little put off that her new friend doesn't share her passion for strawberries, although she is more reassured when she tells her that her favorite is vanilla but she also really likes strawberries. Chae and Dahyun soon get up to start exploring the house and play hide and seek while Tzuyu, still overwhelmed by all these new people, stays by herself playing with the dogs.

She talks to them, throws the ball and tries to teach them tricks although the only one who responds to her commands is Kookeu.  They all look at Tzuyu with adoring eyes as they see how tender she is with the animals while Nayeon's look of pride is directed at her beloved dog. Still she can't resist how adorable her new niece is so she takes the moment to introduce herself while showing her the tricks she has taught the pomeranian, making Tzuyu feel more comfortable. She is a shy and quiet girl and it is normal that the situation is too much for her, but as soon as they start talking about dogs, Nayeon gets to see the Tzuyu that Jihyo and Sana have already known within the walls of their home. She is lively, smiling, intelligent and can become talkative when the topic of conversation interests her, at least if it's about dogs.

After a while, Chayeoung goes to look for Tzuyu who is still playing with Kookeu and her mom while Dahyun makes a loud announcement for the adults. It seems that they have found a Christmas tree so big that it almost touches the ceiling with some boxes around it with all kinds of decorations in one of the rooms of the house, some of them similar to the ones they have at home and the ones they themselves have made at school. For the girls it is something magical and the adults let them believe it. 

The next few hours they are all together decorating the tree, both kids and adults, while talking, laughing and singing. The end result is... colorful and eclectic. The tree has lights, ornaments of different colors and shapes that they had at home, the girls have collaborated with diy decorations full of glitter and doodles and some stuffed animals and superhero toys and even Mina and Jeongyeon have made their contribution with ornaments made of LEGO. All that's left is to put the star on the top of the tree.

Deciding who puts the star turns into a rock-paper-scissors competition between Chaeyoung and Dahyun, but also between Nayeon and Jihyo who want their daughters to place the star. After three rounds, Sana encourages her wife who has already rolled up her shirt sleeves showing her shoulders and is wearing her cap backwards. It is not until Jeongyeon sees the same competitive expression on her wife and daughter's face that she decides to put an end to it. Fortunately, they make the wise decision to have the three girls together put on the star with the help of their mothers. Jeongyeon, being the tallest of them all, has no problem holding Chaeyoung in her arms. Mina is a little taller than Momo, but her daughter has grown up and she finds it harder to carry her in her arms as she did before, so the girl ends up in the arms of Momo. The same happens with Sana and Jihyo, however, Jihyo's strength does not make up for her height even though Tzuyu is quite tall so she reluctantly lets Sana hold Tzuyu while Nayeon looks at her amused.

Each one of their little hands holds a part of the star with the help of their mothers and it is Nayeon who captures the moment first with her film camera and then with her phone, sending the photos to the group chat instantly. As soon as she receives the photo, Mina smiles when she sees one of them with only Momo and her daughter in it and quickly makes it her new lockscreen. The camera stays in Nayeon's hands for the rest of the day. 

Decorating the tree together gets the youngest out of her shell, still she continues to play with the dogs, but she also starts playing with Dahyun and Chaeyoung. They run around the house for a while until Chaeyoung takes out her notebook, coloring books and crayons. In the kitchen Jeongyeon, Momo and Mina prepare lunch and in the dining room Sana, Jihyo and Nayeon set the table. The house is full of voices, laughter, jokes, curious questions from the girls and some barking from the dogs and also the children. When the food is ready all nine manage to adjust to the small table eating with their arms glued to the one next to them. They wouldn't change it for the world, but they comment that they should come back during the spring or summer so they might be able to eat at the large outdoor table under the sakura tree to enjoy the beautiful place where they are. From that moment some of them take out their phones and start looking at dates on the calendar, but Mina's mind travels to other places when she hears that the big tree outside the house is a sakura.

After eating and cleaning up together with the help of their daughters, they go around the house. Surprisingly, they get the girls to agree to take a nap, probably tired from being up early and having been awake throughout the long car ride. Jihyo joins them, as do Boo and Dobby who find a gap between Dahyun and Tzuyu, the younger one snuggles up to Jihyo's chest who even in her sleep puts her arms around her protectively, something that has come naturally to her.

In another room the rest have some Japanese sweets made by Mina and Momo with a game of cards between them, without Jihyo and Chaeyoung, there is no one to fuel Nayeon's competitiveness, leading to the most peaceful card game they have had in their life. It's certainly something that tends to happen when Nayeon is around Mina as long as Jihyo and some kind of game, competition or betting isn't also present and it seems that Tzuyu has that same effect on her mothers. But like all good things, the quiet is short lived and in less than an hour the girls wake up and show up with Jihyo, she could still take another hour of rest. She instead sits behind Sana resting her chin on her shoulder and wrapping her arms around her until she realizes that her wife has some cards in her hands and after giving Nayeon a defiant look she starts whispering strategies in her partner's ear.

Dahyun realizes that they are playing cards and runs to her backpack and takes out her UNO junior and they start a more serious and less noisy game than their mothers. If it wasn't for the colors and the printed animals on the cards, anyone would think that they are the ones who are betting money and not Jihyo and Nayeon who keep shouting while Sana only laughs. This time it is Momo who captures the moment on film after being the first to lose in the game. She sits next to Dobby and Boo and caresses them while watching and listening to them. She can't help but smile as she listens to the questions they ask Tzuyu trying to get to know her. When the game ends in a draw by Dahyun's decision and without any protest from Chaeyoung and Tzuyu, even though Momo doubts they have understood the game well, she finally asks.

"Who wants to make cookies?". 

The question revolts the three little girls who immediately get up and squeal an enthusiastic "YES YES YES!" in unison joined by an excited Sana. 

Momo takes them to the kitchen where there are two bags with everything they need. From the first bag she takes out three aprons like the one she wears in her restaurant, but these are a smaller version with each one's name embroidered on them. This small detail touches them so much that for a moment they forget the reason why they have put them on and Sana, despite not having an apron for herself, gives Momo a huge smile and says "thank you", touched by her friend's gesture.

In the end the little cooking class that Momo had prepared attracts the attention of the older ones as well and they all end up in the kitchen among flour, eggs, dough, icing and all kinds of toppings with all kinds of colors. Of course, they replace the Christmas gingerbread cookies with chocolate cookies, vanilla flavored cookies and cookies with strawberry icing to please everyone's tastes. Some mix, some knead, some shape the cookies and then bake them, and each one ends up with a pile of cookies to decorate according to her taste and decorating skills. When they are done with the cookies, they all dare to make a big cookie house, all nine of them.

To say that when they finished the kitchen was the usual mess you would expect after cooking would be an understatement, as it took almost as long to clean up as it did to make dozens of cookies and the eccentric cookie house. When everything is finally cooled down, they make some hot chocolate and coffee with whipped cream, marshmallow, caramel... Then again they gather around the table with a cup in their hands.

It's not very late, but it's been dark for a few hours now and the only light outside is from the lamps hanging from the ceilings of the house, some small bulbs decorating the garden of the house and the lights of some houses in the distance. They all take it as their cue to shower and get ready for bed, at least for the kids who instead of getting more and more tired are more and more animated as the evening comes and the time when Santa Claus will bring them their presents is closer. 

There are only three girls, each under the care of two adults, but it takes them more than an hour to get them showered and dressed in their matching pajamas in the bed they have prepared for them. At first Tzuyu does not seem very sure about the idea, not that she is not used to it, in fact she used to sleep in a room with about ten or fifteen other girls, but this month she has spent it in the bed between Sana and Jihyo because she is still not able to sleep alone and now the idea of sleeping without them does not convince her.

"Come on, Tzuyu, sleep with us!" asks Chaeyoung, who can't stay away from her new friend. 

"Sleep with us Tzuyu, you can sleep in the middle, since you are the little one we can take care of you just like when I let Chae the side of the wall so she won't fall" Dahyun tries to convince her.

That last statement just melts the heart of all the women who are watching their little negotiation, but especially Sana and Jihyo. They are no strangers to these special moments between girls but now, witnessing it as mothers, hits different.

"I have an idea" interjects Sana. "I will read a bedtime story to the three of you so Tzu can test if she likes this bed and if she likes it you can leave her one of the sides so she can come to our room if she needs it" she says while looking at her daughter who nods in agreement with the solution offered by her mommy. 

"Yes, read it, auntie Sana!" exclaims Chae excitedly as Dahyun nods.

They love listening to Sana’s bedtime stories and the funny voices she does and Sana loves to read them bedtime stories. It has always been her favorite part of babysitting either of them and on occasion when she and Jihyo would invite them to have a sleepover at home giving their moms a break while at the same time she could enjoy something she thought she would never have until Tzuyu came into their lives. Sana has always had a very strong maternal instinct and with these things it shows even more. Her storytelling, answering the strangest questions and convincing three kids excited for Christmas to be in bed even before their usual bedtime are things that come naturally to her. Jihyo feels like her heart is about to explode when she sees these kinds of scenes and her friends couldn't be happier for her, to see that finally something she once saw as an impossible dream is now a reality.

Normally the only one who usually stays awake until the end of the tale is Chae because she gets absorbed with each story and can't sleep unless she hears the end, but this time Sana has to read them up to three stories until they all finally fall asleep.

Eventually it's time for the adults to relax, drink some wine, beer or soju and be able to talk and gossip without having to keep an eye on their surroundings to make sure that there is not a half-meter girl that they can badly influence if they hear them say a swear word or talk about some inappropriate topic. From time to time one of them goes to the room to check that everything is alright and that they are still asleep.

Once again, Mina somewhat nervously finds an excuse to drag Jeongyeon into the kitchen where she finally tells her about her plan and asks her to keep an eye out in case Dahyun wakes up or needs her while asking for some discretion. As she leaves the kitchen she heads to her room and returns with two coats, giving one to Momo to go with her to get some air. The others either don't notice or for Mina's sake pretend not to notice except for Jeongyeon who gives her a subtle thumbs up.

Her obvious nervousness and shaking hands suddenly catches Momo's attention causing her cheerful and slightly drunk expression to change to a worried face holding Mina's hands immediately.

"Babe, has anything happened, has your family called?" asks Momo worriedly knowing it's one of the things that triggers Mina's anxiety around this time of the year. 

"No, no. Everything is fine" Mina assures her with a nervous smile and unable to hold her gaze. 

"We've already talked about this, your hands are shaking. You can tell me anything, Mina. I got you" says Momo wrapping her arms around her and Mina can only feel lucky to have someone like that by her side.

She lets herself be taken in by the embrace and breathes in Momo's perfume, something that always soothes her, before pulling away and starting to talk. 

"Baby, I'm okay. I promise" she says, grabbing her hands to stop the shaking of her own hands. "But if I'm going to need you to listen to me".

Momo nods and looks at her expectantly.

"I'm going to need us to move to that tree" she says pointing to the huge tree that by this time has not a single leaf or flower. 

Once they are under the tree sitting on a small wooden bench while holding hands looking into each other's eyes, the youngest takes a breath and begins her speech.

"This isn't as cute as I had originally envisioned in my mind, but this is a sakura tree" she says gesturing awkwardly as if she is introducing the tree as the other looks at her in confusion. "I don't know if you remember" she takes a deep breath trying to calm her nerves so her voice doesn't sound so shaky. "But when things started to get serious between us, when I was afraid to let you into my life and Dahyun's, you told me that when you looked at the two of us you felt the same as when you saw the sakura blooming in the spring when you had only been here in Korea for a short time because they made you feel at home. I feel something like that too. When I think of you I think of family and when I think of family Dahyun's face is not the only one I see, I see you too." She thinks about her words for a bit and adds "It's not like I didn't see you as part of my family before, but today when Dahyun started calling you 'mom' I felt like everything was finally in place.... W-what I want to say is that I want you to be our Dubu's mom, I want to say that you are my daughter's mom when people ask me and I also want to say that you are my wife" she finishes saying with bright eyes full of tears while looking at Momo in expectation.

Momo also has some tears in the corners of her eyes and can barely articulate any words for a moment until she finally says "Minari, are you asking me to marry you?" she asks with a smile from ear to ear.

"Yes, s-sorry I forgot the most important thing" she stutters nervously searching for the ring in the pockets of the huge jacket until she finally pulls out a small velvet box and opens it before her eyes "I wanted to wait for the sakuras bloom season, but I couldn't wait any longer and when she asked if she could call you mom-" she starts to ramble as she does when she gets nervous.

They have been together for two years and ten months. It still happens to her at times like this. It still happens to her just like it did during the dozens of encounters they had until Momo understood that her best customer might be interested in more than just the Japanese food she missed so much and finally asked her if she would like to meet outside her restaurant. Mina hates that she still makes her stutter sometimes and for Momo it is one of her favorite things in the world to know that despite the time they’ve been together she still has the same effect on Mina. 

Suddenly she feels Momo's lips crashing against hers in an clumsy and rushed kiss, but full of emotions. Their arms are wrapped around each other's body and they can feel their cheeks wet with tears as the older one pulls away and softly says "Yes!".

"Let me ask you the question!" she whines. "Hirai Momo, will you marry me?" she finally asks, resting one knee to the ground and all. 

"Yes. I will marry you, Myoui Mina" she says laughing at the use of her full name.

Momo smiles as she sees her with one knee on the ground giving her the ring, a scene she thought she would never experience like so many other things when she discovered she liked girls in her last year of high school. Now she has the most beautiful woman in the world saying she wants her to be a mother and a wife, asking her once again to make a family together. They are already family and they both know that the ring doesn't change anything because they have been a family since the moment Mina decided to introduce Momo as her girlfriend in front of her friends and then her daughter, when Dahyun started treating Dobby and Boo like her own dogs, when Momo offered to pick up her daughter from school when Mina couldn't, when Mina asked her if she would like to live with her and Dahyun, when Momo started calling the little girl Dubu and started reading her bedtime stories or just a few hours ago when Dahyun asked her if she could call her mom.

"I'm sorry but Nayeon and Sana's rings are going to have to go to the other hand", Mina teases her being now more relaxed, taking her out of her thoughts while she takes her hand and starts to put the ring on it. 

It is a thin, simple, white gold ring decorated with three diamonds, while she puts the engagement ring on her finger she explains that since she prefers simple rings she thought it would probably be better to have a few small diamonds than one big one and that she liked the idea of three diamonds because they are three. This time she explains it more calmly, as if she isn't feeling her heart pounding in her chest and ears at full speed.

"I love you" says Momo, this time in her mother tongue. 

"I love you, Momoring".

It's been spontaneous, no picnic in the spring watching the sakuras bloom and no dinner at the nice restaurant she saw when they passed through the nearby village and the speech she's been preparing for a month was forgotten as soon as she saw how Momo cared about her when she thought something bad had happened, but Mina couldn't care less. Momo has said yes to continue having a life together now with the promise of forever and that's all she needs. 

It's cold and the first snowflakes are starting to fall from what looks like it will be the first snow of the year. Neither of them move, enjoying a little alone time before going back inside the house. The two cuddle and kiss, some of those kisses are short pecks on the lips and some turn into heated kisses that leave them breathless. When Mina's freezing hands sneak under several layers of clothing to caress the skin of Momo's stomach under her shirt sending a shiver throughout her body they go back inside.

When they come back they all know, even though all she asked Jeongyeon to do was to keep an eye on Dahyun and keep her mouth shut. You can't really blame her, the time they were there for them felt like an instant but it was really over forty five minutes of listening to Nayeon and Jihyo listing every moment they had told her some secret or gossip since they have known each other while Sana was about to have a breakdown thinking they were arguing and thinking about what she would do if they made her pick a side. All this while her social battery was at a minimum, so she ended up confessing everything and even shared some parts of the speech Mina had texted her asking if it was too cheesy.

As soon as she enters the door all eyes turn to Momo's hand and before Nayeon, Sana and Jihyo start to scream, Jihyo shuts Sana's mouth with her hand and Jeongyeon covers Nayeon and Jihyo's mouths. Mina and Momo are a blushing mess trying to hide in each other's neck while Jeongyeon apologizes for announcing it before them, knowing that they would have preferred to say it one by one to avoid this.

The three of them start asking them a million questions and start planning their wedding. Then Sana whines about not being the first to know but it doesn't last long because they all agree that she would have been so happy that she would have told the others and maybe even Momo herself if Mina had told her about her plans. After a while Jihyo shows up with more soju and even a bottle of champagne she had prepared in case they stayed to celebrate New Year's Eve, but the occasion is worth it. And if there's one thing Jihyo doesn't mess around with, it's alcohol, so you can trust that it's some good, expensive champagne.

They all toast to Momo and Mina's engagement with champagne except for Jeongyeon who raises her cup of tea, no one is shocked because since she started the artificial insemination treatments she has not been drinking for months, but they all need to know as soon as possible if she is finally pregnant because they really need to get used to the idea that Nayeon is going to keep drinking for the two of them at every celebration. Nayeon is not a bad drinker, but when she is drunk she can’t stay still for a second, she even becomes more giggly and hits the arm of anyone next to her. Jihyo and Jeongyeon tell that sometimes during their college outings they would wake up with bruises on their arms.

When they decide it's way too late and they have to place all the presents under the tree, the only one who is drunk – thankfully – is Nayeon. Momo and Sana have a slight blush on their cheeks while Jihyo has drunk twice as much as Nayeon and is doing better than Mina who has only had a glass of champagne because it is her own engagement, but is still a bit dizzy from today's emotions. 

It doesn't take them long to place the gifts despite Nayeon's interruptions and her and Sana's giggles threatening to wake up the girls. Luckily, Jeongyeon and Momo go a couple of times to check that they are sound asleep when they hear a soft snore from one of them.

They all say their good nights among smiles and laughter, feeling as excited as their daughters to open the presents as a family. Each couple disappears into their respective rooms and the moment they lay their heads on the pillow, they all fall asleep instantly. It has been an intense day and the best is yet to come. 

The next morning they are all woken up at 7 am one by one by the three girls who only scream "CHRISTMAS", "SANTA" and "PRESENTS". The strategy they follow is the same, Dahyun and Chaeyoung come in screaming and jumping on top of the adults shaking them followed by Tzuyu who is less shy around them but not enough to assault the adults like her friends do, so she just carefully tugs at their pajama sleeves while the others do the rest of the work. When they arrive at Nayeon and Jeongyeon's room things are different and Chaeyoung instructs the attack to be directed only at Nayeon because she has told her that she has to be careful with her mama.

The older ones have only had a couple of hours of sleep and some have a slight headache, but they make their way to the tree at about the same speed as their daughters until all nine are seated around the tree. Nayeon takes pictures with her camera while Momo has her cell phone in one hand and a video camera in the other with the intention of recording at least the highlights. Each time she checks that the camera settings are correct she can't help but smile at the sight of the new ring that now decorates her hand. 

Finally it's time to open the presents.

Dahyun receives a small digital piano that is halfway between a toy and a real one for starters with a microphone, lately she is in her singer and rapper phase. Momo and Mina know that in a few days they might regret giving her not one but two things that make noise. They also know that they will end up dancing and singing with her or that they will enjoy the small recitals that their little Dubu organizes at home. Another surprise they have prepared is for her to start piano lessons, but first they have to make sure that she knows they would be real piano lessons and that it is not like when she plays her toy piano keyboard at home. They also give her some books from her favorite collection and of course, chocolate.

Chaeyoung, like every Christmas, birthday or any other special occasion, receives paints, sketch pads, watercolors, pencils and other art supplies that are of better quality as she gets older. The little girl always gets excited as if it were the first time she gets them as a gift because in a month half of the things are already used up and her mothers no longer knows where to keep so many drawings. The last gift she opens, however, is something that makes her even more excited and that is a toy set to make temporary tattoos with markers. Since she was a toddler, she has had the habit of painting all over her arms and legs even before she could speak, and now there is not a day that goes by that she doesn't come home with a drawing in one hand and a note from her teacher in the other. When Nayeon saw the advertisement for the toy while she was on her phone, she ordered it online and it has been hidden in a corner of her house since summer.

Both Chaeyoung and Dahyun have among their gifts a package of a different color than the rest, Dahyun insists that Santa Claus knows they are bros and that's why he always gives them something that matches. The truth is that it's Jihyo and Sana who always get their nieces something special, since they didn't have a child to buy presents for until now. The fact that this year Tzuyu has come into their lives is not going to change this little tradition. This time Dahyun receives a stuffed eagle and Chaeyoung a tiger, their favorite animals. The choice of the oldest is surprising and even more surprising is that the couple found a cute stuffed animal of an eagle.

As for the new member of the family, she has been receiving gifts from her mothers ever since she arrived at her new home. Most of them such as clothes, school supplies, books and toys were just things that a 7-year-old girl needs at home, but Sana and Jihyo are still in the excitement of being new mothers so it is likely that she has been spoiled a little too much. After asking their friends for advice, they decided it was best to give her a few meaningful gifts rather than showering her with presents as they originally planned.

They didn't count on the fact that Tzuyu, given where she came from and with her background, is not the type of kid who asks for things, instead if she likes something you can see it on her face and maybe she mentions it because it has genuinely caught her attention and not because she is asking for it in a subtle way. They are both very happy to have such a good little girl and know that anything will be welcomed with sincere joy as they have seen so far, however it has made the job of being Santa difficult for them. Luckily, since they discovered Tzuyu's passion for dogs, it was clear to them what the perfect gift would be. A dog, this was the perfect gift, except that they had their doubts about it. After much discussion and thinking about it, Jihyo and Sana agreed that they didn't want to be the kind of mothers who give a dog as it was a toy for Christmas, especially after listening to Jeongyeon talking about how many dogs arrive at the shelter a few months after Christmas when they are no longer adorable puppies.

Tzuyu for the first time receives presents that are actually for her and not generic toys donated to the orphanage. On her first Christmas with her new family Tzuyu opens a package bigger than her and almost the size of Jihyo, it is a life-size golden retriever stuffed dog that makes Tzuyu cry instantly. As soon as the stuffed dog is free from the wrapping paper the little girl hugs it tightly and goes to her mothers and hugs both of them. 

"Thank you mommy Sana, thank you mommy Ji" she says sobbing making her mothers also cry with her. 

"You don't have to thank us Tzu" says Sana as Jihyo picks up her and the huge stuffed dog in her arms. "Santa got it for you because you've been such a good girl". 

"All we did was tell Santa that you changed your address" Jihyo adds and kisses her on the head.

There are still two gifts to be opened, one of them an illustrated book about dogs and then a letter that her mommy Ji has to read to her. It is an invitation to visit the shelter and help the dogs living there. At the bottom of the invitation are a pair of paw prints of different dogs for which Sana and Jihyo are very grateful to Jeongyeon who has also offered to be the one to accompany them to the shelter where she started volunteering and where she now works as a veterinarian. 

The other two children don't quite know what is going on, so they clap their hands when their mothers assure them that they are crying from happiness and not sadness. They themselves try to hold back their tears and in Nayeon's case hide them by covering themselves with the camera as she captures the emotional moment.

The next picture they take is one of the girls holding their stuffed animals. Dahyun poses like a rapper, Chaeyoun still doesn't know how to smile in photos and next to her Tzuyu stares at the camera with her eyes a little too wide. They take a total of thirty photos of them and they all agree that it's best to save those photos for posterity and not for social media. Luckily, the girls come out much better when they get their pictures taken while playing and Nayeon keeps saying that she can wait to develop the two rolls of film she has already spent since they arrived the day before. 

After the photos it's time for the older ones to open the gifts and as with the card game the task of telling who is more mature is difficult. Of course, Nayeon turns it into another rock-paper-scissors competition to choose the order and Jihyo accepts so the others are dragged into the game. The oldest loses and in addition to enduring her wounded pride, Nayeon will have to wait until the end to receive the gift. 

Contrary to other years when they have played secret friend, they have preferred to take the easy way and the gifts are only between the couples with the only condition that they are not allowed to give each other inappropriate gifts in front of the children. A rule especially addressed to Sana who on all Jihyo's birthdays gives her a lingerie set which is actually for herself and which Jihyo accepts with too much enthusiasm in front of all of them.

Sana gives Jihyo a designer leather jacket, a bottle of a really expensive soju that Jihyo loves with some glasses with a nice and elegant design to match the bottle. "I'll give you your other gift later in the room" Sana whispers in her ear before giving her a kiss. 

Nayeon gifts Jeongyeon a fancy watch and a letter which she asks her to read another time and is quite insistent that she doesn't read it in front of the others.

Mina tells Momo that her gift was given to her in the evening, but she has a small present. In the package there is a t-shirt with a drawing of the family done by Dahyun, there are a total of five t-shirts and Momo for a moment freaks out at the sight of two small t-shirts until Mina tells her that they are for Boo and Dobby making everyone laugh at Momo's momentary panic.

In between laughter, there is a loud sob and suddenly they all realize that Jeongyeon is crying her eyes out as she reads the letter. "Jeong! I told you not to read it!" says Nayeon in between laughing and crying as he wraps her arms around her wife and whispers "Well it's already in the letter, I love you baby." At another time her friends would have teased them, but Jeongyeon seems to be truly touched so they leave the couple a moment and continue. 

Mina is next and receives a LEGO set that Momo has caught her looking up more than once when they go to the mall and a Nintendo Switch game, as well as a simple necklace adorned with three hearts. Mina loves it all and Momo is still surprised that jewelry always ends up being the gift that costs her the least money and effort.

Sana is confused when she receives an envelope from Jihyo because she has always been very thoughtful with gifts and usually gets her a seasonal branded bag among other things. What she sees in the envelope, however, makes her scream in excitement more than any bag when she sees the tickets to go to Japan with theirs and Tzuyu's names on it. "Let's go see your parents next week, so they can finally meet their granddaughter," Jihyo says before she has to look up the details on the tickets herself.

Last of all is Nayeon. Finally her turn comes and she can't stop jumping up and down with excitement when she sees the box that Jeongyeon hands her. She tears the wrapping paper excitedly and when she opens the box and sees what's inside, her smile disappears. 

"Seriously Yoo Jeongyeon" she sighs, looking at her seriously.

The others just stay quiet not sure how to react because Nayeon seems really annoyed so they just watch the exchange between the couple. Then she takes out what's in the box and they all burst out laughing when they see a t-shirt that reads 'World's #1 Dad' on it.

It's a good joke and it's nothing that's unusual for the couple. They love bickering and teasing each other as much as they love giving each other kisses and whispering sweet nothings. This time it looks like Nayeon is not having it.

"I hope you have something better hidden, I spent days looking for the perfect watch" she whines and at that moment everyone sees the usual Nayeon again and the mood of the room instantly lightens up.

Jeongyeon also looks serious but it is obvious that she is holding in laughter when she says "I think I should have gotten you new glasses, haven't you seen what else is in the box?".

Her wife rolls her eyes and looks in the box again, not very convinced that there is anything in there, thinking it is still just part of Jeong's joke. You never know with these two. Once Nayeon gave her fifteen boxes tucked inside each other for their anniversary in college, though then he gave her something that kept them busy for several days locked in the room. One of the best gifts she ever gave her, unless you ask Jihyo who at the time was sleeping in the room next door. To this day, the youngest of the three has not wanted to know what that gift was, but today she is dying of curiosity, just like the others.

"OH MY GOD JEONGYEON!" She screams at the top of her lungs, making her friends jump in their seats and catching the attention of the girls who have been busy with their new gifts for a while now. "If this is a joke I swear-" she says trying to sound tough as she starts bawling her eyes out.

"I'm serious," Jeongyeon says in a whisper, taking the paper Nayeon is holding in her hands and showing her friends the ultrasound.  "We're going to be mommies again" she says with a huge smile.

It takes a few seconds for everyone to react and all of a sudden everyone starts to congratulate them while the oldest one complains to her wife that she didn't tell her, even more so when she finds out that she is almost three months pregnant and that they are expecting twins. Neither of them can believe that Jeongyeon made it on the first try and they couldn't be happier, especially with Chaeyoung's reaction. The little girl stares at them with wide eyes and when they confirm that she will be the big sister to two babies, her eyes glaze over and she climbs onto her mom's lap to hug them and caress her mama's belly. 

"This is a better gift than the tattoo machine" she says, still pouting.

All these emotions seem to have made them hungry and they soon gather at the small table, which is now more crowded with the girls' stuffed animals. In the middle of the table they have a mountain of cookies that they didn't finish yesterday and there is also hot chocolate, tea, coffee and milkshakes. The Myoui-Hirai family is wearing their t-shirts. Sana and Jihyo tell Tzuyu about Japan, tell her about the food and let her know that she will meet more new people, this time it will be her grandparents. Jeongyeon is still forced to listen to her wife scolding her for not telling her earlier that she is pregnant and lists one by one the things that could have happened until Jeong admits that she was afraid something would go wrong and Nayeon's gaze softens.  After that she promises her that now that they're both in it, everything will be okay because they have each other and because they have this wonderful family they've chosen.

[calciumcryptid]

Post-Canon QToey Headcanons b/c I Miss Them

When his grandfather passed, Q was the one to inherit the most from him. While the rest of his family got solid payouts (and a couple of sentimental things left to Q's mother), Q inherited everything connected to his grandfather's career as a famous artist. Q's post-graduation job is getting his grandfather's galleries and art guilds up and running again.

Toey was not joking about the house/trophy husband thing (look me in my eyes and tell me house/trophy husband Toey doesn't make sense). That being said, Toey spends time as a still life artist and sculptor, and likes working at the guilds and running art workshops for local kids (with Peem and Matt as special guests).

Q and Toey leave post-it notes for each other on the bathroom mirror when they can't wake up together. Toey gets giddy every time he sees one, and Q keeps every single one.

Q has a reputation for being an intimidating no-nonsense boss (who pays well), so whenever his employees meet Toey for the first time they are always surprised then become significantly less scared of him.

In general, Q's employees know it is going to be a great day when Toey is on the premises.

Bless the heart of whatever person gets it into their head they can seduce Q away, because my demi favorite is scared and confused.

Plus, while Toey doesn't get jealous he can play the petty husband card beautifully (He learned from the best, also known as Phum).

Toey is terrifying when he is angry (it is the stark contrast), so Q vowed to never upset him.

Q continues to play the guitar after graduation, but reserves it for Toey and squad hangouts. Though sometimes Toey manages to pull him on stage at the gallery for some live music.

Their home consists of many interior design styles, but most of it is art deco and mid century. Their home studio and kitchen is industrial and rustic. That being said, they are maximalists due to their passions which very much conflicts with their chosen styles.

Q's grandfather retired to the house right next door to Peem's parents. Now Q and Toey use that house as their vacation home. The group tends to use it too when they need time away, and they have a whole calendar to try and figure out who gets to use it (minus Peem of course).

Q and Toey often head to the park together. Toey will skateboard, and Q will draw. Sometimes Q takes some action shots of Toey to draw later. He will still claim they are for anatomical reference despite a) being an abstract artist and b) being married to the man.

Q has a lot of sketches that are just Toey doing anything and everything. He hoards them like gold, and Toey teases him relentlessly.

Q, Phum, and Tan all got into a competition over who can propose first. (None of them won, Pun proposed to Chain in the dead of the night and Chain said yes and they eloped before having a proper wedding. However, Tan won out of the three, but on a technicality because Fang proposed to him.)

Q did manage to beat Phum though (not Q's fault Phum proposed every five business days and Peem could no longer tell if Phum was serious or not). Q proposed to Toey at Oh's cafe, with a ring around the milk frappe straw.

(Speaking of Oh, Q is keeping his place in business with a two-way sponsorship deal.)

QToey had a very small private ceremony.

QToey has one child, a son, who goes to study abroad in medicine. Yes, that was Toey's original plan. Yes, the group teases him about it.

Their son came home with a degree and a boyfriend with a music degree, and Q was all too happy to show off his guitar collection.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: I wanna take this time to thank everyone for continuing to read & support this story. I can't begin to express my gratitude & love for all of you! I feel like the updates for his story have been lacking a bit since I've been in school. Now I'm starting work this week, I'm afraid I'll become slower w/ updates, but I won't give up on his story. I love it so much. Even if it takes me till December to finish it, I WILL. I hope y'all enjoy! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

FOURTEEN: SWEET MEDICINE.

You wake up the next morning to a blinding light. 

At first, you think the snake bite got you and you’ve officially entered the afterlife, but then you hear Gojo’s voice. He is laughing and singing, his voice loud and off-key. You also hear the sound of running water. 

Once your eyes adjust, you find yourself lying beneath the trees in the same spot you feel asleep in. You slowly sit up, naked underneath your blanket and your foot elevated. You’re not in any kind of pain from the bite. Surprisingly enough, you don’t feel anything, but that doesn’t scare you like it should. 

Instead, you feel thirsty. You have a burning in your throat that can only be quenched with water. Any normal human being would simply go get water, so you do just that, not even paying any mind to the fact that you’re completely buttnaked. The early morning summer breeze cools your balmy skin as you walk through the forest, following the sound of the running water and Gojo’s awful singing. 

When you finally make it to your destination, all thoughts of water suddenly leave you at the sight of your partners in crime soaking in the water. The trees have given away to a beautiful creek and waterfall where cool, refreshing-looking water rushes freely down into the creek Geto and Gojo occupy. The water luckily hits their waist, so you don’t see anything below. 

You stand behind a tree with a thick tree trunk, shamelessly watching the outlaws scrub their arms and legs, sinewy with muscles and fine hair, with handmade soap and fern from pine leaves. Gojo faces you, his pecs and stomach glistening with water, while Geto has his big, muscular back to you.

“Would you please stop singin’ that song?” he groans, exasperated. “Other songs other than “Texas Hold ‘Em” exist, Satoru.” 

Gojo laughs, his blue eyes glistening in the sunlight. “But it’s the only song that matters right now!” he protests. “Don’t act like it ain’t catchy!” He continues to sing, his voice echoing among the empty forest, as loud as the rushing water. 

Geto shushes him, splashing him. “Keep your voice down! She’s probably still…” Gojo suddenly goes quiet, his eyes meeting yours across the way from where you stand. Geto turns around, his eyes aglow at the sight of you. “Oh, never mind.” 

“Hey, you!” Gojo cheerily says, breaking out into a smile. “You woke up just in time! We’re almost done if you want a dip. How’s that foot doin’?” You don’t answer, instead silently staring at them. You greedily drink in their bodies, hardened and scarred by years of their outlaw lifestyle. 

“Y/N?” Geto blinks at you, confused and worried about you not talking. Holding his beautiful, mahogany eyes with yours, you slowly reveal yourself to him and Gojo, stepping into the sunlight. Their lips part and their eyes widen at the sight of your naked body. 

Slowly, you stumble towards them, but Geto quickly reaches over and stops you, his arms blocking you from walking any further into the creek. “Whoa, whoa, wait,” he protests. “What are you doin’, little miss?” 

You twist toward him in his arms, smiling at the way the sunlight sparkles in his eyes. He’s so handsome. “You look so good,” you sigh. “I want you…want you to fuck me now.” Your hands trail down his chiseled chest, down his stomach, and farther down, down down— 

Geto quickly grabs your wandering hands, stopping you from moving down any further. “Hold on just a sec,” he says. “W-We can’t–” 

“He can join too,” you add, nodding at a shocked Gojo watching from afar. “I can handle two of y’all. Just let me show you…” You lean in towards the black-haired outlaw, your eyes trained on the same lips you felt on your body last night. 

“Wait, Y/N, stop,” he firmly says. His expression is hard, but worried. “Don’t do this.” You take that as a sign of rejection. He doesn’t want you. Suddenly, you feel burned and your lip wobbles as a random rush of tears begins to break. “Don’t you want me?” you sniffle. “Don’t you…” 

A sudden wave of nausea stops you from talking and you press a hand to your forehead, suddenly light-headed. Geto presses a hand to your back, rubbing it gently. 

“Y/N?” he questions. 

You open your eyes to look at two of them, but find there to be four, spinning and whirling and mixing into one another. “There’s four of you,” you giggle, gripping Geto’s forearms. “I-I feel funny.” 

That’s the last thing you say before you feel yourself lose your head and fatigue fall over you. Your knees crumble and you go limp in Geto’s arms. “Y/N!” Geto shouts, that being the last thing you hear as darkness overtakes you. 

*********

The next time you wake up, you see another blinding light. Now you really think you’re dead. 

“Oh, good,” an unfamiliar, deep voice says. “You’re awake. I was so sure you wouldn’t wake up at all.” 

When your eyesight adjusts, you turn your head to your head to find a handsome blonde man sitting in an armchair reading a book and drinking coffee. A white lab coat drapes over his blue button-up and slacks underneath, glasses perched on his nose. You squint at him, unsure of why he seems so familiar to you. 

When you see his eyes, that night at the train tracks comes rushing back to you. You sit up immediately. “It’s you!” you exclaim. “What are you doin’ here?” Once you do sit up, you regret it and press a hand to your pounding head. 

Nanami smiles at you, closing his book. ‘Well, you’re in my infirmary,” he chuckles. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Y/N.” 

Infirmary? Now that your vision has cleared more, you take a look around the strange room: polished wooden floorboards, butter yellow walls, and a wooden nightstand where a covered bowl of fruit and a glass of water sit. You sit in a comfortable bed surrounded by machines, including an IV in your wrist. These machines and the paper gown you wear prove Nanami’s words correct. 

Nanami rises from his seat, places his book on his chair, and walks to the window. “Where am I?” you ask. “I mean, other than in your infirmary.” He twists the blinds open, hitting you with rays of sun and a sight of apple trees blossoming with pink flowers outside your window. “Willow Springs,” he answers. “Your friends brought you here about three days ago. They rode like hell to get you here after you–” 

“Wait, wait,” you cut in, your eyes widening at the newfound information. “I’ve been here for three days?” Nanami nods, closing the blinds the minute you begin to rub your temples. 

You try to backtrack your steps and remember the last time you were conscious. You see flashes of the Devil’s Trail and its hot, sandy trails; the snake lashing at your ankle; the starry night sky; Gojo and Geto’s eyes. They’re all just flashes. No clear, cut memories you can focus on. “Why the hell can’t I remember nothin’?!” you exclaim. “Why can I–oh, my head hurts.” 

Your head feels like it’s about to explode with how hard it’s pounding. Not to mention how parched you are. As if reading your mind, Nanami passes you the glass of water along with the bowl of fruit. “Relax, eat and take a sip.” 

You do as he says and take a long sip of the water before taking off the lid on the bowl and popping a strawberry into your mouth. The sweet, juicy, tarty taste of the berry explodes onto your tongue and you tingle with pleasure. Nanami watches you from afar, arms crossed. 

Then he begins to relay more information to you: “After you were bit by that snake, the venom had a prolonged spread, meanin’ that it didn’t spread as quickly in the first few hours after you got bit. But after some time, probably during the night into the next morning, it slowly spread throughout your veins. Your immune system couldn’t fight the toxins, so that’s why you fainted at some point and were unconscious for so long.” 

He comes over to the end of the bed and takes hold of the warm cotton blanket covering you. “Brace yourself,” he says before peeling back the blanket to reveal your foot. 

You gape in horror at your foot tightly wrapped in bandages, your toes slightly red and peeking out of the handmade boot. “Oh, my God,” you gasp. “Look at my toenails!” They are black as if some kind of fungus has formed underneath them. 

“Those will clear up with the antibiotics I’ve been givin’ you,” Nanami explains. “As I said before, the Gunslingers rode like hell to get you here and immediately made a call to me to ask for help. Since you’ve been out, I’ve been takin’ care of you.” 

You blink up at the doctor, your heart fluttering at the mention of the Gunslingers. They brought you here? “They thought you were dead when they brought you in,” Nanami solemnly continues. “If they would’ve waited a day longer to bring you here, you would’ve been.” 

You don’t even want to think about that. “Where are they?” you ask. “Where’s my horse?” 

“All stayin’ at a bed and breakfast ten minutes away for the time being while you recover,” the doctor replies. “They’ve been visitin’ you daily, so they’ll be happy to know that you’ve awakened.” 

Once again, your stomach flaps and flutters like a jar full of butterflies at the mention of the gunslinging duo. Not only did they rush to bring you here while you were on the brink of death, but they also have been visiting you. You sip your water to hide how much this affects you. “Well, thank you for the help, Kento,” you say, “but I need to–” 

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go anywhere just yet,” Nanami interrupts, his tone soft but firm. You blink at him, confused. “You’ll have to rest at least for another week and gradually move on to walkin’ again. But you will walk.” 

You gape at him, wondering if he’s deadass. A week?! You can’t afford to lose a week of lying about when your target is out there somewhere…and probably looking for you. “Listen, I can’t be here right now,” you sternly argue, peeling back the blanket. “I have someone after me. Benji the Bandit–” 

“Doesn’t know you’re here,” Nanami says, putting the blanket back on you. “And before you ask, yes, our sheriff knows you and the Gunslingers are here, but he agreed to keep you here until you’ve recovered and as long as you don’t cause trouble. I doubt you’ll do much of that on that foot.” 

He nods down at your tightly wrapped foot that could scare even the hardest man alive. You sigh, realizing he’s right. You can’t do anything right now. “Thank you,” you say. “I mean it and…I’m sorry I’m so paranoid.” 

You feel embarrassed for acting the way that you do. Suddenly, you remember Geto’s words that he said to you on the Devil’s Trail: “You’re too hellbent…too reckless…” 

You wither with shame, realizing that he’s right. The reason you were put on those train tracks and bitten by that snake is all because of you and your stupid decisions. Maybe a week stuck in a bed is exactly what you need. Maybe it’s God’s way of telling you, “Slow the fuck down, my child!” 

Nanami shrugs, looking like it couldn’t bother him less. “Don’t mention it. I told you already that this town respects what you and the Gunslingers do for those who’ve been victimized by troubled folk.” You smile, feeling good about that. You didn’t realize so many people respected you other than feared you. 

The door suddenly creaks open and a young man with fluffy, pink hair and a bright smile pokes his head in. “Oh, she’s awake!” he says. “Mr. Nanamin, there’s an old couple downstairs who wants to see you, sir!” 

Nanami nods, already walking to the door. “Thank you, Itadori.” The pink-haired boy’s smile grows wider and he pops out of frame. “Excuse me for a moment,” Nanami says, taking his glasses off and placing them in his coat pocket. “Help yourself to the rest of the fruit.” 

He then closes the door and leaves you alone to your own devices. You sit there and chomp on the sliced apples, oranges, and strawberries before you hear the door creak open once more. “She’s right in here,” Nanami whispers. “Just please be gentle with her. She looks like she’s had a rough journey.” 

Your heart leaps, thinking that it’s the Gunslingers coming to see you. Though these visitors aren’t, your heart still pounds as fast as a hummingbird’s wings at the sight of the old couple standing before you. 

The woman wears a floral blue dress and matching flats, her silver hair that you remember always playing with when you were younger tied into a long braid going down her back. Her face has more lines than before, aged with time, but she still has those loving brown eyes that remind you of those chocolate chip cookies she used to bake you, warm and sweet. 

She covers her mouth at the sight of you, her eyes glassy and the gold band on her ring finger gleaming. It’s nice to know that after all this time, they are still together. “Y/N,” she tearfully sobs. “Oh, my darlin’, it’s really you!” 

You feel tears begin to push past your eyes too when you recognize them. “Mama,” you whisper. “Papa.” 

Her husband, who has more prominent lines and wrinkles in his face, takes his cowboy hat off of his head, showing off the same salt-and-pepper hair that he has on his chin. He wears a flannel and slacks with a corduroy jacket that you remember him always wearing. 

“Sweetheart,” he gasps. “Thank God, you’re okay! We’ve been worried sick about you, my love!” 

Mr. Eren and Mrs. Yuri Tokyoami immediately rush to your bed and stand on either side of it. They don’t touch you immediately, too afraid of startling you or possibly accidentally ripping out a wire, but they still take your hands in either of yours, gripping them tightly. 

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe your parents are here after all this time. “How’d you find me?” you ask, shocked. 

“We’re year-long patients of Dr. Nanami,” Yuri explains. “Your father needed his knee fixed years ago and we mentioned him to you.” You look at Nanami who only smiles, silently watching by the door. 

“Minus the outlaw part,” Eren chuckles, placing his hat at the foot of the bed. “I guess he put the pieces together once you were here and he called us immediately. We moved here three years after you left ‘cause the taxes got too high. After I sold the old farm and Yuri’s apprentice took over the bakery, we bought a much bigger farm here a couple of miles down the road.” 

The gears in your head turn slowly, processing all of this newfound information, but when your dad tells you that they moved to Willow Springs three years after you left home, you pause. “Y-You’ve been livin’ here this whole time?” you shakily ask. 

He nods, his expression confused. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. Neither one of them could ever. 

For so long, you’ve been wondering where they are and if they still lived in Elden’s Valley. You resisted the urge to go home, to call, or to even write a letter. You wondered if they still missed you or if they were still looking for you…if they even remembered you. 

And here they are now, aged with time and yet still so full of the same love they had for you years ago when they found you in that cart of flowers. 

You burst into tears again, covering your face. Yuri places a hand on your back, comforting you. Then you feel both of their arms around you, finally being embraced by the people you love most. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “I would’ve sent a letter or called if I knew, but I couldn’t–” 

“Honey, we know,” Yuri coos, caressing your hair. “We’ve seen you in newspapers and on those ‘Wanted’ posters. All we could do was pray for you to be safe and to one day come back to us.” 

To hear that be made perfectly clear to you—that they never forgot you—makes you cry even harder. “I’ve done so many things!” you cry. “Papa, I-I’ve–” 

“Hush now, darlin’,” he shushes you, pressing your head into his chest. He smells of tobacco and mint like he always has. “You’re still our little girl. Our flower, no matter what you’ve done in life. We could never be disappointed in you, my love.” 

You clutch his jacket and cry, cry, cry, letting all of your pain and longing come up to the surface. And at some point, Nanami leaves the room to give you time alone with your family who cry with you. 

*******

 That night, after your parents leave you to head back home, you spend the night in Nanami’s infirmary where you’re visited by two ghosts of your very recent past. 

Those ghosts being Geto and Gojo the Gunslingers. You’re chomping down on your dinner of assorted fruits, a spring salad, and green tea (Nanami insisted you eat light for now) when you hear a sudden knock at the door. Nanami has retired to his home, leaving the overnight staff to watch over you. 

You turn, expecting to see one of his aids or nurses there, but your stomach flips when you see Gojo standing there in his cowboy attire, hat and boots included. He only thing different with him are the sunglasses he has on instead of his blindfold. He looks like the fourth blind mouse with them on, but you also find them endearing. 

“Well, look who decided to join the land of the livin’ again,” he jokes. He takes the glasses down, giving you a peak of his blue eyes. “Did a bad dream wake ya, little miss?” 

Geto slides through behind him, taking his black cowboy hat off while Geto keeps his on. His hair is tied into a ponytail, the simple yet sexy hairstyle accentuating his handsome face. “It’s good to see you up, Y/N,” he sighs, sounding relieved. “We were worried.” 

They walk farther into the room, Geto taking a seat in the chair beside your bed while Gojo leans against the wall near the window. You sit up in the bed, feeling slightly embarrassed for them to see you in such a state. You can tell that Geto is genuine too when he says they were worried and you think back to Nanami telling you how hard they rode to get you here. 

“Thank you,” you softly say. Gojo smiles, happy to hear you talking. “We’ve got another visitor here to see ya.” He peels back the curtains to the window and raps lightly on the glass. 

A familiar, long face with big, black eyes and a silky fur appears behind the glass, staring at you. “Reneigh, darlin’!” you joyfully shout. As if hearing you, her ears wiggle.  “We’ve been takin’ care of her while you recovered,” Gojo explains. “Just brushin’ her and braidin’ her hair. She’s a sweetheart.” 

Hearing that they’ve been caring for your horse while you were unconscious makes your heart flutter. You pass it off as being grateful for their generosity. You take. sip of your tea, breathing in the steam, herbs, and lemon. “Nanami told me y’all visited me while I was out.” 

Gojo nods, moving to pick an orange slice out of your fruit bowl without asking. You let him do it. “Had to make sure you were okay,” he says like it’s so obvious. “Y’know, we thought you were already dead when we brought ya here. You felt like a limb noodle.” 

“Well, snake venom will do that to ya,” you chuckle. The duo laughs along with you. “Y’all met my parents too, apparently.” Geto’s eyes light up with recognition. “Oh, the farmer and his sweet wife?” he asks. You nod, inwardly cringing as you remember your parents mentioning the two while they were here. 

While Yuri was rather happy about the idea of the two being your friends, Eren was less than approving. “You’re friends with the Gunslingers?” he asked, sounding extremely perturbed by the idea. Yuri laid a hand on his arm, calming him. “Eren, honey, they saved her life,” she argued. “And they were so nice to us!” 

You gaped up at them, almost dropping your glass of water. “Y’all met them?” you gasped. 

Yuri nodded, smiling fondly. “Oh, they’re such gentlemen,” she gushed. “They came here to visit you at the same time as us one day and we learned that they rode ya in here. Such sweet men, they are.” You still gape at her starry-eyed expression, the gears in your head slowly turning. Geto and Gojo met your parents? 

Eren grunts indifferently. “They may be sweet, but they’re still wanted outlaws.” 

In that moment, you see yourself in him like you’re looking in a mirror. You would have said this same thing months ago before you met Geto and Gojo. All outlaws were the same to you…until them. And you need to defend them. “And so am I, Papa,” you argued, placing your hand on his bigger, wrinkled one. “They don’t kill innocents. They go after evil people, just like me!” 

“And they saved her life,” Yuri added, her eyes loving yet firm as they stared into her husband’s. “Just give ‘em a chance, dear. Y/N did and they seem very happy together.” She turned to you, still starry-eyed and excited. “So how long have you known ‘em? When’s the wedding?” 

You blinked at her, confused. And then you went hot with humiliation. “H-Huh?!” you stammered. “No, Mama, you’ve got it wrong! We’re just friends!” 

Eren looked relieved while Yuri looked like you just shot her. “See, Yuri?” he sighed. “Always jumpin’ to conclusions. She’ll get married when she gets married!” You didn’t ask why your mom seemed so overjoyed about you marrying two of the most notorious outlaws in the Wild West, but you didn’t want to know. 

You flush as you look at the two now, Yuri’s question about marriage still bothering you like a pesty fly. “So how were you two handlin’ things?” You ask, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. 

Gojo points at the fruit bowl questionably and you nod, rolling your eyes. Now he decides to ask? He plucks a strawberry out of the bunch this time. “Eh, it’s kinda weird bein’ in one place for so long, but we’ve gotten used to it. It’s pretty nice to sleep in a clean bed and take a shower every mornin’.” 

“We’re stayin’ at a bed an’ breakfast for now,” Geto explains. “Just until you’re healed up, but we don’t really have a timestamp on how long we’ll be stayin’ there for.” 

“And it’s for free!” Gojo happily announces, his joy over such a thing endearing to you. “The old lady who runs the place told us she loves us for our work, so she gave us the room free of charge.” He smirks at you. “To tell ya the truth, I think she just wants to fuck us.” 

Suddenly, a series of memories come flooding back to you: the starry Western skies; the moonlight turning the tips of the trees silver; the softness of Geto and Gojo’s hair between your fingers; their calloused hands; their wet tongues and soft mouths; Gojo’s piano fingers sliding inside of you while Geto plays with your— 

You press a hand to your head, wincing at the embarrassing memories. Now they decide to come back to you of all times?! Geto notices your discomfort and places a gentle hand on your knee. “You alright?” he asks, concerned. 

When you flinch at his touch, he notices and quickly backs off, afraid that he hurt you. “Y-Yeah,” you reply a little too quickly. “M’fine.” You cough into your hand, attempting to recover. “So when are we thinkin’ of gettin’ back on the road to find Benji?” you ask, changing the subject. 

The duo look at each other, silently speaking to one another, and you can see that you said the wrong thing. Gojo quickly sprinkles some sugar on the awkward moment though. “Whoa there, girl,” he chuckles. “Relax! You just woke up from a venom-indunced coma. Can’t the Bandit wait till you’re better?” 

“But I am better!” you protest despite your black toenails and throbbing foot. “Nanami said I should be good in a week, so we can leave then.”

Geto becomes the voice of reason despite your disagreement with him. “You need rest,” he soothingly says. “We’ll have plenty of time to go after Benji once you’re 100%, but for now, just take this time to recuperate.” You think about his and Gojo’s reactions to holding you almost-lifeless body and give in to the duo’s “suggestion”. And just like that, it’s settled. 

“So what’s this about us gettin’ married?” Gojo asks, plucking another orange slice from your fruit bowl. “Your mama seemed pretty animate about that.” He gives you a smirk as he goes to peel the slice, but you snatch it back before he can. 

“Please shut up,” you sigh while Geto laughs. 

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 7/?

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005)

CHAPTER SEVEN – 2006

                It takes some adjusting, having each other there all the time. He admits to himself that Maverick is likely more flexible when it comes accommodating others in his space, but Tom has had small children and Sarah, even if they’ve been divorced for over six years, feels he should be more accommodating when he wants Maverick there in his space so badly. It’s when Maverick is deployed and Tom misses him like a limb, that he realizes not only did he make the right call, but that he’s adjusted to having Maverick there just fine.

                “Ice! I can’t find the oil.”

                Tom sighs, pushes himself back from his desk and heads for the yelling voice coming from the direction of the garage. Because he knows exactly where it is, however if he ever needs to hide something from Maverick on purpose all he’s ever going to have to do is put it about eighteen inches above his sight-line and he’ll be golden. He reaches up and picks up the bottle easily, handing it to Pete and giving him a quick kiss while he has him there, pressed up against the work bench. Pete in jeans, white t-shirt, hot, sweaty and streaked with grease is definitely up there with views he likes to appreciate. And it’s finally where it belongs.

                “What’s it doing all the way up there?”

                “Because I have children who are curious and it’s easier to keep it up there than put child-locks on all my cupboards.”

                “Oh. Yeah that makes sense. Thanks.”

                Tom turns around and his eyebrows go up.

                “Are you changing my oil too?”

                “Yeah, of course. Only made sense to do everything at once. You said you didn’t have any plans to go out.”

                “No, no, I don’t, it’s fine. Just… thank you.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                It’s small things like that which make him appreciate how Maverick just envelopes Tom into his life, like the way he has a hot drink waiting for him at ten every weekend morning. How his uniform now gets to and from the drycleaners without him actually doing it. The first time he’d worried it had been lost, but instead Pete had just said he’d dropped it off. Then he’d picked up groceries. Now they either cook together, or he comes home to a cooked meal, or he cooks when Mav is running late and it’s so domestic and novel and he never thought he’d get to have this. Not with someone he loves as much as he loves Maverick.

                He goes back to his study, still has too much paperwork to read through but his car is getting its needed oil change, a cup of coffee will appear at ten without him doing anything, the girls will be here before lunch and to spend the night and he feels so lucky, that he’s somehow managed the impossible. The doorbell rings and he stands to go and answer it, opens it to find Admiral Paul Dawkinson standing there and he smiles blandly. There goes his good mood.

                “Paul, hello. Can I help you?”

                “Tom. Sorry to bother you at home,” Paul says, and Tom knows he’s not sorry at all. “I was wondering if you had the folder about the Iranian and Russian uranium deal?”

                “Yes. Finished reading it last night actually. Come in and I’ll get it for you,” Tom says, wondering if he has to offer him a drink as Paul follows him back to his office. He’ll give him the file and then offer, see if he really wants to linger. Of course that’s when Maverick walks in with his cup of coffee, his face going from soft to brittle as he takes in Dawkinson and Tom can’t even roll his eyes, just keeps his expression impassive as he thanks Mav for the cup of coffee.

                “Did you want a cup Admiral Dawkinson?”

                “No, thank you. I just came for a file.”

                Maverick leaves and Tom wishes he could follow him, instead fishes out the file from his locked briefcase and passes it over.

                “Captain Mitchell is here.”

                Tom’s immediate response is to stiffen, which is probably the worst thing he can do and he forces himself to relax and remain indifferent.

                “Yes, he’s currently tinkering away in the garage on his bike and my car. Was there something I could help you with?” Tom asks, because he is not at work right now, is not in uniform, and he doesn’t actually respect Admiral Dawkinson as much as people likely think he does.

                “Is Captain Mitchell here often?”

                “Maverick has a house he shares with his godson, however with both of them often away they both prefer to stay here, rather than stay alone,” Tom states, which is a slight stretch, because this is Bradley’s home, maybe more than the other house. “He does stay here most nights. Easier to cook for two,” Tom states. He will outright lie if he has to, but he’s also been making contingency plans and collecting his own information for years. He knows exactly what he can and cannot say around this subject.

                “Hmm. Interesting.”

                “Daddy!”

                Oh thank fuck. He doesn’t say the words out loud of course, but he feels the little body of Petra collide with his side, followed by the much taller body of Tamsin, both hugging him tightly and he places kisses to the tops of both their heads.

                “Is Papa here?” Petra asks and Tom smiles and nods.

                Oh fuck. Dawkinson is watching everything with a shrewd eye, and Tom has to admit it is pretty damning right now. But he cannot snap at his daughter, not for something which is not her fault in the slightest.

                “He’s out in the garage making a mess.”

                Petra runs off, whereas Tamsin makes a beeline for the piano, immediately starting to pluck out a tune because she wants to impress Bradley next time he’s home.

                “Tom? The door was open… Oh, hello.”

                “Hi. Sarah, this is Admiral Dawkinson. Paul, my ex-wife Sarah Kazansky.”

                “Mrs Kazansky.”

                “Sarah, please. Nice to meet you Admiral. Did I hear you say that Pete’s here? That’ll save me a trip to his place if he is. I have some of his and Bradley’s things in the trunk of the car.”

                He loves his ex-wife so much right now, her reading of the situation and immediate improvisation. He needs to send her and Melissa out for a romantic dinner.

                “Do you want a hand? Pete can take them home later.”

                “Yes please. I stupidly offered to fix one shirt of Bradley’s. That somehow ended up changing to hemming four pairs of pants for Pete and seven shirts. I think Bradley chews his buttons.”

                “Bradley is twenty-three. He should be fixing his own damn shirts.”

                “And Pete should probably be hemming his own pants. But it’s a fair trade if I never have to pay someone to change my oil.”

                He starts following Sarah back out to her car, and Dawkinson follows.

                “Sorry Paul. Family. You know how it is. Was there anything else I could help you with?”

                “No. Nothing else. Thank you Tom.”

                Unease prickles in his gut, but he has contingency plans in place, and he has friends in high places, friends who he is pretty sure know exactly the nature of his relationship with Maverick and simply do not give a fuck.

…             …             …

                Sure enough Monday morning he’s called into Admiral Austin’s office and he looks resigned but also a little annoyed.

                “Tom, have a seat. I just wanted to run something by you. As a hypothetical situation.”

                Okay, so that’s how it’s going to play out. He forces himself to relax and unbuttons the bottom button of his jacket before he sits down. The fact that David has called him Tom makes him feel a little more confident that while he’s effectively been called into the principal’s office, the principal is actually on his side. Dawkinson is sitting there looking very fucking smug and Tom keeps his expression completely impassive and uncaring.

                “How can I help sir?”

                “Just seeking your guidance on what you would do if you found out, or suspected, that someone in the Navy was homosexual.”

                “Sir?”

                “Just humor me. Run me through what you would do.”

                “Well, I’d have to be very certain sir. I’d either have to have had them admit it outright, or caught them in a situation that was irrefutable to my own eyes.”

                “And if someone came to you with such a belief?”

                “Well sir, it’s a very serious allegation to throw around. I would be very hesitant to take anyone else’s word. I would need to see the evidence myself, not second hand at all.”

                “Go on.”

                “This is because it will be a case of he said, she said,” Tom states calmly, but there is ice in his veins as he talks. People talk about burning bridges and salting the earth, but he knows his approach can be just as terrifying. “You need to consider what evidence you have. Years of service of the person concerned, who you’re going to accuse. Credible information needs to be ironclad, otherwise you’re in danger of reprisal. Or a court case.”

                “The policy is not just don’t ask, don’t tell. But also don’t harass and don’t pursue. If I were to attempt to gather information I would be in breach of that policy. I would also be asking myself if I have all the information at hand. Are there extenuating circumstances which might be going on which I have no knowledge of? If the information has been brought to me second hand I would also need to consider if there was a personal vendetta between the accused and the person accusing them. Also I’d want to know if the person identified is doing irreparable damage to the Navy. Because for me the reputation and protection of the people are paramount.”

                “Interesting points. Anything else?”

                “While considering their years of service I would also consider the potential possibility that their commanding officers have been or are aware and have simply ignored it due to how the person does their job. Or other people higher up in the chain of command might have knowledge. Then it would be my own job on the line if they were deemed more important than me.” He takes a quick chance then to glance across at Dawkinson and the man is staring at him, looking paler than he was and Tom settles into his chair a little.

                “Do they do their job well, Admiral Austin?”

                “Exemplary.”

                “Have they ever acted in a way which would bring the Navy into disrepute?”

                “No. Never.”

                “Do you trust their judgement?”

                “With regards to everything for the Navy and United States? Yes.”

                “Now, after you have taken all of that into consideration and still wish to move forward, then you need to consider your own situation. Often when someone starts casting stones, they themselves are then looked at more closely. And gambling debts or extra-marital affairs need to be… carefully hidden from view to ensure that you yourself aren’t dragged into anything. Hypothetically of course, sir.”

                “Of course,” Admiral Austin says, and his face is calm and unmoving but Tom has known him for years and the slight twitch of his eye tells him he’s hiding his amusement very well. “Well Admiral Dawkinson, I hope you found that helpful getting a third set of eyes on the issue.”

                “Yes sir.”

                “You’re both dismissed.”

…             …             …

                “Hey, you’re quieter than usual. Everything okay?”

                “Yeah, just a really rough day at work. I love you.”

                “Love you too.”

…             …             …

                Bradley graduates from flight school and he can’t help smiling every time he glances down and sees the wings. Which is pretty often, because he can’t believe that they’re finally there. Like when he graduate from USNA, there are a handful of people there to watch him, all in uniform and with them are also Ice and Maverick, and he introduces them to the friends he’s made, the very small handful who he’s let into his inner circle. Natasha, Sandy, Callie and Billy. They either don’t care about who Bradley’s family is, or they care and it just doesn’t factor into how they treat Bradley.

                By share luck of the draw he’s home for Tamsin’s tenth birthday. She’s opinionated and serious with it, she despairs of her parents and he wonders if she’s hitting the teenage years early or if she’s going to become even more despairing and rebellious. He loves it, the conversations he can have with her now, because she at least thinks that he’s cool and worth her time. Sometimes Maverick falls into that category, but at twenty-four Bradley is definitely the cool older brother. He drops her and Petra off at school, walks them in and introduces himself to the teachers. Petra has started copying Tamsin, saying she’s old enough to do certain things by herself, and sometimes Bradley has to wonder if it’s just Mav’s blood running true because she is an absolute firecracker, to put it nicely. Hellion would be another word. He’s very glad he’s not got any desire to have kids, although Ice’s lips twitch when he voices that opinion out loud.

                He enjoys every moment with them though, he has his first deployment at the beginning of December and he won’t be home for Christmas and he will never take his loved ones fore granted when he knows how easily they can be taken from him. Or him from them he realizes, and he thinks back to the conversation he had with Mav and Ice, about how his mom didn’t want him to become a pilot and…

                Oh shit…

                If he dies then he’s going to leave behind Mav, and Ice, and Tamsin and Petra.

                The people he wants to protect but will hurt the most if he fails.

CHAPTER EIGHT

[sleepyfan-blog]

Injuries and Boundaries

Author's note: this is the next fic in Cedric's adventures in the husbandry AU! Thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me borrow Hura! first. previous. next

tagged:  @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

warnings: corporal punishment, wound treatment, blood

Summary: More injured Black Templars show up at the clinic causing trouble. Cedric's asked to help wrangle and treat them.

"Cedric... We've got more feral injured Black Templars who refused to be treated by anyone but another Son of Dorn. Do you mind taking them? Normally we'd have them wait, but all five of them are actively bleeding, and their sergeant is really twitchy." Misty, one of the human aides who worked in the Astartes-run medical clinic that Cedric worked in asked. "We've managed to herd them into one of the larger exam rooms, but they're still very tightly wound up. "

Cedric heaved a sigh, shaking his head a little. This was the second group of badly injured Black Templars who've shown up in the clinic within a month. This did not bode well, especially as it seems as though multiple Black Templar warbands seem to be gathering near or in this city for... Throne knew what reason. "I'll tend to them. Just let me finish my lunch real quick. It shouldn't take more than a minute or two."

"Thank you, Cedric." The medical assistant answered, sagging gratefully in relief before leaving. 

The young apothecary glanced around the room, double checking that no one else was around before vox-calling Ramiel "There are more injured Feral Black Templars in the clinic. Please warn our older Bruders and encourage our fellow Primaris marines to keep away from the base until this city is clear."

"... Sure, but what about you, Cedric? You should either hunker down with one of our older brothers, or ask Apothecary Hura if he has a mission out of the city that he'd like you to complete as a favor or something." Ramiel responded, a frown on his face "I'm still on the chaplains' retreat, but I know that you're not safe right now. You're going to get yourself to safety, right?"

"I'll be careful, and if I can't be careful, I will be smart, You don't need to worry, Rami. I'll be fine. Remember, we figured out that I survived the longest Back There, of the five of us. I didn't even get killed to be sent back to Ancient Terra." Which was a damn sight better than his fellow Primaris marines. "But I've got antsy patients to deal with. Be sure to message bruders Roland and Arnault they need to know, if they don't know already." He suspected that Roland and Arnault were exiled from many of the Black Templar Crusades because of them embracing their bonds with their mortals... And despite the fact that the bonds were warp-creations, those bonds and their humans made them so happy, brought out the best in both of them. Why shun them for it? It made no sense to Cedric.

"I will... but I will also tell them that you're treating feral templars who might hurt you if they take a notion! So they will make sure that you are safe too!" Ramiel growled out, and he could hear the stubborn glare on the other's face.

"Honestly, I am fairly safe within the clinic. I am one shout away from dozens of well-trained first-born cousins who won't hesitate to sedate and restrain a rampaging Cousin." Cedric sighed before ending the vox-call with Ramiel. He really hoped that the stubborn Justicar didn't rile up their older brothers. Roland and Arnault could get very protective when the mood struck. 

Cedric knocked on the closed door to the exam room that the older Black Templars had been brought into, waiting for a moment before entering the room, closing the door behind himself as he took in the sight before him. 

Three of the firstborn Black Templars were pacing around the examination room in a standard patrol cycle, while the other two were sitting on the exam room table, leaning into each other with their eyes closed, breathing shallowly.

Cedric could smell the coppery tang of blood in the air, saw the tense, tight ways that these older brothers were holding themselves and knew that each of them was in a tremendous amount of pain. He asked "Would any of you like something for the pain you are in? I will need to treat your wounds, which is going to hurt more. I have both spray-on pain reducers which may be applied to the wounds you have directly, depending on what kind of wounds you have, injectable pain killers, or a pill to take orally. Do you have preferences, if any?"

The five firstborn templars stopped what they were doing and looked him over silently for several long, and awkward feeling eternities (which was probably closer to a minute, perhaps two, but it felt as if they dragged their silent appraisal of him for so very long). The Sergeant stepped forward and slightly to the right, blocking Cedric's view of the two sitting on the medical table. "I am Sergeant Alois Zimmer of the Sprechembriech Crusade. Identify yourself, Apothecary." His well-muscled arms were crossed defensively over his chest. He had a large blade sheathed on his left hip, a bolter on the right. 

"I am Cedric, an Apothecary of the Black Templars." The Primaris marine stated. Technically he was also supposed to identify that he was both an apprentice and a Primaris Marine during this formal declaration but these firstborn brothers were wound very tightly. He didn't recognize these older brothers, and there was a high likelihood that they would have no idea what a Primaris was. They would, however, recognize that he was an apprentice and might start asking all sorts of obnoxious questions, which would delay their treatments and getting out of Cedric's hair before Arnault showed up, blade in hand and glaring at everyone who moved because Ramiel had wound up the Emperor's Champion. Again.

"Which Crusade are you part of?" Zimmer asked, looking him over closely "And where is your armor? Also... We aren't soft enough to need pain meds. Start patching up the two on the table."

"Came to Ancient Terra without any, as I was brought here in my sleeping clothes. I'm not part of an established Crusade. I haven't been on Ancient Terra long enough." Cedric answered, grabbing a wound repair kit from the cabinet and slowly approaching the two injured brothers on the exam table, not wanting to startle anyone. He opened the kit. It was unlikely that he was going to be part of one of the roving warbands of feral Black Templars. He liked having regular contact with his fellow Primaris Marines, and he sincerely doubted that he would be allowed to interact with two probable-outcasts. Even if one of them is an Emperor's Champion. "I got found by an Ultramarine and brought to the nearby Imperial Fist base and have been in this city ever since."

"That is some Lamenters level luck there, Brother." One of the other firstborn brothers calls out, before dodging the sergeant's reprimanding swat from Zimmer. 

Cedric very carefully did not react as he pulled up one of the older Black Templar's shirts, revealing that his back was a mess of bleeding flogging markings, and the characteristic bruising and claw-marks of a mark 9 power fist.

"Quiet, Illus. No need to wind up the lad." Zimmer looked at him steadily for a couple of seconds before asking "From the look on your face, I am guessing you know the kinds of wounds all of us are suffering from. It was not our Chaplain who inflicted these wounds, and our Crusade Leader ordered us to get treatment. Are you willing to patch us up, or should we wait for the Fist Apothecary they've summoned from the base?"

"I'll treat your wounds. I do have a question, though. If this wasn't ordered by your chaplain, nor the leader of your crusade, how did you come by these wounds?" Cedric asked, biting back panic and nausea, his hands rock-steady as he treated their wounds one at a time, and step by step. Check, clean, bandage. Rinse and repeat, until every injury on each of the five marines was properly treated to.

"Miles here ran afoul of a different Crusade's chaplain when he swiped one of the little sweet treats that the bastard had a whole bag of. He was about to eat it when the chaplain appeared out of fucking nowhere and started screaming his bloody head off. Miles gave back the treat and tried to apologize, but Petras wasn't having any of it and started beating the shite out of him. Jamison and Illus tried to step in and got beat for their trouble. Neval voxxed me before distracting the furious fucker to keep the others from beaten until they couldn't move. By Him on Terra I've never seen a chaplain that furious before that fast. Ever."

Cedric couldn't help the full-body flinch that Petras in a temper provoked from him as an automatic reaction. Nor the momentary cringe as his body wanted to curl around itself defensively. He shook off the response and continued treating the injured. "He is... Very possessive of his food and gets highly aggressive, from what I remember of him. Especially of fast carbs like sugary sweets. That was before we were both brought to Ancient and Holy Terra... not that I think he is aware I am here."

"Ah. So you're from the same time period he is? If I had Brothers from the same time here on Ancient Terra, I'd seek them out. No offense to you lads, but it'd be nice to have Brothers like that with me, as a grounding force." Illus piped up, his eyes wide.

"Chaplain Petras is... Not someone whom I would call grounding or reassuring." Cedric's mouth said before he could stop himself. "Besides there's a good chance the he'd-" Nope, shutting that line of thought down right now. "Let's just say that he and I don't get along very well."

"Given that he's a heavy hand with punishment and your entire life's purpose is to keep us patched up and in fighting shape, I can imagine." The sergeant sighed, shaking his head a little. 

"That's not the primary reason we don't get along, although that's part of it. Do you have any neophytes or aspirants in your warband?" Cedric asked, trying to project a sense of calm that he did not at all feel.

Hura and Zariel had talked with him, and near him about patterns of behavior in certain kinds of older brothers and cousins. And how these behaviors, for good or ill, could, and often did, spill over to how they reacted on Ancient Terra. Just because Petras favored killing- or nearly killing Primaris Marines that are between Neophyte to Battle Brother age, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go after First Borns of the same age range. Or- so that thought suddenly seized Cedric with a cold, terrifying clarity.’Is that what they had been hinting at?’

"... Why are you asking that? We're looking for a couple of Apprentice-aged Black Templars, as a matter of fact. From what we've heard, they're being held hostage somewhere. Probably in one of the chaos bases, those foul bastards. We do have a couple, why do you ask?" Illus asked, eyes narrowing a little.

"Because he killed a dozen of Apprentices who were not found in need of culling due to disobedience, chaos-taint or xenos-worship. But merely because he was in a foul mood and they happened to be in his furious path." Cedric warned him "Do not allow him access to your youngest members without supervision with the ability and will to intervene on their behalf."

"That... That's... That's a hell of a thing to accuse any brother of, much less a chaplain, boy. Do you have proof?" Alois spluttered, staggering back a half step, his dark eyes widening in horror.

"... Four of the apprentices he beat to death in the 41st millennium ended up on Holy Terra, mostly dead. I was able to respond in time and get them to treatment for two of them so that they survived the experience. The other two died in my arms. Again. I brought them to the base so that their bodies could be properly processed and their geneseed and intact organs stored, for later use." Cedric answered, fighting back the tears and the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. "Between the three of us, we have enough physical scars left from his heavy-handed punishments to get him censured at least, should we come forward. If he were to be prosecuted."

"What do you mean, if? What, do you think because his alleged crimes were committed Before, that he wouldn't be punished for it? Or because he technically was punished by it - leading to him being sent to Ancient and Holy Terra - he wouldn't be punished here? And how do I know that he wasn't culling unworthy-" The Sergeant started to speak.

"So you and the five brothers you brought into this clinic to be treated fully deserved the punishment that Chaplain Petras handed to you, did you?" Cedric asked. "In the 41st millennium, it is standard post-punishment procedure for those with the injuries to tend to their own wounds, without medical aid or intervention. To heal on their own, or fester if they are deemed unworthy in the eyes of the Emperor Himself to heal properly. So which is it, sergeant? Are you seeking treatment for wounds you received after being justly punished and thus are seeking to undo it? Or were you punished excessively by a chaplain with a heavy hand?"

"What happened to us, versus what happened to your fellow Apprentices could be two completely different situations" Zimmer protested, his eyes narrowing a little at Cedric as he spoke. 

Cedric resisted the temptation to growl at the older Black Templar, righteous indignation and fury making it really difficult for him to think. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back "So you say. You have given me no proof that you and your squad were punished unjustly. The only thing I have to go on is your word. Per the traditions of our Chapter, I should kick you out of this examination room and report you to not just the captain you obey, but the chaplain whose punishment you are trying to circumvent by coming here for wound treatment."

“Sarge… Just… Call the captain. I’d rather you not piss off the only known Black Templar Apothecary within a hundred miles of this place. He can refuse to treat us, you do know that, right?” Miles groaned from where he was laying face down on the examination bed, his back a mess of bloody wounds, some of them still bleeding.

“He… You wouldn’t, would you?” Zimmer growled, taking a half-step towards Cedric before pausing. Even with the older Templar in the bottom half of his armor and Cedric fully unarmored, the young Apothecary was still a good foot and a half taller than the Sergeant.

“You come into this clinic, demanding to be seen by a Black Templar Apothecary or another Son Of Dorn, causing a huge scene and disrupting the schedule that some of our Ultramarine allies have carefully made. You inform me of who did this to you, and when I give you a warning about his likely temper and behaviors you disregard them out of hand. So whyever would you trust my medical opinions and suggestions?” Cedric hissed, doing his best to keep the fury and frustration out of his voice. “I have half a mind to leave the five of you here and get an older apothecary to handle you all, since clearly you won’t listen to a single thing I say if it’s not what you want to hear!”

“Fine then. I don’t want a brat who’s throwing a temper tantrum to treat me or my Brothers, anyways! You sure you aren’t an Emperor’s Child with short hair and blue eyes?” Zimmer hissed, glaring up at him “Because you sure tantrum like one!”

Don’t attack your patients, no matter how much they upset you unless they physically attack you first.

Is one of the rules that he had been told over and over again. Cedric had thought that this would be difficult to keep to when dealing with Chaos Astartes. Right now, all he wanted to do was to launch Zimmer through the window and wash his hands of the smug bastard Sargeant. Instead he stated “Fine then. I’ll get the senior-most Apothecary who is working at the clinic today. He isn’t a Son of Dorn, but he is very, very good at what he does.” His lips twitch a little in vicious mirth as he voxxed “Apothecary Hura, would you please come to Group Examination room Two please? I am having difficulties with a squad of injured Astartes and require your insight and expertise.”

The door opened without a sound, slowly revealing the oversized and clearly Chaos-aligned Death Guard Apothecary. Hura’s helmet was off and he smiled pleasantly at Cedric “I just so happened to be passing by this room when you called me, young Cedric. Dealing with unruly patients is a difficult skill to master, especially since they are in a group like this.”

“You’re joking. This is a threat. Look, kid I get that we may have -” Zimmer started, going very pale as he stared up at Hura, a look of slow-dawning horror on his face.

Hura interrupted the sergeant, saying “Ah-ah-ah! Bad and naughty patients don’t get to be treated by adorable young apothecaries doing their best to patch up ungrateful bastards. They get to deal with me.” This is said with a serene smile that sent terrified shivers through all five of the injured Templars simultaneously. 

“Hey… Uhm… Some… Some of us didn’t actively antagonize the younger medic and are hoping to maybe get patched up by him instead?” Miles asked, having slowly and painfully gotten up to his feet.

“I’ll deal with these five. You go on, and have your lunch. Shoo! You should be on-break anyways.” Hura instructed Cedric, having entirely ignored what the Black Templar had said. “Shoo! Taking appropriate breaks is important.”

Cedric nodded, smiling gratefully at Hura “Thank you, Apothecary Hura…Though are you sure I shouldn’t stay and assist you? I won’t be able to learn how to deal with difficult patients if I avoid them altogether.”

“A different time, young Cedric. They have already been quite bothersome and entitled by the way they burst into the waiting room and demanded immediate treatment by a specific set of chapters. They also need to learn that sometimes, there are consequences to their words and actions. And trying to treat patients while hungry is difficult. Go on, young one.”

“You… You’re not going to abandon us to him, are you? He’s a heretic! A Chaotic Traitor!” Illus called out, eyes wide and pleading as he looked at Cedric.

“Apothecary Hura has over ten-thousand years of medical experience, and is more than qualified to treat your injuries. You won’t listen to the warnings I gave you about the one who injured you like this, so why would you listen to me about how to care for your injuries?” Cedric answered, his voice an icy approximation of calm. “Thank you for taking over their care, Apothecary Hura, I leave them in your capable hands.” With that he turned on his heel and left the exam room, closing the door behind him.

[xhanelia]

What i feel about you based on your main agent (bad edition)

I will write the requests but i am in my writerblock era so hoping this will cure it. Love u all <33

Brimstone

Please stop smoking our entrance when we are the attackers please i beg you.

You never speak nor listen. We all know your mic and the whole team is either muted or you are basically deaf.

I have never seen a child play him so you are old. I mean old old. Like a dad or smth

Chamber

The chamber nerfs are a delusion you suck either way

Stop spending your whole 800 credit to a pistol that you will forgot for the rest of the game.

"I was in my prime before chamber nerfs guyss!!🤓🤓" Yea yea we get it.

Chyper

Can you stop saying "I kNoW eXAcLY wHErE U ArE" for five seconds?

You cannot aim so you place a setup that is unbreakable to attackers and letting your traps do all the work for you. How smart. (Thats me)

Cannot do shit when the last one left. You get one or two kills with your trap and u die middle of the round.

Deadlock

Stop placing sensors to our back, trying to hold the backsite but enemy can slow walk and bypass you u know? Then you be raging "I PuT a SeNSoR ThErE"

Istg if i get tangled down by your c one more time im gonna ragequit.

Your ult never gets anyone yet there is the whole five of the enemy team.

Fade

Your prowler shows no one, girl. Stop throwing it at the start of the round.

Stop trying to control your c you are losing so much time and its gonna get no one.

Ult when your team is near PLEASE. Its no effective if you are by yourself and scream "FACE YOUR FEAR" bcs you are the one that will be facing it.

Iso

No one mains iso.

Stop smurfing. Its no fun.

Go back to your own league. You coward.

Jett

You are a little child screaming into mic bcs you dashed forward to enemy and died.

Stop sitting onto the keyboard and actually aim maybe you'll get a kill.

Play with the team once. (I hate you with my whole heart)

Kay/o

You either never use your flashes or you blind just your teammates.

Your ult doesnt makes you undying you know? Stop running towards to the enemy like its new paradise.

The most avarage player. Middle fragging the whole game.

Killjoy

Just gives the info, maybe gets one or two kills because of the stupid dasher enemy jett and dies.

That turret be doing no damage if its on your team but be dealing 50+ if its on the enemy team.

Dont just sit there and wait FUCKING ROTATEEEE

Omen (my main)

Stop using c and teleport mid fight. Its no chamber tp or yoru tp. It takes time to teleport and takes time to handle the gun. You are going to die.

That blind hit no one. Stop being delusional and do not push. You are going to die.

If you do not know how to put a smoke when you close the 'astra' mode, do not. Place it slowly if requires. And again, if you dont do it fast enough, you are going to die.

Phoenix

STOP TROLLING YOUR TEAMMATES WITH YOUR MOLLY AND WALL ISTG I HATE YOU

That flash will hit you. It doesnt matter if the phoenix is on the enemy team or on your team. Or worse, both.

You are not that bad, you just need some humanity.

Sage

I hate you if you are an egirl that instalocks sage just to be a pocket sage to your eboy that plays reyna like reyna cannot heal herself. Stop. Also stop talking. Your voice irritates me.

Her voicelines are so unnecessary. Especially the ones at the start of the round.

We all know you are on top of your wall that closes mid. Dont peak. Also, stop throwing slows to OUR entrance.

Sova

Nobody is going to do anything about your arrow that you throw at the start of the round and showed three or four people. The team will still push. Stop trying to learn freaky arrows and waste your time.

Shock dart kill? What is that?

This agent is not friendly for beginners. Stop making your friends that just started the game play sova. They will show no information for you. Even being a pocket sage is better than a new-starter sova.

Viper

Its ok if you do not have linups. But if you do, then we all know that you havent touch the grass for a looong time and you probably smell like her ult. Please shower.

She be no mommy to you. She is kind of woman that rejects chamber, what made you think that she will even let you look at her way?

"Last player standing"

Yoru

Like kay/o. That flash is here only to blind you. Not the enemy.

Taking the spike and going to another site, saying you'll be back to us then will die and make it drop at the farest site possible. Either stop taking the spike or dont do this shit.

You either bottom frag or top frag. There is no in between. And you are probably 12-13 years old.

Astra

I have never seen someone mains, even plays astra.

So i have nothing to say. Im so sorry :(

Your smokes looks pretty tho. Keep it up!

Breach

You are a man that cannot stand woman. If a woman says anything bad about you, you will blind them, hit them with all of your abilities and do whatever it takes to make them unable to play the game. (Totaly not single-handed experience)

I hate your abilities. Very much.

I do not have any good experience about someone that plays this agent. Not a single one. I will dodge the game if someone picks breach no joke.

Gekko

Your molly is useless. I have seen once maybe twice that it kills somebody.

You have so much potential with wingman when you are the last one standing but wingman is the last thing that comes to your mind. Use it.

Why tf that trash is pickable and usable more than once??? Why?? (You are a nice person tho. Cannot move on without saying it.)

Harbor

Players that plays harbor are no joking. They are not here to learn the agent. They MAIN main him. But that doesnt makes a difference because this agent is close to useless.

Tbh he could have been my main if his abilities were a bit more versatile. Its just smoke and smoke. All about closing the sight of enemy. So fucking boring.

I bet if harbor was a girl, there will be so much people that would play him. Either way, he is boring.

Neon

Stop running and jumping around like an autistic.

You will never be able to nail those neon edits that you saw on tiktok. You look like an idiot while running towards enemy and dying first.

I hate her ult.

Raze

You are a child. A problematic one indeed.

Probably siblings with jett mains.

I bet even i could do better satcheling than you. (i have never played raze)

Reyna

I have no words.

Stop instalocking her. You are no useful.

Either top frag and smurf or bottom frag because your friends said that she is strong and you should play her. (0/11 powerspike. Yasuo of valorant.)

Skye

Just like kay/o and yoru. But that flash will hit the whole 10 that plays the game.

PLEASE HEAL I BEG YOU YOU HAVE HEAL PLEASE PRESS C PLEASEEEEEEE

Deserved nerfs tbh.

[ghelgheli]

17! but also using the opportunity of the ask game to get to know more about the effortless worldbuilding in sff :)

from the end-of-year book ask

17: Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

I think Three Body Problem is the only one meeting this condition this year so I'll have no trouble staying on topic :> but I'm gonna specifically talk about "hard" SF as I conceive of it—I haven't read any analysis so this may just be a jumble of improvised thoughts.

SF, being "speculative" fiction, of course has to take on the problem of speculating and of presenting things that don't (and perhaps cannot) happen. On average this is accomplished thru a healthy combination of scientific grounding and good-natured handwaving: I drop a few sentences about "quantum entanglement" and you go along with my ansible, or you tell me about "positronic circuits" and I agree that you can make a brain with them. This is the compact that makes SF work because you fundamentally cannot expect speculation without, well, ceding ground on reality.

But at least a subset of SF readers are of the kind to really want to grok how it is that this or that scientific feature of the world works or may come about. Every contraption and novel technology is like a puzzle to be riddled out. This is the place where speculation becomes sincere mechanical prediction, and it's why I love hard SF.

This subset of readers can be matched to a subgenre of writers who commit fully to filling in as many blanks in their technological, biological, etc. speculation as possible. The rows of astronomical data can't be left vague—tell me what frequency of light we're dealing with here—xenobiology isn't taken for granted—what is the neurology of your aliens??—and so on. The dots are connected, the rest of the owl is drawn for real, the image is made crisp. Like fireworks for the reader's brain.

When this kind of worldbuilding is executed well imo it looks effortless. Looks, not is, because behind every explanation of near-c travel is hours of research into at least special relativity and time dilation, along with calculations by-hand. Behind every account of an exoplanet's atmosphere is probably a few papers perused on the subject and several articles on scientific american. Peter Watts, in the note at the end of Blindsight, includes a fucking bibliography of a hundred or so references as well as thank-yous to many an academic he split handles of liquor with. And this is only the visible fragment of what has to be a library of knowledge accumulated both passively and actively to make a speculated world feel as concretely plausible as possible.

None of this is necessary for good SF. The aforementioned compact means any author can opt out of this commitment at any time. But it's what it takes to make tightly-written hard SF, where your conceptual hands are kept diligently at your side, waving an idea through maybe once every five chapters when you have no other choice.

So anyway, Three Body Problem is a tour de force in doing this and doing it cleanly. It uses a storytelling device a lot of hard SF employs to make it work: rather than stuffing dense exposition into narration (at which point, just read the source papers) it deploys a cast of characters who more than anything else, really know their shit. We get exposition trickle-fed through experts who are trying, along with us, to make sense of their novel environments and unfamiliar technologies using their knowledge of the present limits of human understanding. This is what Watts does in Blindsight too, by the way: a claustrophobic ship crewed by technical specialists makes first contact, so everyone has something encyclopedic to say about everything and it's only natural.

What astounded me about Cixin Liu's writing is that he made it work just when I least thought he would be able to. I was sure I was being shown things completely inexplicable and necessarily supernatural until he went and explained them in plain terms; better yet, he explained them in ways that made so much sense in retrospect that I was kicking myself for not seeing the answer. This has exactly the flavour of a good puzzle.

The trade-off hard SF makes is that you are often limited in the metaphorical/thematic work you can do through your speculation. I think the contrast between "calendrical science" in Yoon Ha Lee's Machineries of Empire series and Asimov's "psychohistory" illustrates this well.

Yoon Ha Lee has mathematical training, and calendrical science is a speculative field consisting of theorems, conjectures, proofs, etc. in the language of mathematics that stand in for cultural hegemony and power projection. This makes for a great operationalization of soft power: space is filled and distorted by the quantifiable effects of whatever regime is dominant there (the "calendar" here being synecdoche for culture writ large). But obviously he can't fill in the blanks of how a calendar causes spacetime distortions that specifically make one side's weapons more effective, or provide certain formations with shielding effects. This is, I guess, semi-hard (lol) SF—you can see how it's supposed to work, but it's clear that it just won't. What you get in return is pretty politically interesting storytelling.

Psychohistory is the converse: a deterministic-enough lovechild of economics and sociology explained in the Foundation series as using all the familiar methods of linear algebra and differential equations together with unfamiliar innovations of just how to quantify human behaviour in order to make reliable predictions. There are entire chapters dedicated to explaining the conceptual nuance that went into developing psychohistory ("the hand on thigh principle" from prelude to foundation is just about how the theory resolves divergence by reducing insignificant terms to zero) and an entire book to exploring one of its limitations. It's fascinating to read. But you also get little narrative depth out of it, because hard SF, even when done well, is not guaranteed to make a story thematically interesting or politically compelling. This is the Three Body Problem problem too: its political commitments are threadbare and unserious because that's just not what it's about. I couldn't recommend it on those terms, but that's not what I like so much about it. I will say the conceptualization goes a little off the rails in the final chapters, but I think most SF authors were in some kind of string theory inspired fugue state at the time.

What I would love to see (and I'm sure exists) is hard SF that also has interesting politics. Unfortunately that's an intersection of two already-narrow intersections.

ty for ask✨🐐