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readwritealldayallnight · 8 days ago

Text

Declined

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 9.2k words (whoopsies)

warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, stalker!Simon but he does it with the intention of loving you so therefore I also tag this as fluff, the usual swearing, smut, f!oral receiving, p in v sex, unprotected sex, finishing inside

Continuation of this idea

He almost hadn’t seen you, that very first time

He was begrudgingly on his sixth day of mandatory leave, something he had been pushing Price on for too long now, the Captain finally putting his foot down and saying the Lieutenant could no longer avoid it. Following a couple of particularly brutal operations recently, the higher ups were becoming increasingly concerned as to his mental stability, stating Ghost’s actions and his own written reports reflected an impulsivity and darkness they were steadily losing confidence in.

Ghost found the claims ridiculous. They had shaped him into exactly what they needed him to be on the battlefield, hadn’t they? They’d taken the scrawny runt of the litter and shaped him into a lean, mean, killing machine who never blinked twice as the blood of those lives he’d taken became as permanent of a stain on his skin as the ink from a tattoo gun. What did they fuckin’ care how his bloody mental health was?

Price insisted that the younger man not sulk inside of his flat for the entire duration of what he tried to convince him could be treated as a well deserved rest, encouraging him to get out at least once a day, if only to stretch his legs and prevent him from going truly stir crazy.

“Ye do understand they won’t let you back until they think you’re at least tryin’ to put the work in?” The Captain had told him the last time he saw him, doing his best to remind his second in command of the situation they’d been put into. “Take up fuckin’ yoga if ye think it’ll help ye. Just find something to distract yer mind and have them clear ye to come back sooner than later.”

A distraction huh?

Now, he’s sat at a table in the corner of an already too small and too cramped cafe, nursing a less than mediocre cup of tea on his daily outing, only just looking to help pass the time faster until he could be back on base where he belonged. For no particular reason other than perhaps divine intervention, he had only happened to glance up that time the bell above the door rang rather than the other hundred times it had gone off this morning, and that was when Ghost saw you

You, who appeared as though you’d only stumbled into the shop because a strong gust of wind had pushed you in his direction, your skittish, frazzled appearance making you stand out amongst the crowd of bored looking caffeine addicts stood waiting in queue, hardly sparing you a glance as they awaited their next 5£ fix

You were pushing your hair out of your face as you caught your breath, accompanied by the sound of the bell ringing as the door finally shut behind you, a noise nearly akin to angels strumming their harps up above when Ghost caught his first proper glimpse of your visage

There was something about you that piqued his interest then and there, his eyes never leaving you as you continuously struggled with the stack of books, journals and loose papers nearly slipping from your grasp, your other arm occupied with the so full it could burst tote bag that kept sliding off your shoulder

He had to stop himself from actually scoffing at your appearance, you came across as so opposite to how he carries himself, silent and stealthy, cool and collected, priding himself on being able to slip in and out of rooms unnoticed, even with his huge frame. And here you were, stumbling in like a bull in a china shop and appearing before him like the epitome of a hot mess on legs

He watched you the entire time you stood in queue, he watched you place your order and pay, noting the way his cold, dead to the world heart tried to skip a beat when you smiled at the barista, he watched you glance about the cafe as you waited for your beverage, your gaze somehow never landing on the one that had been focused on you since you walked in

Now, there are countless explanations as to why Ghost did what he did next, many of them could be explained away as being innocent enough, no real ill-intent or harm done, the Lieutenant was simply bored and looking for something to occupy his time with, to entertain his mind, like the higher ups had ordered

Unfortunately for you, he believed he had just found his distraction

It was really almost too easy, any simple civilian could have done it, his SAS skills not even needing to come into play you were making this so simple for him, you might as well have been asking for it

First, he saw your eyes light up when the barista called your name out along with your drink order, giving Ghost the first half of the information he needed. Next, he was watching you walk by his table to collect your beverage, paying him no mind at all as he glanced towards the stack in your arms, your last name practically popping out at him from the top corners of nearly all your loose papers, granting the large men exactly what he’d been hoping to see

You were none the wiser as you happily skipped out of the cafe, bidding the girl behind the counter a happy Sunday along the way, unaware as to the pair of eyes following your every movement, and the traumatized mind behind them who had already begun his plotting

One week

Seven days go by since that first Sunday he saw you in the cafe

And in that time, Simon’s kept himself busy, learning as much as he can about his newest distraction, his new little hobby, his pet project

Equipped with your first and last name tucked into the folds of his brain, it had been all too simple, nearly comical how easy it was for Ghost to look you up online and learn all he wanted to know about you

Thanks to the world wide web, in a weeks time Ghost had been able to discover all those essential details he supposes other men would have had to learn through taking you on date after date, finding out which school you’re attending for your masters degree, gaining access to your class schedule, giving him a glimpse into your routine Mondays through Fridays, discovering which local book store you’re working at part time on the weekends

You’re evidently a clever bird, having your few social media accounts set to private mode, but you’re sweet to think something like that could keep someone like him from getting what he wants

Soon enough, he’s got access to every photo and video you’ve ever uploaded to the web through the years, happy to note that you’ve never posted anything that would hint towards there being a man in your life right now

And really, it isn’t entirely your fault that you’re so open and honest in some of your posts, believing that no one apart from your family and close friends will be reading it, as you had excitedly posted photos of your new apartment last year, writing in the caption how you were eager to start this new chapter of your life, living on your own, all by yourself, not even a dog to keep you company when the floor boards creak at night and branches tap against the windows, just and old blind cat you’d rescued

While your friends had commented on how cute and cozy your decor had been, his own eyes skipped over the overpriced pillows and throws and instead locked on to the windows and doors, noting the standard, or altogether missing, security systems in place

Ghost is thinking about what the easiest way to gain access to your flat’s floor plan would be, he could pretend he’s an interested tenant and reach out to the landlord, hmm but then he’d have to actually talk to someone, something he’s been able to avoid doing so far, avoid leaving any trace- when the sound of the bell ringing above the door lets him know you’ve walked in

Much like last time, his eyes following your figure is the only perceptible movement he allowed himself, guarded by the shadows of his hood over his head, no one would ever be able to notice the steadfast attention he pays to your every single movement

You spend a total of 9 minutes 38 seconds in the cafe this time around, from the time you enter until you’re walking back out with your warm drink in hand, each second being ingrained into Ghost’s mind

A small part of him had almost tried to fool himself in the beginning, attempting to convince himself that this would be enough, learning about a curious little bird from behind a screen and silently watching her bounce around a coffee shop once a week should have been enough to keep his warring mind occupied, to keep the Lieutenant distracted until the higher ups decided enough time had passed to offer him a chance back

That was until, he’d heard you laugh

You were nearly out of the cafe, so close to being an itch he could almost consider satisfyingly scratched and over with, when a woman and her overzealous toddler came bounding round the corner, practically knocking into you with your full arms

But rather than becoming upset at your nearly spilled drink or almost ruined academic papers, you reassured the woman, got down to the tots level to make sure they were alright, and then you laughed with them

Your fucking giggle was to him what children heard when the ice cream truck came driving by, your smile stretching further than it previously had before his eyes, your voice sounding as melodic as the bell above the door did, and that was when Ghost knew, he was fucked

All of the world’s information online couldn’t put into words what he was seeing in front of him with his own two tired eyes; you were sweet

Too sweet, tooth-achingly sweet, sweet enough to trust this cold, dark world and offer it a bright smile in return

He’s seen people killed for far, far less

But not you

He wouldn’t allow such a cruel fate to befall such a darling bird, he wanted to keep you sweet, keep you smiling and giggling without worries of predators watching from the shadows, mouths salivating and jaws itching to clamp down on something soft

Not when you’d flown to close to him twice now, near enough that he can practically feel the wind beneath your wings as you float out of the cafe again, unaware that you’ve stepped into the large, gilded cage that is Ghost’s attention

Another week passes

Ghost takes his curiosity away onto the streets for the first time and counts to sixty before he follows you out of the coffee shop that Sunday, careful to stick close to the buildings and shadows, mingling in with the crowds and keeping a reasonable distance from you as he follows in your steps

He lurks near the crowded bust stop across the street from the moment you walk into your shift at the bookshop, and remains there until the second you step back out hours later, locking up the store behind you and beginning your stroll home

He waits outside your flat, noting which window on the second floor lights up with the soft glow of a lamp not long after you venture into the building, letting him know exactly which one is yours, and which one he’ll be keeping a close eye on from now on

Another week passes

Ghost has most of your routine memorized by now

He knows what time you leave in the morning depending on your classes that day, knows you often don’t make it home until after dark on those days

He knows your shifts at the bookstore every weekend never change, with your Sunday morning visits to the cafe before work being one of the few luxuries you apparently allow yourself

Ghost hangs around your flat often enough that he allows some of the neighbours to begin recognizing him in passing, letting them assume he must live in the building as well

All the better for him really, when the nice older couple doesn’t blink twice as he carefully grumbles about being locked out one night and they grant him their key code to unlock the front doors

Another week passes

Ghost knows you’ve been complaining to your landlord about how the building’s laundry machines are giving you a hard time, though you don’t tell the balding man about how it seems your undergarments are the only thing disappearing from your loads-

He knows where you do your shopping, and how you avoid a certain cashier who never gets the hint when you don’t return his attempts at flirting

He knows your Sunday morning coffee order by heart, knows exactly around what time you’ll be popping into the cafe, always around 8:25am before your 9am shift stocking books six blocks away

Another week passes

Ghost knows you haven’t noticed yet that the nuisance of a cashier at your local grocer hasn’t shown up to work in days now, the Lieutenant having ensured that he wouldn’t be bothering you anymore

He knows you’re running low on panties, considering he has nearly an entire weeks worth of your unwashed garments tucked safely in his nightstand

He knows you’ve started to notice the door leading out to your second storey balcony isn’t always locked when you return home, even though you could have sworn it was secured before you left that morning

He knows you’ve begun to question whether you left that lamp on when you rushed out for school, or if you’d closed your bedroom curtains before bed at night, or where those leftovers in the fridge went-

Ghost knows it’s nearly time to act - his clever bird is slowly catching on as he grows less and less careful, more daring - but it’s on one of those nights that he feels bold enough to slide your balcony door ajar enough for him to slide inside and watch your chest rise and fill with each breath as you sleep peacefully unaware, that his phone rings and nearly ruins everything

It was only in recent weeks that Ghost felt confident enough, or perhaps stupid enough his Captain say, to observe you more closely, taking a more ‘hands-on’ approach. At night, he more often than not occupied the nooks and crannies of your domicile as you tossed and turned in your sleep, mere steps away from the man who simply wished to watch you dream for now

He can’t explain his fascination with you even to himself - it’s as if he awoke one morning to discover he- someone had drilled a hole into his skull and poured your liquid form directly into his cranium

He sometimes wishes you were as easy to catch as a common insect, wishes that he could examine you under a microscope, to pin your extremities down and take a scalpel to your soft flesh to finally peer inside and see what makes you tick- but he knows he must tread lightly, keep you from bleeding out on the table too soon

Always careful and sure of his movements as he inched your bedroom door open that night, he had been preoccupied on watching you for any sudden indication of disturbing and waking you, he’d been entirely caught off guard by the sudden buzzing going off in his pocket

He hadn’t been expecting anything from his cell that night, considering that this was the first sign of life his the device had shown in the month he’d been forced on leave, but he thanked whatever God might still be listening to him that the ringer was off like it always was, saving him from the disaster that would have been his ringtone suddenly waking you just before two o’ clock in the morning to a masked stranger lurking in your doorway

Though the phone call hadn’t woken you, it had startled Ghost enough to throw him off, had him stepping back in surprise and making the near fatal mistake of stepping on one of your cats squeaky toys

The cheap pet store toy goes off in the otherwise deadly silent room, only the light of the moon creeping through your curtains casts a faint glow across your sleeping figure, which to Ghost’s horror, begins to stir softly

Ghost has backed out of your bedroom, slipped out the balcony door, silently shut it behind him and jumped back down onto the street with the agility of a trained professional in their element, all before the call has even been sent to voicemail

He’s ripping the device from his pocket and slamming thick fingers onto buttons as the sudden surge of adrenaline catches up to him- as he realizes just how fucking close that was - daring to glance up and spot a single light turning on in the window he knows is your bedroom

“What?” He asks harshly into the receiver, uncaring to check what the caller ID says- only one person has his cell number anyhow

“I’ll be honest,” The Captain’s accent comes through clear as day, sounding all too chipper for the current time on the clock. “I was expectin’ at least a slightly warmer greetin’ from you.”

“After a month of hearing jack shit from you?” Ghost knows he’s being slightly crueller than he needs to be. He is happy to hear Price’s voice, but the inconvenient timing of this call has him on edge, has him wishing this conversation would end already. His body may be out of your flat, but his mind is still up there with you, wondering if you’ve gone back to sleep yet, if you were convinced it was just the cat moving around at night. “Wha’ is it, Cap?”

There’s silence on the line for a moment, shuffling and the tell-tale sound of the older man letting out a deep sigh as he settles in says, “You’ve been… quiet Ghost. Was expectin’ to have heard from you by now.”

“Ain’t I supposed to be bloody takin’ it easy? As you’d put it? Why would I call when you’re the one that fuckin’ sent me away.” He surprises even himself with his harshness towards a man he holds so much respect for, one of the few people he holds to such a high standard. But the inconvenience of the timing of this call has Ghost on edge, has him uneasy, spitting out any words that will end this call and allow him to let out the breath he feels he’s still holding in.

“Fair ‘nough.” The Captain answers, having already suspected that this would likely not turn into the most joyous of phone calls. “Though for the record, you know it was never my call, Ghost. I pushed against it, vouched for you, they just-” the older man lets another deep sigh before he decides to end that train of thought and get to the point of why he called in the first place. “They’re saying they’re willing to have you come in now, with the time that’s passed. Retake your psych eval. You tell them whatever they want to hear to pass you, and you’re back in, you hear me?”

He can almost picture it, the longer Price goes on

He could pick up the duffel bag he’s had packed and sitting ready by the door since the moment he’d been put on this mandatory leave, drive to base, bullshit his way through whatever fuckin’ questions are meant to determine whether he’s fit for duty or not (even if he risks returning with a mind even darker than when they sent him away-), and be back on the battlefield by the end of the week, gunshots ringing in his ears once more and blood under his fingernails

The thing is however, there’s an itch under his skin he hasn’t been able to scratch yet, a melody stuck on repeat in his mind he hasn’t been able to perfect the tune to quiet yet, a sliver he put into his flesh himself and hasn’t found a way to pry out without making a mess

“Wish it were that simple.” The masked man grumbles under his breath, leaning his head back against the scratchy brick of the building, staring up at the starless sky, the only light he can see is one leading him back towards you

“What was that?” Price attempts to clarify, believing he’s misheard his Lieutenant. From his perspective, this is the news his second in command has been waiting to hear this entire time and he suffered through days of boredom and inactivity. He figured this would be a quick call that ended with his missing task force member returning as soon as possible

“‘Fraid I ain’t quite ready yet, sir. Got something I need to take care of first.”

“You- how do you mean, Ghost?” He asks again, in slight disbelief that the man on the other end of the line isn’t itching to return as he believed he would be.

“Took your advice, Cap. Found a distraction. Can’t go being upset now, to find out I’m distracted.”

It takes him longer than it should, to come up with what he considers as Plan A

Every scenario he dreamt up in his head, every possible meet-cute that could occur, none of it seemed good enough for inserting himself into your life and ensuring his spot became a permanent one

What if he caught you at a bad time and you hardly spared a glance at him?

What if he intimidated you, the way he tended to throw most people off?

What if you found him strange, creepy, scary?

What if you didn’t like him and he ruined any chance he ever had at doing this right?

He couldn’t risk such a thing, not when he intended on keeping you around for a long, long time

He had to ensure that your first meeting went well, was one where you would be just as infatuated with him as he’d been with you

In order for this to work, he had to have you approach him

Either way, he was going to have you, he would just rather if you went willingly and happily

The idea had struck him on a Saturday, as he watched you and your coworker locking up the bookstore one evening, overhearing a snippet of your conversation had a lightbulb appearing above his head

You stood by the shopfront as your coworker tugged on the door handle, making sure it was locked tight for the night, before she mentioned to you; “God, I wish payday wasn’t a week away.”

“Tell me ‘bout it.” You’d agreed, readjusting the strap of your constantly slipping tote bag on your shoulder. “I hope I’ve got enough money in my bank account to cover my coffee tomorrow morning.”

Bingo

He’d shown up to the cafe extra early the next morning, though he always arrived at least a half hour before you did, wanting to fade into the background of the bustling morning crowd before you popped in

He’d considered finding a way to hack your bank cards and have them malfunction, but then thought better of it, curious if he could go about this another way that was less likely to leave a digital footprint

He knew the barista working the counter this morning was a newer hire, hadn’t even been here for a full month yet

He tried to look as non-intimidating as he could as he walked up to her, though that was no easy feat considering his stature alone

He ordered his drink, his fee for being able to occupy the corner table as long as he liked, before he told her he had a strange request to make

He was confident that she wouldn’t tell him no, that she was still new enough to the job that she wouldn’t want to deny a paying customer

He explained that there’d be a woman coming in later, and that he wanted to pay for her order

Ghost could see how the naive girl was almost fooled into believing he was sweet for a moment, perhaps caring even, asking him if he was wanting to start one of those pay it forward trains where everyone pays for the person behind them- before he cut her off

“No.” He’d clarified firmly, seeing her eyes widen only slightly before hastily putting her customer service face back in place. “Only her.”

He said he wanted to her pretend as though your cards weren’t working when you would go to pay- to tell you they had declined or something, before he’d step in and pay for you

“She’s an old friend o’ mine. Haven’t seen her in a while. Was hoping you could help me with this sort o’ … ‘prank’ if you will.”

Any hesitation the woman might have still been harbouring quickly disappeared when a 20£ note was flashed to her

Nearly a half hour later, he watches his plan unfold without a hitch

You think nothing of it the first time the barista tells you your payment didn’t go through, becoming confused when it declines a second time, and increasingly flustered each time after that when every method of payment you have can’t cover your 5£ morning drink

Ghost watches this unfold with a satisfied smirk hidden under his plain medical mask - he thought the balaclava might be a bit too much for your first meeting - enjoying seeing you flounder momentarily, unaware of how everything you know is about to change as he steps closer, extending his gloved hand next to you, close enough to feel your heat radiating through your jacket, before he’s tapping his card against the machine and speaking to you for the first time

“I’ve got tha’ for ya.”

And suddenly, as simple as flicking a switch on, as easy as waking up from a peaceful sleep, Ghost now gets to watch all his hard work pay off right before him, as your eyes meet finally meet his for the first time

He has to actively fight to hear your incessant apologies and thank you’s aimed his way over the thundering of his heart beating in his damaged eardrums, has to refrain himself from grinning as wide as a Cheshire Cat beneath his mask and give himself away too soon

Though his poker experience is usually limited to late nights under foreign stars with the 141, Ghost knows how to play his cards right, especially with you

He turns you down at your first offer to pay him back, letting you stew in the awkward discomfort of a stranger saving your ass in front of other strangers for a moment longer, before you’re saying the exact words he wanted to hear coming from your lips, as though he’d handed you the script himself

“Do you come here often? I just mean that- I come here a lot- sometimes. And if you’re here next time I’m here, then maybe I can pay you back, buy you a drink.”

With a hurried promise to meet him here at this time next week, and a sheepish smile sent his way as you duck out of the busy cafe to head to work, Ghost slips the barista another 20£ in thanks before he’s out of the shop as well, following you from a distance, each step he takes feeling lighter than the next

You can’t keep pretending anymore

Even your friends are starting to take notice

Well, if you can count the people who are forced to spend time with you, your classmates and coworkers, as friends

“You all good over there?” Your colleague asks you as you’re restocking books on the shelves one afternoon, having noticed the way you jumped in surprise when a customer rounded the corner unexpectedly

“Yeah I-” You take a steadying breath, one hand still clutching your frantic heart as it races in your chest. “I’ve just been paranoid recently. Think school’s getting to me.”

You can tell she doesn’t quite believe you, based off the way she’s still looking at you, before she decides to drop the subject for now, going to greet the couple that just walked in

You’re not sure you’d believe yourself either, if you were the one on the outside looking in

While it was true that you were in a particularly busy portion of the semester at the moment, your assignments and grades were unfortunately the furthest thing from your mind

You’d been able to play it off at first, blaming your constantly preoccupied mind and overloaded schedule, how else could you keep forgetting such silly things like turning the lamp off though you could’ve sworn you had- and believing you’d left yourself two slices of pizza when the plate in the fridge obviously only had one on it but wait you only ordered a small and ate half last night how could- and the plants that you knew you kept neglecting suddenly began blooming back to life when you knew you hadn’t watered them in ages

Those strange occurrences, those little blips in your memory were easier to pass off, less difficult to wrestle around in with in your psyche and instead pass off as moments of forgetfulness, a busy student and part time employee with too much on her plate and not enough of a social life

But then things went from being strange, to downright concerning

You knew you had locked the balcony door last night, hell you checked it every damn night, a habit you’d had long before you lived on your own in the middle of a busy city, so why were you not only often finding it unlocked, but one night you found it slightly ajar, the morning breeze rustling the curtains as though they were taunting you step closer

Speaking to some of your other neighbours in passing, none of them had anything close to similar complaints about the laundry machine stealing their undergarments as a price to pay for clean laundry, your panties apparently being the only victims, something you were trying to convince yourself wasn’t as bizarre as it clearly was, especially when you were folding laundry one day and discovered you had quite literally not a single pair of knickers left

And then there were the dreams

If you could even call them that

Dreams where a large, dark stranger creeps into your home, into your bedroom, and simply watches you

Lurks in the corners of your flat and observes your every move, your every breath, never making a single sound, as silent as a ghost

And the stranger never does anything, never says anything, only ever just stands there, until you wake up and you can swear you see his shadow disappearing out of the corner of your eyes as you open them

It doesn’t take long for you to start noticing the shadow when you’re awake too

Disappearing around bends and corners, slipping through grocery aisles and alley ways, blending amongst crowds and backgrounds, vanishing when you turn your head to catch sight of him

You feel like you’re losing your mind

“Why don’t you come out with Jordan and I tonight?” She tries again, coming to drop another box full next to your feet. “Take your mind off of school. We’re going to try that new pub down near Walton Street.”

“I would, but-” You cut yourself off, spotting your manager coming to ring up a customer at the front. The two of you exchange knowing glances and small smiles, knowing your sweet old man of a boss doesn’t truly mind when his employees chit chat together, he says he likes seeing you all getting along, but you still try to keep up appearances

You put your thumb and pinky out to look like a phone before shaking it by your ear, letting your coworker know you’ve got plans for the night as she playfully rolls her eyes at you and mouths “I see, I see” with her hands up in mock surrender, before she’s retreating to gather more boxes from the back

It’s the same plans you’ve had almost every night for going on nearly two weeks now

While it was true that the sudden strange occurrences in your life were preoccupying most of your mind these days, you were still in fact a busy student, and so while you hadn’t entirely forgotten about the stranger you’d promised a coffee to the week prior, you couldn’t hide your genuine surprise at seeing him there that next Sunday

He was sat at a table in the corner, his hands free of any drink, allowing you to pay him back, just as he said he would

What he hadn’t prefaced the last time however, was how quickly he’d make you fall for him

While he might not have been the type of guy you would have originally gone for, unable to deny the intimidating aura that follows him around, you were all too pleased to discover that behind that hardened exterior was someone you got along with without even having to try, discovering he agreed with everything you said, had a lot in common with you, listened attentively to every word you spoke, not to mention he was certainly not hard on the eyes

You weren’t able to sit with him long that morning, explaining to him that the cafe was usually your much needed caffeine stop on your way to work, though you’d walked to the bookstore that morning with a pep in your step, and a new number in your contacts, under the name Simon

It wasn’t even a full 24 hours later when he’d first called you up

You were doing dishes in your flat, getting ready to turn in early that night when your phone rang

You couldn’t help the blush that overtook you at hearing his gravelly voice come through the line, tickling your ear as he apologized for already calling you so soon, he just couldn’t remember the name of that book you’d mentioned yesterday and it was bothering him because he wanted to read it before he saw you again

Next thing you knew, close to three hours had gone by, and you felt like a teenager when you both admitted neither wanted to hang up yet, satisfying one another with a promise to call again soon

Soon, it turns out, was the very next night

And the night after that

And soon, you can Simon were talking on the phone every night before bed, hours and hours racking up as you learned more about each other

It was a nice distraction from the source of your anxieties you refused to fully acknowledge yet, a welcome way to take your mind off the stress you’d been experiencing

If you weren’t already so distracted, you might have been paying just a little closer attention

You might have noticed how skilled he was at deflecting personal question aimed his way, or how he was able to answer without truly answering, always quickly turning the spotlight back to you, making you feel seen and listened to in a way no man had done before, taking the attention away from him time and time again

You might have noticed he agreed with you a little too often, never actually voicing any opinions until he knew what yours was first, never taking a stance unless he knew what yours was

What you really should have noticed was the way he seemed to know things about you that you couldn’t remember telling him, chalking it up to being so tired some nights you must have forgotten sharing that with him

In the end, Simon was saying all the right things at the right time, and you were all too happy to hear what you wanted to hear

It was barely ten minutes passed 9 when you were turning the key in the lock for the night, making sure the doors wouldn’t budge before you tightened your hold on your bag and began the trek home, the butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter at the thought of hearing Simon’s voice through the phone soon enough

Luckily, you were only about eight blocks away from home, and the summer sun had only just begun setting as the last of the customers were dwindling out of the shop, meaning you weren’t walking in total darkness quite yet

Yet somehow, something in the air tonight felt different, had the hairs on the back of your neck rising as though anticipating a predator lurking around the corner, ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey

You tried you continue convincing yourself you were nothing short of delusional, paranoid, that watching too many true crime docs was getting to you

But then, just as you were waiting for the pedestrian crossing sign to change, out of the corner of your eye, you saw your shadow

You whipped your head around too quickly, straining your neck but desperate to catch a glimpse and prove you weren’t crazy, but as always, there was no one there

The small crowd around you began crossing the street, unaware of the adrenaline begin to course through your veins as you hobbled along with them, noticing with regret that no one else continued in the direction you would have to turn, leaving you to traverse the next few blocks alone

You hurried your pace, trying to shake the undeniable feeling of something being wrong, when for the first time, you heard your shadow

Light footsteps that grew heavier the more you paid attention to them, the kind that weren’t casually strolling by as you might have hoped, but rather were on a determined path, and to your utter fear, were gaining speed

You never once dared turn your head this time, fear convincing you that should you stop and look back, he would be right there over your shoulder, a shadow coming to life just in time to take yours away

With your building in sight, you said fuck it and broke out into a sprint, hurrying towards the main doors and frantically entering in your code before the worst fo your fears could come true, never glancing back as the doors unlocked and you made a mad dash inside and up the stairs

You were barely through your apartment door before your phone was in your hand, dialling the last number you’d called, the only number you called these days

He answered before the first ring had finished

“‘ello?”

“Simon.” You hated the way your voice sounded, trembling around his name and giving away the clear distress you were in, but you couldn’t help it. Your poor heart was racing a mile a minute, you had tears threatening to spill over your lash line at any moment, you were trembling like a leaf and wanted to seek out the only comfort you’d had recently

“Wha’s wrong?” He immediately asked, evidently hearing your panic through the phone

“Simon, I just-” you let out a gasp, no longer in control of the tears that were starting to run down your cheeks. You double, triple checked the lock on your door was secured before on trembling legs, you slowly made your way towards the balcony doors, blood running cold when you spotted the latch undone. “I know this sounds insane but I really need you, I- I swear someone’s been following me and I think he’s outside my flat and I- I’m so scared Simon I don’t-”

“You’re alrigh’ love.” He cut off your rambling, the confidence in his voice lending you a sliver of strength for a moment. “Jus’ breathe, yeah? I’ll be righ’ there.”

True to his word, Simon is knocking at your flat door in less than four minutes, another anomaly you would have noticed had you not been in such a frantic state of mind

“It’s me love. Jus’ me.” You hear his voice say through the door, standing up on tip toes to peer through the peephole and confirm for your own peace of mind that it really truly is your knight in shining armour, hardly paying any mind to the fact that this is the first time you see him without a mask on the lower half of his face

You’re practically banging the door against the wall as you swing it open in a hurry to get him inside, grabbing him by his jacket to pull his figure closer to yours, barely giving him a chance to shut it behind him before you’re clinging to him like a lost pet whose been returned to their owner

You can hear him shushing you, a large hand coming to soothe your hair as another grabs you by the waist and holds you tighter, trying to reassure you between your sobs that you’re alright, that he’s here now, that you’re always safe with him

There’s a fleeting moment where you can’t help but think about how this isn’t you, how you’ve always been fiercely independent, how you’ve never needed to rely on others for comfort before, let alone a man you met all of two weeks ago, but the thought is gone just as quickly as it appeared, when Simon pulls back to hold your face gently in both of his hands, thumbs carefully rubbing tears off your cheeks as he looks at you with such sincerity, you couldn’t care less if you’ve known him for two weeks or two years, right now you just need someone to tell you everything is okay, that you’re not insane

He leads you towards the couch, planting you sideways across his lap as he leans your head on his shoulder and rubs a soothing hand across your back

“Now, try again, love. Tell me wha’s happened.”

And when he’s asking you so sweetly, touching you so nicely in a way no one has in who knows how long, how could you every deny him?

You tell him everything, all of it, the bizarre coincidences you can no longer explain away, the strange happenings that you cannot chalk up to forgetfulness, the odd feeling of being constantly watched you cannot shake, you tell him all of it

And Simon, he listens to it all, every concern of yours, every worry you’d had, he nods along showing you he’s listening, never interrupting you, always rubbing some part of your skin to let you know he’s here, he’s here and he’s got you

By the end of it, you’re no longer crying, your heart has begun to slow to a more normal rhythm, the goosebumps dotting your skin only a result of the large man caressing you as you avoid dribbling snot onto his jumper

“You must think I’m crazy, right? I- I even think I sound crazy.” You admit, avoiding looking at him as you pick at a loose thread on his collar

“Not at all, love.” His words have your eyes lifting to meet his, finding nothing but honesty in his steady gaze.

“W-what?”

“Said I believe you.” He reiterates, giving your hip a slight squeeze before he’s dragging his fingers down across your thigh, rubbing soothing strokes against your flesh. “Everythin’ you jus’ told me, I don’ wanna scare you bird, but I think you migh’ be righ’. Sounds like someone’s been followin’ ya.”

He must see it in your face, the way your heart practically drops to the floor at his words, because he’s gripping the meat of your thigh a little tighter, opening his mouth to continue before you can spiral further

“But you’re so smart, love. You did exactly the righ’ thing, callin’ me. You knew I wouldn’ let anythin’ happen to ya. I’m here now, I’ve got ya.”

His words are akin to stepping into a steaming warm bath at the end of a gruelling day, the exact comfort you needed in that moment, easing you slowly back into a state of calm, though you don’t feel quite out of the woods yet

“Let me take care of ya, huh? Here, follow me.” He gives your thigh one last squeeze before he’s helping you back up onto more stable legs, never going without at least on hand touching you as he guides you towards your balcony door, making a show of peering outside for any lurking dangers before he snaps the lock in place and draws the curtains shut

“C’mon, let’s check all your windows, eh? Can’t be too sure.”

And so you follow him room to room, watching him with growing gratitude as he goes from window to window, ensuring it’s properly shut and locked before moving onto the next, scanning each room for any sign of a disturbance, letting you know everything is clear each time, until there’s only one door left to go through

Simon inches the door to your bedroom open with the toe of his boot, letting it hit the wall before he steps inside, doing a full scan before he nods towards you to follow him in

You take a seat at the end of your bed as you watch him move through your space, checking your window and closing your curtains, even going as far as to open your closet and peek under the bed, something that forces a fleeting smile on your face in spite of the circumstances

“Think that’s everythin’, birdie.” He admits, coming to sit down next to you on the bed, thighs touching, his muscled arm sneaking around your shoulders to pull you into him. “My brave girl. You’ve been goin’ through all this by yourself, huh?”

“Mhm.” You confirm, feeling too exhausted after the rush of emotions and adrenaline let down to say anything more, too tired to notice the way he’s taken to calling you his all of a sudden, especially when Simon’s embrace is so warm, so inviting

“Poor bird. Must’ve been so scary, not knowing who’s out there.” He coos into your ear, brushing your hair back from your neck, letting you feel his hot breath against your skin. “Aren’t you so glad you called? That I’m ‘ere now?”

“Mhm. Thank you, Simon.” You murmur, the events of the day really catching up to you now

“You never have to thank me, love. I’m here with ya. Not goin’ anywhere.” You feel your lashes flutter shut when his chapped lips come to press a chaste kiss to your temple, as gentle as a butterflies wings as this behemoth of a man comforts you. “You jus’ let me take care of ya now, love. Let me make it all better. Make ya feel good.”

There’s a fraction of a second where your mind catches back up to you, where logic floats up to the surface of your consciousness when you feel Simon’s hand sneak under your shirt, something on the tip of your tongue about how this is only the third time you meet face to face, how you haven’t gone on a proper date yet, how you’ve only known him two weeks-

Any common sense flies out the window however when his lips connect with yours

As his calloused fingers manage to rid you of your top before tangling in your hair, your own are grasping on tightly at his collar, allowing him to take control of the kiss, to take control of the situation, to do as he’s promised and make you feel good, make you forget about everything that’s had you so on edge and allow yourself to be taken care of

Simon hasn’t steered you wrong so far, has he? He’s been nothing but kind, nothing but attentive, nothing but sweet and caring and present and-

Fuck can he kiss

Your heart is racing for an entirely different reason as his fingers reach behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall haphazardly amongst your sheets before he’s pulling his lips off of yours, kissing and nipping along your jaw, your neck, down your collarbone and sternum until his hot breath is tickling one of your nipples and he sucks it gently into his mouth, teeth playfully skimming the raised bud

You can’t help the way you melt like putty in his hands, unknowingly as touch starved as he is, unable to hold back the sounds of your enjoyment when his other hand comes up to tweak your neglected breast, squeezing and pinching until it’s as taut as the one he’s still slobbering all over

Your fingers are pulling at the fabric of his jumper, arching into his touch and gasping when he lets your breast go with a ‘plop’, before his mouth is trailing wet kisses down your sternum, down your stomach, before his skilled fingers are tugging down your pants

“No panties, hm?” You never could have imagined his voice could be deeper than it already was, but the sound of his gravelly accent has chills running up your spine, blush deepening when you see the dark look in his eyes as he peers down at your bare, weeping slit

You have half a mind to explain that you haven’t had time to run to the shops and replace all your missing knickers, but quickly lose any sense of time and place when his broad shoulders are pushing themselves between your thighs, opening them up for his head to drop down and his lips to wrap around your throbbing clit

You can feel him smirk against your folds at the sound you let out, something between a moan and a gasp, before he’s pulling out more delicious noises from you with his tongue alone

“Mmm, you really do taste as good as you look.” He murmurs against your dripping folds, eyes dancing with mischief before his lips are on you again

You feel like your entire being has been pulled apart and put back together in the blink of an eye, your would be stalker having you fearing for your life, and now Simon having you holding on for dear life

You can both hear and feel him groaning against your pussy, licking up your arousal, probing his skilled tongue around your entrance before plunging it as deep as the muscle will go, reminiscent of a man starved as he devours you from the inside out, with no sign of being satiated any time soon

“Simon!” You plead, toes curling, legs shaking. You can hardly believe this is happening, that you’re on the precipice of cumming on this man’s tongue so soon, when suddenly his thumb sneaks down and slides across your clit engorged clit, rubbing steady circles until you’re seeing stars behind your eyelids, eyes rolling to the back of your head and his name the only word you know as you fall headfirst off that cliff known as ecstasy

You’re gasping for breath, still coming back to yourself when he finally pulls himself away, licking his lips as though this was a five star meal he’s just tasted, the look in his eyes telling you he’s likely to be a returning customer

With the way he’s brought you to orgasm faster than any vibrator ever has, you’re hardly in any place to protest when you hear the sound of his belt being undone, his zipper being pulled down, a ringing in your ears when your eyes land on his throbbing, erect member

You barely get a chance to gasp at its size before Simon is on you again, strong hands dragging you further up the mattress before he’s kissing you senseless yet again

You can feel him pumping his cock with one hand as he takes his time tasting you, having you taste yourself on his tongue

He pulls one of your legs up around his waist, opening your centre up to him before you can feel the head of his prick sliding through your folds, teasing your sensitive clit until you’re practically shaking, rolling your hips up against him

He’s swallowing your gasp when he notches himself at your entrance, wasting no time before he’s sinking himself inch by devastating inch, plunging further and further than you thought was possible, until he’s all the way in, hips flush with yours as he’s sheathed himself completely inside you, a perfect fit

While sweet might have been a word you used for the Simon who talks to you on the phone at all hours, who buys you coffee when your cards decline, you cannot bring yourself to believe that that same sweet Simon is the same man who begins thrusting in and out of you with such vigour, such force, it knocks the breath right out of your lungs as your headboard begins banging against the wall

“Fuck!” He’s grunting in your ear, the sounds of skin slapping and your wetness squelching echoing in the room. “Fuckin’ knew it. Knew you’d be this tight. So warm, so wet for me. Perfect fuckin’ pussy.”

“Simon! Oh, Simon!” His name is the only word your lips can make sense of, the only thing your mind can understand. You’re already headed towards another climax, your body feeling like an instrument he’s spent years mastering the art of playing

“Yeah, you gonna come again, pretty bird? Come on my cock? Just for me?” He’s picking up his pace, intent of meeting you there with his own release, grip tightening on your waist as he plunges in and out of you, feeling your tight walls increasingly gripping his cock. “Say it. Say it’s just for me. Say it.”

“It- it’s for you. Just for you, Simon! You!”

“Fuckin’ righ’ it is. My perfect girl.” He praises, sucking dark purple circles onto your neck, fingers unrelenting in their teasing against your clit. “You want it, pretty girl? Then fuckin’ take it.”

Your vision goes white, body practically going numb the pleasure is so all consuming as it shoots through every nerve ending and back, every star in the galaxy appearing before your eyes as you come on his cock. You’re so lost in your orgasm, you hardly notice when he groans out your own name, hips stilling as he shoots his load into you, rutting helplessly against your overused cunt to drag out every second of ecstasy, making sure you take very last drop he has to give you

If you were exhausted before, you’re practically dead to the world now, uncaring that Simon doesn’t even pull out his softening member as he maneuvers the two of you under the covers, smoothing your hair back as he kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips

He rubs soothing hands up and down your naked back, telling you how good you did, how good you are for him, how good he’ll be for you, before he’s reaching to turn your lamp off, casting the two of you into darkness as sleep fights to drag you under

You’re on the brink of slumber, too spent to really think about anything that’s transpired tonight, though just conscious enough to feel the smallest of alarms try and go off in the back of your foggy mind at Simon’s words, the last of your self preservation instincts trying to weave its way to the front of your mind, waving the red flag as high as it’ll go

“Good thing I came over soon as you called. Who knows what could’ve happened.”

Your eyes snap open

You’d never told Simon where you lived

~~~~~

If you’ve made it this far, I’d like to offer you a sticker of appreciation

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! Thank you for your patience on this fic, I cannot even tell you how many times I felt like this story was ready to be posted, but I’d reread it and wouldn’t be satisfied with how it was. This is probably the draft I’ve spent the most time on, and so again I really appreciate the patience in waiting for the upload

But here she is!!! And I hope she was worth the wait

I know this is different from the usual fluff I post, both with a darker Ghost and smut still not being my forte, but I really do sincerely hope this part 2 was everything you guys hoped for! I had a lot of fun writing it, turned into one of my longest ones, and now I’m excited to get to my inbox and answer more requests from you lovely folks

- M 🫶🏻

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #readwritealldayallnight

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gojonanami · 10 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or of you.

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

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

Not yet at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even when it was used against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to give him.

And he lets the water overtake him.

~~~

“You forgot your lunch,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were.

Right?

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

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

It was enough, for now.

~~~

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

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

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

But only if you let it.

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

But now it couldn’t wait.

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

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

But it doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

And so he was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—For now at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another message comes through.

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean it was expected?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knit your brow together, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Professor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But when would it be?

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have agreed to this.

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

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

Literally.

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

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

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

You purse your lips — Satoru?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not just—“

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

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

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

There was something wrong with him.

But there always was — when it came to you.

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

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

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

But he couldn’t.

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

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, come in,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he never would again.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

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

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

For the rest of his days.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to think about other possibilities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, but he could ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it wasn’t him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you soon, baby.”

For now.

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

Of course.

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

And still so hard.

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

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

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

No, you didn’t need to see that.

But you didn’t know why.

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

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

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

But would you ever be done with him?

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

Apparently you would never be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,”

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you say yes if it was Geto asking?

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

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

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

He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it.

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

Double fuck.

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

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

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

And that wasn’t the right question to ask.

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

His hand never leaves yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It wasn’t that.

It wasn’t. Not if you let it be.

“I’m sorry,”

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

There was only silence.

Until you spoke first.

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you couldn’t stoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you were ready to go.

You barely remembered what you said.

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

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

Your eyes slide to him again — no one else.

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

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

So you begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he breaks it first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs.

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

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

But he knew the words.

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

And he would. He did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did it hurt so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuta, what? What’s—“

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

You don’t have words.

No, you have one word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yuta—“

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

“That’s not—“

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

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

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

“Of course—“

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

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

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

“Love doesn’t always have to—“

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

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

But you can’t.

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

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

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

“I know. I love you too.”

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

Not for either of you.

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

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

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

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

“You’re still mine too.”

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

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

You were still in love with Suguru.

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, “Professor Yaga—“

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

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

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

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

Not that he was craving company.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullied into it was more like it,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

And he can’t hold back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, why did that thought also hurt?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always, for you.”

Yuta knew it was for the best.

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

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

It was for the best.

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

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

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

His future.

A few months later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? We can—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he just needed to know yours.

END.

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

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

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

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

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theorphicangel · 8 months ago

Text

bookshop owner!reader with tattoo artist!suguru is actually brainrotting my mind.

coincidentally, the two stores are directly opposite each other and you can’t help but be drawn to the simple tattoo parlour across.

in bold, the name of the parlour stands above, clean and glistening windows with italic writing promoting to customers. if you squint you can spot artworks displayed in the window, even from afar you can tell how detailed and professional they are.

you’ve never been one for tattoos, your excuse being that you have a low pain tolerance for getting them. but in reality? you’re scared of the idea of a tattoo being permanent , the idea that you’ll get a tattoo you’ll regret or the design will come out ugly or that it’ll—

“do you need help with that?”

a silky voice interrupts your thoughts as you stood staring at the the shop with a cardboard box in your hand. the box contained one of the last piles of books for the store, new arrivals were to come in the next few weeks finally filling up the shelves.

a tall, long raven haired man stands besides you with nothing more but a friendly smile on his face. he stands in a large dark blue sweater, a paper cup of coffee in his hands probably from the local cafe on the same street as you.

it takes you a few seconds to snap back into reality, noticing piercings on his bottom lip and eyebrow.

“I’m fine! thank you.”

“I can take that in for you or at least hold the door open.” the stranger suggests, raising a brow.

a shift appears in pit of your stomach — would it hurt to say yes?

“that would be great, actually.” you return a friendly smile.

as you make your way inside with the assistance of the coffee scented stranger, he begins to make conversation, helping you to the back rooms. “you interested in the tattoo shop across the road?”

you let out a huff, “oh no, not for me. tattoos seem…” you pause for a split second attempting to find the right word, “regretful.”

“how so?”

you ignore the teasing charm of the stranger and continue to give your explanation.

“well for one… it hurts like shit.” you start, “and what if the designs don’t come out the way you want or the person tattooing you messes up? now you’re stuck with this permanent mark on your body, it just seems like a waste of time and money to me anyways.” you huff, finally placing down the box amongst a pile of identical boxes.

the scent of old wood and dust fills your nostrils. The building was older than most among the street yet it still held some sort of modern look. cosy and comfortable was the atmosphere you had wanted to create for your bookstore and it took you ages to find this hidden gem, sending the deposit almost immediately.

the stranger lingers by the doorway of the back room of the store, his dark hair tied up into a man-bun yet it doesn’t fully restrain the few locks which seem to escape. he’s pretty, you muse, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

“maybe this would be some bad news for you but I actually own that tattoo parlour.”

he says it in a lighthearted tone but that doesn’t stop your stomach from dropping any harder.

“oh.”

awkward silence swiftly crashes into the two of you, your face heats up in record time.

you fucking idiot—

“it’s nice to meet you.” the stranger finally speaks, outstretching a hand and as he does so, his sweater rides up his arms a little where you see black ink begin to pattern across his skin.

“shit, m’ so—

“don’t worry about it, s’ not for everyone.” he smiles again with that friendly smile you saw outside. you shake his hand tentatively hoping that he wasn’t offended by your comments. his palm feels soft in yours, fitting into his perfectly. quickly you pull away before you get too absorbed in your thoughts.

“call me suguru.”

you repeat his name and for a second he swears there’s nothing but pure nectar in your voice.

in a reply you introduce yourself and a flash of white teeth come your way in a full grin. he tries out your name for the first time too, adding a compliment.

“I’ve been wondering when they were finally going to sell this building. ” he begins. “I think a bookstore is perfect for this place.”

your face heats up again and Suguru asks for a tour. the store isn’t fully ready yet but you’re hoping for an opening at the end of the month.

“I hope to get an invite.

“Of course, we’re practically neighbours, you’ll be the first to know the date.”

“glad to hear it.”

as he leaves, you wave him over to the other side of the street watching him open up his store.

for the first time in your journey you can’t help but feel a tiny spark inside of you that makes you feel excited for the change coming up ahead and in particular, getting to know this suguru more…

join my summer event here!

#angel writes #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto x you #suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x reader fluff #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons

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spnbabe67 · 2 months ago

Text

Just a Note

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of a little spicyness, mentions of injuries

Summary: When you start receiving little notes around the Bunker, you go on a hunt trying to find your secret admirer.

Word Count: 1600

Authors Note: This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa for @kazsrm67. This also fulfills squares for @jacklesversebingo and @anyfandomgoesbingo Happy Holidays everyone!

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: Secret Admirer

Any Fandom Goes Bingo Prompt: Head Wound

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @king-of-milf-lovers

It started out as sticky notes placed strategically in places across the Bunker where only you would find them: on the mirror in your room, or on the stack of books you kept sequestered to a table in the corner of the library room. Various colors of square paper with little compliments, albeit a little awkward, scrawled across them. The first time you’d found one, a blue square tucked into the cubby where you kept your bug-out bag in the armory, you’d been caught off guard. The neon, stark against the muted brown and black and grey tones, had caught your eye as you went about replacing and checking the supplies you kept within your duffel. You plucked the paper from where it was nestled amongst the various weapons and supplies kept within, sitting in wait for the next hunt. As you gingerly pulled the sticky note from your bag, you noticed the scrawling words written across it in black ink.

You look sharper than these knives.

Your head cocked to the side, face contorted into a mixture of confusion and amusement. Was that meant to be a compliment? More importantly, who was it from? Aside from yourself, Sam and Dean both took up permanent residence in the Men of Letters Bunker. Charlie, your childhood best friend and the person who introduced you to the Winchester brothers and the hunting world in general also lived here 90% of the time. It could be here playing one of her many pranks. A few other hunters used this place as refuge between hunts or came here for the endless trove of supernatural knowledge archived within its walls. You’d even convinced Dean, despite his best efforts to ignore your pleas, to host a couple seminars and training sessions for newer (and seasoned) hunters using the knowledge you and Sam spent hours upon hours organizing.

“When I was first introduced to this world, I wish I’d had this kind of training available to me,” You’d reasoned with him one day in the kitchen. “I’d have a lot less scars and a lot less near death experiences if I had.”

The eldest Winchester, whom you’d grown close to in the months you’d worked with him, Sam, and the cabal of supernatural beings that they considered friends or at the very least occasional allies, leaned against the island with a mug of freshly brewed coffee in hand.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, Sweetheart.” Dean placated you, setting his mug on the counter. “All I’m sayin’ is that there’s more to it than just puttin’ flyers on the street. How would we even advertise somethin’ like this?”

You shrugged. “You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

And figure it out he had. With the help of Charlie and Sam, the four of you managed to create a strategically worded ad, spreading it to known hunters who would even be remotely interested. It had spread like wildfire from there. So it was very possible one of the hunters passing through had put it in your bag. Even that explanation didn’t quite fit, but at the time it was a one-off, a fluke to never happen again.

That was until another one showed up. You’d taken a blow to the head when a rogue shifter slammed you back into a wall, knocking you unconscious. Blearily you opened your eyes to the dim light of the Bunker’s infirmary. A dull ache throbbed at the back of your head as you looked around. The room was kept mostly dark save for a lamp in the corner. I must have a concussion, you thought as you sat up, the crisp white sheets crumpled on your lap. You had reached over to check the clock on the table next to the bed when you saw yet another Post-it stuck to the top of it. The paper was red this time, but the writing held the same characteristics of the first one.

You take my breath away.

Your eyes must have read the sentence a hundred times over, wracking your brain trying to figure out who in the Hell is leaving you these messages. Some rational part of you whispered there were really only two options. Sam or Dean. You knew it wasn’t Sam; your relationship with the younger brother was strictly familial. You’d never seen him as anything other than a younger brother, despite his protests that he was only 6 months younger than you.

Dean on the other hand was a different story. Sometimes he acted like you were another younger sibling for him to be responsible for, other times the tension between the two of you could be cut with the dullest knife. Lingering eyes as the three of you changed between or after hunts, his fingers trailing over your hair and tucking it behind your ear when he assumed you were dead asleep. You’d be lying if he was the only one giving mixed signals. It made sense. To anyone who didn’t know him, Dean was a casanova, a womanizer who took what he wanted and offered nothing. And sure, maybe he was that way in his early 20’s, but life and the work of a hunter had taken a toll on him. So while you and Sam partook in one night stands, it was Dean who usually ended the night alone.

You found the notes enduring, actually, and very in character for him. So from that moment in the infirmary, you compiled the notes and the occasional small gifts left for you. Once you were sure it was, in fact, Dean showering you in corny one liners and sweet nothings, you hatched a plan. You figured there were a couple ways to go about it. One: confront him head on, which he very well might deny all together in embarrassment. Two: let the notes continue to pile up, hopefully bottlenecking Dean into coming to you personally. Or three: beat him at his own game. Out of all of them, the third sounded the most fun.

Like a game of tag, the next time it was your turn to go on the supply run, you stopped by a Dollar Tree and grabbed a stack of Post-its. Unfortunately, they only had the plain and frankly ugly yellow ones, but they’d do. If you played your cards right, you shouldn’t need too many of them anyway. You snuck around the Bunker for nearly a week, leaving the Post-its in inconspicuous places as Dean had. The first one you’d left next to the decanter of water he kept by his bedside, calling him a tall drink of water. The next one was slid under his disassembled 1911 when he went to take a break. You giggled to yourself as you positioned it, reading the line you’d printed on it. Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

On the 7th day with no response from Dean, no change in behavior when the three (or four when Charlie came for dinner) of you went on hunts or stuck around the Bunker, you had started to lose hope. Maybe it was someone else and you’d read into the situation completely wrong. But something in your gut told you that you were barking up the right tree. Give it one last try, it seemed to say. So one last try it was. You’d know once and for all if it was Dean. You wrote the message that started it all on a sticky note, making sure Dean was in the kitchen before slinking off to the armory. All of you kept at least one bingo bag here, the main thing was finding which one was Dean’s. He kept his main pack in his room or in Baby’s trunk so it took some rooting around until you found the right one.

Just as you unzipped the bag, poised to place the sticky note against the blade of one of Dean’s hunting knives, a voice called out your name from behind you. You froze, your lips pressing into a thin line as a small cheeky smile started to form. You stood up, turning around to see Dean leaning against the door jam.

“Whatcha doin’ Sweetheart?” He asked innocently, but his tone and the smug look on his face was anything but.

“Nothin’.” You mumbled, suddenly a little sheepish. The plan didn’t involve you getting caught red handed. “You weren't supposed to catch me.”

“Figured as much.” He joked, crossing the space between you, plucking the Post-it from your hand, his fingers brushing against your own in a way that made your heart flutter a little faster than it already was.

“Asshole.” You huffed equally as teasing,watching him look at the sticky note, reading your chicken scratch.

You were both silent as Dean’s eyes met yours, his cheeks tinged a bit pink. You were sure your own were as well as you suddenly felt the urge to hide from his observing gaze.

“So,” Dean breathed. “What now?”

Ever the gentleman, you thought. Giving you the option to back out, to deny this thing between you both even though he’d quite literally caught you leaving a flirtatious note in his bag. You let your hand drift forward, hesitantly finding his own. You intertwined your fingers, feeling his callouses brush your own as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I think now, you need to start sayin’ those things to me in person, not just on paper.” You gave him a small smile.

“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart.”

#jacklesversebingo2024 #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x female!reader

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xo-adeline · 2 months ago

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"Inked forever..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Tattoo artist!Kaiser Feat. Michael Kaiser AN: I just love the idea of Tattoo artist Kaiser... so accept this as my brain rot (Also very heavily basing this off when I got my tattoo, and my tattoo, I'm sorry!!!) (Why did I actually kinda cook with this...)

The sound of machines whirring and the constant looking into the other area of the people getting tattooed made you question so much. Would it hurt? Well duh. Should you really be doing this? What would people think of you if you did? The thoughts started vanishing when you were finally called up to the front desk as they showed you the paper with the design on it. Normally the artist would do it, but since he was busy preparing and finishing up something else he wasn’t able to. But when you finally saw it, the drawing was stunning. It had taken inspiration from the piece of art you had found when scrolling the internet and made it that much better. The way the vines wrapped around, and the way the roses were a little bigger but still had an elegant look to them. It was even better than the picture. It was perfect. With a happy nod they took the paper back to the artist and told you he’d be done soon.

It was about 10 more minutes when the person he was just working on had paid and left, and all there was left was a few more minutes until you had actually seen the artist and he was able to permanently draw on you. Now that you were thinking about it, it kinda sounded weird. Letting a total stranger draw on you, and you have to keep that drawing forever? I mean you didn’t even know him, how was that supposed to work? Which brought you back to thinking about how you had even stumbled upon him.

The many pictures of tattoos had faded into your feeds, weather it was adds, or just scrolling on pintrest, instagram, and hell even tiktok! There was no escaping tattoo ideas. Well that was until you found this one page on instagram. Countless pictures had flooded your view all of them even more impressive then the last, weather it was flowers, humans, characters, even just little designs, they were flawless. Maybe it was just feeding into the idea more and more when you kept seeing more of his work pop up day after day. After the 2nd week of the art popping up you decided that maybe this was the universe telling you it was a good idea and you should just suck it up, and get that tattoo you’ve always been wanting. So you reached out to the artist via the email in the instagram bio, and within a few weeks there you were sitting in the tattoo parlor waiting for this man to call you back.

That was one of the only things however you didn’t see. Sitting in the waiting area of the tattoo place made you think about a lot of strange things. Maybe it was the nerve, maybe it was just because you were waiting for the pain to hit. But one thing you did know for sure, was you had never actually seen him before. All his posts online were about his tattoo works, weather it was on people, a screen, or on paper. He had never once actually posted what he looked like. You could only assume it was a guy due to his name, or at least the name on the email. Michael Kaiser. Pretty cool name if you did say so. But still, you were walking into this blind with a random dude you had never seen before. Luckily if you needed to run, there were other employee’s around…

After you had worried yourself down a rabbit hole a voice called out to you.

“(Name). Right? Kaiser.”

When you turned over your shoulder, being snapped out of your spiral there he was. The Michael Kaiser, that you now knew was a guy, standing there, holding the tattoo stencil in his hand.

“Oh uh yeah! Sorry.”

“No worries. Nervous?”

He started walking back and gave a little nod of his head signaling you to follow

“A little..”

The guy brought you back to one of the chairs, setting down the stencil on the desk next to him, a small grey table with a tattoo gun with grey wrapping around it, ink colors in little containers, and two cups, one with water and rubbing alcohol. Now that you were back there, everybody else getting something done seemed pretty chill, even if there was only 2 other people besides the artists. Nobody screaming, crying, or freaking out. I mean if nobody else was, why would you?

You got up in the chair as he sat down on the stool, looking down at the stencil, before giving a little smile. He turned around and placed it down on your ankle.

“That look good in terms of placement?”

He pointed back at a mirror and you went to check it out, seeing it was it a perfect spot you nodded on the way back, sitting back up in the chair as he started getting everything else ready. You looked away for a few minutes, seeing whatever was on the TV’s that you could perhaps look at when he was doing it so you wouldn’t feel weird staring directly at him as he worked.

“If you need a break, lemme know”

He gave a slight smirk when you turned back towards him

“Rough place for your first one.”

And then he started. At first it wasn’t to bad, a pinch here and there, but nothing you couldn’t handle, well that was until about an hour later he got to the back part of your ankle. You were grateful that you could burry you’re face into the chair at this point, because lord have mercy, did it hurt. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was a rough spot. Luckily during that you did get to have a break, heading over to pay before he finished it back up. Which was when you learned an interesting story. Apparently, due to the behind the counter people, he was actually supposed to take leave that day, and he had moved all his other appointments until you had emailed him asking about the blue rose tattoo, and that was when he had called back in saying he wasn’t actually taking leave anymore, and that they could move back appointments besides the one from when you were coming in. That’s when you remembered, on his neck, he also had a blue rose tattoo, and you finally thought about how it was weird that he had made a story post a little bit after you emailed him saying that he was gonna be out, and then suddenly he was totally open for that same day.

When you finally got back mostly everybody else had clearned out and it was just you and him, plus the people still at the front. Even if the pain was almost unbearable at this point you tried your best to keep it together and not cry, or let out any sort of noise. You knew that he was probably gonna be done soon and you just had to hold on until then, easy, right? You’ve been doing it this long.

And right you were. It was only about 20 more minutes until he finished, wiping down the rest of the color that was smeared across your ankle, before wrapping it up in a sheet of cling-wrap and some tape.

“Take it off in the morning, wash it off, and you should be good to go. Make sure to moisturize it for a few weeks until the peeling goes away and that’s it.”

He handed you a piece of paper with the same instructions, and just as you were about to leave you spoke back up.

“Hey um.. I saw on your instagram you were supposed to be off today…”

He looked back over from his station where he was cleaning up and wiping stuff down.

“Yeah. Was supposed to get out of town for a trip with some of my friends, no big deal.”

“Then why didn’t you..?”

“Because I wanted to do that tattoo of yours. Didn’t wanna let somebody else have it. Not often you see people coming in here asking for a blue rose tattoo.”

He shrugged, throwing some of papers away, before sitting back down on the stool.

“Plus, not every day a pretty girl slips into your email asking for a tattoo, and who am I to stay no?”

He gave a small laugh and a smirk took over his face.

“Hey, how about instead of your email I get your number, and maybe next time we talk it will be scheduling a time for a date and not a tattoo. I mean I’m pretty sure it’s fate we met, we already have matching tattoos~.”

A smile over took your face as you exchanged numbers with him, and in turn he walked you out. Right as you were about to get back in your car and head home, he walked over and kissed your cheek.

“You did well for your first tattoo, maybe you’re next one you’ll have my initials~”

#blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #bllk kaiser #xo-adelinewrites

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wheneverfeasible · 6 months ago

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🧠🪱Wriggly Wednesday🪱🧠

Thank you for the tags my lovelies! @queenie-ofthe-void @steviewashere

So we all know the florist/tattooist trope, yeah? Steve is the pretty little florist and Eddie is the tough looking tattoo artist, maybe their shops are even next door to each other, or at least nearby. It’s a great trope.

Except…

Eddie is the florist and Steve is the tattoo artist.

A bit of modern AU here too maybe but…Eddie got in trouble as a kid selling stuff , okay? He ended up in juvie for a bit, and he was terrified that this was it and his uncle would finally declare him a lost cause just like his father, but…he doesn’t. He encourages Eddie, knows his nephew could be better than any other Munson, and it helps. Eddie wants to be better.

He handles juvie well, gives up dealing, and serves community service helping out at the local garden (it wasn’t his initial choice, but he takes to it almost immediately). After everything is all said and done, community service over and he’s fully free once more, he still volunteers at the gardens.

Eddie, he discovers, likes flowers. He likes discovering the meaning behind them, the totally rad Latin names of them, and he likes growing something from nothing and watching them bloom. Eventually, when he’s older, he opens his own little shop.

He doesn’t look like your typical florist, all dark colored clothes and long hair and tattoos and piercings, but he’s knowledgeable in what he does and his flowers always look so pretty and nice and he’s happy.

Steve was a pampered rich kid, until he wasn’t. He did sports, and he liked them, but not enough to make a career out of it. He never felt that pull towards anything. He did like babysitting well enough, even if the kids were more like friends than clients, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do forever either.

Will, one of the kids he babysat, was an artist. He sketched and painted and even took up a bit of pottery for a while, though that phase passed quickly. But Steve was intrigued by the drawings Will made. He tried to recreate them, and Will actually helped his technique a little, but it still wasn’t quite what Steve wanted to do.

And then one day, bored while waiting for his little friends to finish gawking at the nerd store he took them to in the city, Steve grabbed a pen from the counter and started his little doodles on his own arm, since he didn’t have any paper. And…he kind of liked that. One of the kids, Jane, noticed his drawing and held out her own arm for him to draw on. And he liked that a lot better.

After that, Steve began noticing tattoos on people. Permanent drawings that didn’t wash off, and things his father absolutely hated. And there were a lot of different styles, he noticed. And soon Steve was purchasing books about tattoo techniques and styles, about the history of tattoos in different cultures, and, with the last money he ever got from his father, he bought himself tattoo equipment and fake skin to practice on.

Steve really likes drawing, but he loves tattooing more. He looks nothing like your typical tattoo artist though, with his pastels and polos and styled hair that still speaks of his prep upbringing. He’s not covered in tattoos or piercings, but he slowly makes a name for himself. He gets a job in a studio, attends conventions and things, growing in skill and practice until one day he can afford his own little shop all his own.

When a new tattoo parlor opens up right next door to Eddie’s flower shop, he’s ecstatic at first. He could use a new tattoo. Then he meets the owner and there’s no way this jock looking pretty boy can handle the sort of ink that Eddie wants. He sees the work the man does, pretty watercolor flowers and cliché anchors, and figures the guy would run screaming for the hills if he had to tattoo a screaming skull or something.

Maybe they kind of snip at each other in passing, though Steve seems to enjoy it and laughs at Eddie’s sarcasm, and Eddie…Eddie likes his laugh and his smile. Maybe Steve buys a single flower one day, then tucks it into Eddie’s hair with a smirk before leaving silently, and Eddie…doesn’t know what to do with that.

Maybe one day Eddie sees an original piece Steve is working on, a bipedal monstrous creature with slimy looking skin and a head that opened into petals full of teeth. It was metal as fuck. Steve explains it’s his own interpretation of a monster from this game these kids (not kids anymore) he used to babysit would play, and Eddie…Eddie realizes he’s in very real danger of falling in love with this man.

Lucky for him, Steve is already smitten with the metalhead florist who works next door; he’s just been waiting for Eddie to catch up.

For their first date, Steve tattoos him for free, then they go and get honest to Satan milkshakes afterwards. Their next date, Eddie takes him to the local public gardens and tells him all about the flora there, their scientific names and history, and afterwards they get coffee and talk about what they want in life. Their third date they go to a vintage drive-in movie, though neither could tell you what it was they went to see, far too busy with…other pursuits.

A few years later, after Eddie says yes to the ring, they get matching tattoos of the other’s initials in the petals of a flower with teeth. When they get married, they get the date they met tattooed to their inner wrist.

Later, they add the date the little girl they adopt officially becomes part of their family. A few years after that, that same little girl grins as she watches a new date be added to their wrists, holding the boy who just became her little brother.

By the time Eddie and Steve retire, their wrists are full of dates. Eddie tends to a little garden outside their home, their kids helping out whenever they visit with the grandkids, taking over when Eddie just wants to sit and enjoy the flowers. Steve is there with him, a canvas open as he sketches and later paints Eddie and their family amongst the flowers.

Sometimes, as a little treat, he’ll even add a little demogorgon hidden amongst the blooms for Eddie to find. Eddie always likes those ones the best.

No pressure tags: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @fkinkindagauche @sp0o0kylights @skitchskatchbat and you guessed it, tagging you first 😤 @stervrucht

#wiggly wednesday #brain worms #florist eddie munson #tattooist steve harrington #steddie au #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #plot thots

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moonlit-imagines · 6 months ago

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Needles and Knives

Jason Todd x reader

warnings: um. needles and knives

a/n: i just wanted to do a tattoo artist au for jason im weak. also no this isnt an nsfw

prompt:

It took a bit of thorough deliberation to figure out just what you'd be getting permanently inked on your body, but eventually you'd been able to settle on a meaningful piece. Quite the piece according to your artist, Jason Todd.

You walked into the studio, a bit dark and dingy in an endearing way. Fortunately, Jason's setup was more clean and organized than the rest of the place. "Sorry for the mess, the other guys aren't as concerned about health code as I am." He chuckled as he walked over to the front desk. "Far as I know, there hasn't even been an inspector here in at least five years." You laughed with him as he got everything set up on his end.

"Thanks for taking me this late," you said, "I'm kind of a night owl."

"You're not the only one." Jason tapped the chair you'd be sitting on for the appointment. "Make yourself comfortable, it's gonna be a pretty long session." You'd picked a nicely sized thigh tattoo that would be roughly three hours long, but Jason said he was in no rush and would only charge for two. You didn't think he was in this for the money, he seemed to like what he did. Or maybe he just liked poking people with needles. Either way it was a good deal and you liked being in the studio late and alone, it was more peaceful this way.

He was as gentle as possible, checking in every few minutes no matter how much you assured him you could take a little pain. Judging by the looks of it, you could say the same about him. There were plenty of scars on his arms from what you could see past his t-shirt sleeves. You tried not to make it obvious as you started observing the rest of his exposed skin for other marks. There was definitely a faint bruise around his eye and a few healing cuts and scrapes under bandages. Maybe he was trying to fool you with the “new tattoo” look the way those bandages were wrapped, but you could tell he got roughed up. You wondered if his knuckles were just as bad under the gloves.

“You alright?” Jason asked once again, wiping away at the ink on your skin.

“Uh-huh.” You dully replied.

“Seem a little nervous.” He commented without looking back at you, dragging the needle across your skin again. “You can’t keep still.”

“Oh.” You mumbled. “Just a little restless. Not used to sitting in one spot this long.” You both chuckled lightly.

“I know the feeling.” Jason responded. “Tattooing is really just a side hustle, I don’t do it all that often.”

“Really? You seem pretty experienced.” You complimented him and took a peek at the work so far. “What’s the ‘main hustle’ then?” You pried and watched his lips curl upwards ever so slightly.

“That’s a secret.” He responds after a moment of hesitation. You thought he was joking—just a bit of a tease—but he never did give you a straight answer. You were forced to keep awkwardly staring at the injuries he’d sustained recently and further back and make your assumptions. Maybe he got in a fight with a bear. Maybe several bears.

“Late night tattooing, huh? Any particular reason?” You innocently asked. He laughed just a little—just enough to embarrass you a little bit—and stopped tattooing.

“Let’s take a break. Can I get you a water?” Jason offered and walked over to the mini fridge.

“Oh, uh, sure?” You accepted. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”

“No, not at all.” He assured, handing you a cool bottle and taking his seat once again. “You’re just full of curiosity. Remind me of my brother. Always asking questions.”

“Not always a bad thing.” You took a sip and checked the work in progress. “Looks promising so far.”

“I’d hope so.” Jason used a paper towel to pat it lightly with a gloved hand. “You’re a bleeder.”

“Needles do that.” You nodded playfully. He was charismatic, made you feel welcome and not like a burden for making him do the work. He liked your design, he helped bring it to life, and he made sure you were comfortable when the needle was in your skin. You were just so curious about who this guy was when he wasn’t in this dump of a tattoo shop. “You ever gonna tell me what the main gig is?”

“I’m a pastor.” Jason answered and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I bet.” You noticed your cheeks start to hurt from the smirk you couldn’t shake since you’d started conversation. “Boxing?”

“You could say that.” Jason agreed with that guess. “Why do you think that?”

“The bruise on your face and all your bandages.” You tilted your head to motion what you’d noticed in your short time together. “Is that not it?”

“Oh, no. Right on the nose.” Jason was either very good at lying or had a very dry sense of humor. Either way, you figured it was time to stop prying. He was, after all, just your tattoo artist.

After a few minutes of cooling down, Jason got back to work. He’d been more focused thaan before, brows furrowed as he lost himself in the detail. That could only benefit you, though. And by the end, the tattoo looked beautiful.

“Thank you, it really looks amazing.” You moved to check all angles in the mirror.

“It was a great piece, I’m glad I did it justice.” Jason started cleaning up as you paid, you said your goodbyes and left the building.

Gotham wasn’t exactly the safest of places and you were pushing 2AM as you walked down the street. Of course you knew walking was not the best mode of transportation, it was the one getting you home tonight. Especially after blowing all that money on your tattoo.

Halfway home, you realized that you were being followed by a group of people that definitely did not know you or have any positive intentions. You picked up the pace and upon realizing this, they began advancing. You thought that it was over for you before loud screams caused you to stop and spin around. There you saw a man in a red mask standing over several unconscious bodies, freshly beaten by himself. Red Hood. “Are you alright?” He asked you, which gave you deja-vu. Even with that mask on, the warped voice, the concern in the question could not thwart you.

“Jason Todd?” You asked in a whisper. The mask didn’t convey any emotions, but the pause in his answer did.

“…No.” He said.

“Yes.” You replied. “Boxing.”

“Let’s not talk here.” He requested, walking along with you to a safer location. It took some time, but you got home okay.

“Were you following me?” You finally got the chance to ask him.

“Yes.” Jason responded honestly. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Luckily, I was there. You make it a habit walking alone in Gotham—at night?”

“I ought to do it more often if it means you’ll be watching.” You slyly flirted with him, adrenaline still pumping a bit from the tattoo and the fear of being attacked on your walk home.

“Oh, how hilarious.” Jason took off his helmet after you let him inside. “Don’t do dumb shit like that again. You’re gonna get that pretty face of yours roughed up if you’re not careful.” He warned in the same flirtatious tone.

“What, like yours?” You tapped the side of your facecthat mirrored his bruise and he nodded.

“This isn’t pretty. And I’ve been through much worse, believe me.” Jason put his helmet back on.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You sat down on your couch. “I’m sure you have other beautiful people to follow home and ensure their safety. Have fun out there.”

“Remember the care tips for that tattoo. That’s some of my best work there.” He pointed sternly as he approached the door.

“You’ll just have to check in and make sure. Maybe you can help me with that, too.” You smiled mischievously and wondered if he was blushing under that helmet.

“Maybe I will.” His mask distorted his voice still and he shook his head. “Make sure to lock this.” Jason reminded as he exited out the front door.

“How will you get back in, then?”

“I’ll knock.”

taglist: @captainshazamerica // @cipheress-to-k-pop // @the-did-i-ask // @azazel-nyx // @summersimmerus // @deanzboyfriend // @zoeyserpentluck // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd au #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagine #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics

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archangeldyke-all · 1 month ago

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Omg, part 2 of sevika x masc reader, childhood friends to lovers pleaseeee!!! It's so cute I love it omggg, okay imma give a scenario, they're aged up now, but still teens, and they do badass, and mischievous shit, and maybe it's their idea of a first date heh ☺️ You're amazing angel, I love theseee!!!

HEHEHEHEHEH i'm so glad u guys like this one, i was a tomboy as a kid and writing this story is healing something inside me

men and minors dni

sevika gives you a skeptical look. "and you're sure it'll work?"

you huff and roll your eyes. sevika thinks that because she's got a year on you she knows everything. "would you just trust me?"

"i just don't wanna give you an infection and be the reason you die or something."

you giggle and lean forward, kissing her worried frown. "that's why we got the alcohol-- to sanitize everything. and we run the needles through a flame before, too-- it kills the germs."

sevika's still squinting skeptically, but at least now she's blushing from the kiss.

you roll your eyes. "i'll let you do me first, if you're so nervous." you offer. sevika finally smiles. you grin and pull your shirt off.

sevika's staring right at your tits when you fling your shirt away. you giggle, and she kicks you in embarrassment. "you've seen them before, baby."

"i-i just-- shut up!" sevika huffs, pushing you down onto your back. you laugh, blinking up at the twinkling multicolored lights of your hideout.

you feel your own nervous embarrassment grow as sevika straddles your waist and stares down at your chest. she's heavy and warm and firm, and she's blinking down at you with her gorgeous silver eyes, a nervous glimmer behind them as she looks at you.

"okay." sevika whispers. "where do you want it?" she asks.

you grin and tap the top of your left tit. "right over my heart. duh."

sevika rolls her eyes. "that's so fucking corny." she whines. you grin.

"yeah, well, where are you gonna put yours?" you ask.

sevika's eyes dart away from yours and she mumbles. "s-same place, i guess."

you take one big swig off the bottle you'd stolen before handing it to sevika and letting her begin her work.

she gently soaks a cotton pad in the alcohol, wipes your chest clean. she sets up the supplies on your stomach, paper towels and ink and packaged needles. and when she's finally ready, she leans down and presses her lips to your chest, her black lipstick leaving a perfect kiss mark over your heart.

you giggle in excitement, then jump at the first poke of her needle. sevika pouts.

"does it hurt?" she asks, worried. you shrug. she tsks and smacks your shoulder. "don't move!"

you giggle. "it... just feels like a lot of scratches happening at once."

sevika hums along to the music you've got playing on the radio as she works, and you stare up at her, simply admiring your best friend.

when you'd asked a few weeks ago if sevika'd ever get a tattoo, her answer was a hard 'no.' she hates needles, and she's not really an artistic type.

but once you told her your idea for the one you wanted-- a permanent reminder of her love, her kiss etched into your skin for eternity-- sevika seemed enchanted with the idea.

which is how you ended up here. it takes a long time, and by the end, the top of your tit feels like it's on fire. but still, it's all worth it for the smile it pulls out of sevika when she admires her handiwork.

when she hands you a mirror and lets you look, you tear up a bit.

"wh--what?! do you regret it, did i do it wrong!?"

you laugh as you sit up and wrap sevika in a hug, nuzzling your nose against the crook of her neck and shoulder. "i love you." you say shakily. "it's perfect."

sevika sighs and kisses your head. "well, don't fuckin' cry, i need your vision clear so you don't fuck up mine." she huffs, kissing you one more time before flopping onto her back and unbuttoning her own shirt. you giggle and start collecting the supplies for sevika's tattoo.

she helps you apply her lipstick to your own lips-- you don't trust yourself to make it pretty-- the most makeup you ever wear is the remnants of sevika's that gets smudged onto your skin during a makeout session.

she giggles when she finishes applying the lipstick. "you look good."

you grin. "yeah? should i get my own tube of black?"

sevika rolls her eyes. "it's not black, it's coffee brown. i'm not, like, emo, or anything." you raise a disbelieving eyebrow at your girlfriend and she huffs in embarrassment. "whatever. just hurry up and kiss me already."

you laugh, bending down to press one clean, perfect kiss to her tit. when you pull away, you grin at your mark, then bend down to barrage her face with sloppy, uncorrdinated kisses. sevika squeals and bursts into laughter, half-heartedly shoving you away.

"close your eyes." you demand as you pick up a clean needle for her. sevika huffs.

"i wanna watch. you got to make goo-goo eyes at me the whole time."

you snort. "you're scared of needles, dummy, so close your eyes. you can stare at me when we've got you all tatted up and matching me."

sevika huffs and closes her eyes.

you feel bad poking your girlfriend so repeatedly, especially when she's clearly cringing in pain. but, once you get into the groove of it, sevika relaxes, and eventually she's asleep underneath you.

you giggle, kissing sevika's cheek to wake her up when you're finished.

she wakes up with a snort, and then she breaks into a grin. "d'ya finish?" she asks.

you hand her the mirror, watching in anticipation for your girlfriend's reaction.

sevika grins and bursts into laughter, before tossing the mirror away and pulling you down to kiss her. you hum happily against her lips.

"this means we're for real best friends forever now. y' can't lose a tattoo like you lost our friendship bracelet." sevika says. you cackle.

"how long are you gonna hold that over me?! i didn't mean to lose it-- i was eight!"

"i was only nine and i kept mine in perfect condit--" you cut her off with a kiss.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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griefabyss69 · 2 months ago

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Paths and Angles

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'NEW' wc: 517 | rated: T | cw: None

When Eddie's stuck inside for a week, he gets bored, and when he gets bored, he gets creative. It's too bad he creates with his dick and his heart, not with his intentions. Maybe the 100th fresh start will turn out differently?

Eddie sets up a fresh canvas, but it doesn't really matter, so he opens up a new sketchbook—or grabs a sheet of lined paper—no, he tries a xeroxed copy of an empty character sheet.

Paint, ink, graphite, charcoal, coffee, an accidental glob of spit, it all fits together, becoming a repetition of a single fucking subject.

Steve's body—or his thoughts, or his feelings, or Eddie's feelings, about Steve. Even the gnome he rolls stats for ends up with high charisma, good hair, and a bat to bludgeon shit with.

Eddie's got to be going through a winter of his creative spirit, if winter was a lust fueled week where he was basically held prisoner inside his room so he could "rest", because he tore his stitches again.

Rest!

In these circumstances! Every melody he picks out on the ol' Dragon Slayer is borrowed straight from Steve's mouth!

There is a solid twenty minutes where Eddie thinks he's finally got something—new material, not the trampled path he's been beating down—except during the twenty-first minute he realizes he's strumming the familiar cadence of Steve's footsteps, and he wants to beat himself down.

Right in the face. With the acoustic.

It's cruel to leave him like this. Rest doesn't involve a chafed dick and permanent dents in his lip from biting it so much.

He rubs paint off of the side of his finger��blue, because Steve's all browns and tans and caramels, Eddie had thought he was safe with blue—while he stares into the distance.

"Maybe sculpting," he mutters, trying to remember where he put the package of air dry clay he bought like three years ago. Art supplies, man. You buy them and forget about them.

He doesn't find the clay, but he sneaks out while Wayne's at work and finds a nice healthy stick to try to whittle into like, a wooden knife or something.

It goes well at first. He's sitting outside on the deck, listening to the buzz of everyone's porch lanterns, the buzz of the shitty streetlights, the buzz of the teeny tiny wildlife in Forest Hill's most least brown grass. He's enjoying the air, the slight violence of his creative activity, and the surety that he can't just stumble his way into whittling like, Steve's eyes.

Except there's only so many things shaped like a long stick on a person and what he has does not resemble an arm or a leg. He stares at the uncarved base of the stick—rounded, wider than the rest—and realizes they look like balls.

Sure, he hasn't seen Steve's dick and only knows he's circumcised from rumors, but what was supposed to be the handle of a sick dagger doesn't look ornate, but human phallus instead.

At least it's small, so when he feels weird about hucking it somewhere for someone's dog to find and prance around with between its teeth, he can easily hide it in his room and pretend it's literally just… a carved wooden penis.

Yeah, he'd have something like that, and he couldn't possibly have modeled it after Steve.

There.

Finally.

A new subject.

#griefabyss69 writing #steddiemicroficjanuary #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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milksnake-tea · 5 months ago

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❀ ˎˊ- prompt: he'd wanted to at least see her one last time before his ascension, but it seems that even that is too much to ask of the harmony. ❀ ˎˊ- sunday character study ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 641 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: set in 2.0-2.1, MAJOR ANGST WARNING, gorey language used like once but it's metaphorical ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: this is all vee and bells fault btw also this tweet that changed my brain chemistry now everyone has to suffer with me. if this had a title it would be "she used to be mine" but its too short so it won't :) ❀ ˎˊ- taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

She’s gone.

And with her, goes every thought in his mind.

Ringing fills his ears. He can barely hear the voices of his attendant.

His lips move. What he says, he’s already forgotten.

His vision blurs. His eyes sting.

He sits. He stays. He stares.

She’s gone.

Robin’s gone.

The sweetheart of the cosmos, the idol beloved by all, the beacon of light in a night-filled sky-

His little sister is dead, and he wasn’t even there to stop it.

Muttered voices fade into a disorientated buzz that he can’t be bothered to decipher. Clicking of shoes, rustling of papers, all of it- it’s too much, it’s loud and it’s grating and-

Inhale.

Exhale.

Smile.

His cheeks hurt.

His nails bite into his palms. He wants to dig them into his face and tear off the skin and every horrid pretense he’s had to put up for the sake of this damned Family and that damningly weak Aeon who couldn’t even protect their most loyal acolyte.

And now, his sister is dead. Killed in her own home, in the domain of her god.

He’ll never see her again.

He’ll never see her smile, with the brightest lights and flames in her eyes as she sings on the grandest of stages.

He’ll never hear her laugh, with the voice blessed by the Harmony and the voice that had allowed him to continue fighting, even when he wanted to give up.

He’ll never hold her again, the sister who he had vowed to protect and had failed, not once, but twice now, and this time, his mistake, his carelessness was permanent.

Now, she is gone.

He asks his attendant to leave, as gently and as kindly as he can allow. He wants to scream. He wants to shout, he wants to cry, he wants to strangle and rip into whatever bastard dared to kill the only person he had ever loved, the only thing he had ever thought to be precious.

Was this some sort of punishment? For daring to question Xipe, or better yet, to question Ena? Was their devotion not strong enough? Was their actions not kind enough? Were they not enough?

Or were they simply just… insignificant, despite it all?

Then what was the point?

Despondently, his gaze raises from the cold wood of his desk.

Does Xipe even know?

Do they even care?

Something catches light in the corner of his eyes. There, in one of the many bookshelves in his office, a paperback spine stands apart from the rest. He knows it, bitterness and bile rising in his throat, he knows it better than anything.

He stands, and takes it from the shelf. He doesn’t open it.

The cover smiles up at him, the golden text taunting and mocking.

He grits his teeth.

A weak Path. A weak Aeon.

A weak brother.

He tears into the Odes of Harmony, ripping pages upon pages upon pages of lies, false vows, and cruel, cruel delusions. Inked words that had been ingrained into him since childhood are crushed under the sole of his shoe. The smiling face of a deceitful, lying Aeon is ripped into two.

His teeth tug at his lip. His chest constricts with the effort to keep his sobs down, to keep his eyes dry and to keep his grief and sorrow secret from the halls of Dewlight Pavilion. Every intake of air is a struggle in of itself, and it takes every bit of his strength not to break down and wail to the heavens to give his sister back.

It isn’t long before the Odes are reduced to nothing, and Sunday is left there, alone in his office with scattered pieces of paper littering his floor.

Xipe smiles up at him in two ripped halves of a page.

He hates how he sees Robin in Them.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #sunday character study #honkai star rail character study #archives 🏵️

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 months ago

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Skin Deep - Cooper Adams X GN Reader

Title: Skin Deep

Cooper Adams X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Rachel (Mentioned)

WC: 2,074

Warnings: Flashback to his college life, teasing, banter, flirting?, italics, very brief blood mentioned because of tattoos, nicknames, that darkness within him mentioned, slight angst, and fluff

It was well past midnight, and the bedroom was cloaked in darkness, save for a sliver of moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains. Cooper sat on the edge of the bed, in that darkness. The mattress shifted slightly beneath him and he turned his head to watch Rachel stir before she settled back into a peaceful sleep.

Turning away from his wife, Cooper leaned forward, his arms resting heavily on his lap. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion, yet he was too worn out to sleep. Hours had passed with him simply staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

His gaze drifted to his inner wrist on his right arm, the darkness only partially obscuring the tattoo inked there. It was a simple design, a lamb surrounded by a thin diamond outline, stark and clear against his pale skin. Reaching out, he traced the outline of the lamb’s body with his finger, feeling the smoothness of the inked lines - a reminder of something he couldn’t quite let go; someone he couldn't quite let go.

You. You were the one who had etched this mark onto him, leaving more than just ink behind.

As the pad of his finger lingered on the tattoo, despite himself, memories began to surface, unbidden but vivid. The darkness of the room faded, replaced by the warm, dim glow of a college dorm room. The sound of laughter echoed in his ears, and the scent of ink and your favorite shampoo filled the air.

It was on a night much like this one, but years ago, when everything felt simpler and more complicated all at once.

He could almost hear your voice again, beautiful, playful, determined…

~~~

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” You asked, an eyebrow raised, the tattoo gun poised in your hand.

Cooper nodded, a faint, controlled smile playing on his lips. “Against my better judgment, I trust you.” He joked, his eyes, always so careful and precise, softened with a hint of amusement.

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze scrutinizing his. “You know this is permanent, right? It’s not something you can just erase.”

Cooper’s expression remained calm, though a hint of unease flickered beneath the surface. “I know,” He said, his voice steady. “But I want one. And if anyone’s going to do it, it’s you.”

You grinned, touched by his words. “Well, in that case, I’ll do my best to make it perfect.” Reassured, you reached for his hand, guiding his wrist onto a pillow you had on your lap.

You began by cleaning his skin with antiseptic wipes, your touch gentle and meticulous. The quiet of the room was punctuated only by the soft rustling of the wipes against his skin and the college partiers in the dorm next door to yours. As you prepared his skin, Cooper’s gaze remained fixed on you and your movements.

Once his wrist was clean, you rolled up your sleeves, and dipped the needle into the ink; positioning it above his skin. The gentle hum and buzz of the tattoo gun was then added to the space as you began to outline. Your concentration was evident; you bit your lower lip slightly as you worked, one of the habits that Cooper actually found endearing.

Being his first tattoo, Cooper at least expected some sort of painful sensation, but no, he didn’t even flinch, nor wince. Despite you telling him that the wrist was one of the worst places to get a tattoo. It was an odd sensation - the needle piercing his skin over and over - he didn’t know how to describe it.

Your hand was steady, Cooper mentally noted, as you dragged the needle across his skin, periodically wiping away the excess ink and blood with a paper towel when needed. It was clear that you practiced, and knew what you were doing.

Cooper remembered the first time he met you, a chance encounter in the college library. He had been searching for a quiet place to study, but every table seemed occupied. Then he saw you, alone at a table near the back, surrounded by a small fortress of books. Your focus was so intense that you didn’t notice him standing there for a moment.

“Is this seat taken?” He had asked, his voice low, polite.

You looked up, surprised, and shook your head with a small smile. “Go ahead.”

He hadn’t expected anything to come of that first meeting, thinking it would be nothing more than a shared table in a crowded library. But after a few minutes of awkward silence, he found himself stealing glances at your notes, curious about what you were studying. You noticed and offered a friendly explanation, which quickly led into a conversation. Before he knew it, that single study session had turned into regular hangouts, shared coffee breaks, and late-night study marathons.

Cooper wasn’t someone who let people in easily. He was careful, methodical, and had always preferred to keep a certain distance from others. He only really ‘made’ connections when he knew that there was something to gain from it. Professors, mostly, since they were the ones grading his assignments.

But with you, it was different. You had this way of breaking down his walls without even trying, drawing him out of his perfectly controlled world and into something more spontaneous, more real.

At first, he thought that was just it - just a friendship that somehow slipped past his usual barriers. But it wasn’t long before he realized that his feelings for you went far beyond what someone could or would consider platonic.

He began noticing the smallest things about you, things he didn’t typically pay attention to with anyone else. He knew your coffee order by heart, could often guess what you were about to say before the words left your mouth, and found himself anticipating your reactions with an accuracy that surprised even him.

He even liked buying you little things, just to see that bright smile of yours - like the time he surprised you with your favorite snack during a late-night study session, and the way your eyes lit up made something warm settle in his chest.

And then there were those moments - small, fleeting moments that left him off-balance in a way he wasn’t used to. The way you smiled at him, a smile that made something inside him tighten and loosen all at once. Or when your hand accidentally brushed against his, sending a jolt of something electric through him, something he couldn’t quite name but felt in every nerve and in every cell.

And it didn't help that you were undeniably, incredibly attractive.

Sitting beside him on the couch in your dorm room, focused intently on the tattoo you were giving him, his dark brown eyes never left you. He watched the way your brows furrowed, the tip of your tongue just beginning to peek out just slightly.

It was strange for someone who thrived on control to feel so at ease while letting you permanently mark his skin. Anything could go wrong. But he trusted you - again, something that didn’t come easily for him - and that trust had built itself up quietly, through each study session, each conversation, and each shared moment in this strange, chaotic thing that was called ‘college life.’

“Finished.” You spoke up, marking the last line on Cooper’s skin before pulling back to admire your work. “Wow,” You chuckled out, proud of yourself, “This being my first work on an actual person, free-hand, I did pre-tty good. I even did it upside down too.”

Snapping his eyes away from you for the first time in what felt like forever, Cooper blinked, realizing he had lost track of time completely. He hadn’t even noticed how long you had been tattooing him until now. When he finally looked down, he saw that the tattoo was finished. The simple design of the lamb stood out starkly against his skin, a permanent reminder of this moment - of you.

“Incredible, sweetheart,” He muttered, looking up at you and giving you one of those rare, genuine smiles, “You could make a real job out of this, you know?”

You waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, shucks, Coop,” You said with a light laugh - a bashful smile on your face - as you turned to begin cleaning the tattoo gun, inks, and trash. Grabbing the saran wrap, you turned back to face him. “Alright, let’s get you wrapped up. Don’t want you getting infected.”

Your touch was gentle, as it always was when you did anything. Cooper couldn’t quite grasp how someone could be so effortlessly tender, especially when his own world often felt so harsh. There was a growing darkness within him, a shadow that simmered quietly, just beneath the surface, but it seemed to recede in your presence; a mere murmur in the back of his mind.

But deep down, he knew that his hands, though capable of moments like this, were also capable of bringing pain. Despite the fleeting warmth of this moment, he grappled with the thought that the dark impulses within him might one day overshadow the light you brought into his life.

You finished wrapping the saran wrap around his wrist in a couple of layers. Your skin was soft, and warm against his arm; almost craving it, he swallowed thickly. As you looked up and met his gaze with a gentle smile, he felt a pang of longing - a deep, unspoken desire to bridge the gap between friendship and something more.

His mind was urging him to take authority, to assert his feelings and make his intentions clear - take control - but he quickly decided to take things slow. He was struggling. Though, he didn’t let it show. He didn’t want to risk losing you or scaring you away. So, he resolved to be patient, to let his actions gradually reveal his affection without overwhelming you.

By the end of your last year in college, this approach had clearly paid off. The connection between the both of you had deepened as he allowed his feelings to unfold slowly, building more trust and understanding. The moments you shared became more meaningful and intimate, evolving from a friendship into a relationship.

~~~

The TV in your dorm was playing ‘The Princess Bride’ again, a movie Cooper grew to enjoy only in your presence. He did enjoy some bits of it. He would’ve enjoyed a classic horror movie a lot more, but watching your movie made you happy.

He was laying on your bed, his head on your chest - your fingers running through his dark, brown hair. It was an odd feeling for him, allowing himself to be so exposed, especially when every instinct in him screamed to maintain his carefully guarded composure. Yet, here he was, letting you hold him.

Usually, you would be the one in his place, with your head on his chest and his fingers in your hair. But tonight was different. If only for a moment, he let himself savor the warmth of your embrace.

Your free hand was on his hand around your waist, your thumb brushing along his wrist, just brushing the tattoo you inked into his skin almost four years ago.

As the memory of that night swirled back into focus, the scene began to fade. The warmth of your embrace, the closeness, and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat seemed to dissolve into the shadows of the present. The comfort of those moments, so rich and real in his recollection, was now just a distant echo in the quiet of the bedroom.

Cooper’s eyes snapped back to his inner wrist, where his fingers still lingered on the tattoo. He let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future all at once. As he finally rose from the edge of the bed, Cooper suddenly noticed how cold his bedroom was.

With a deep, lingering sigh, he settled under the covers, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the room. The silence wrapped around him, a bittersweet reminder of what was lost and what remained. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear your heartbeat in his ears, your humming, feel the gentle brush of your fingers through his hair. The warmth of those memories lingered, a comforting yet fleeting whisper as he drifted into sleep.

~~~

Main Masterlist | TRAP Masterlist

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parrythisucasual · 1 year ago

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What About Me? Ch. 2

Pairing: Jax x Reader (Romantic)

Sub-pairing: Gangle x Reader (Platonic) / Ragatha x Reader (Platonic)

TW: Bullying / Implied depression

Content: You get settled into your room and make a new friend.

Your bedroom was rather plain. A desk, a bed with white sheets, and a tacky poster of a kitten hanging from a tree. “Is this… supposed to mock me?” you ask with a raised brow. “Erm… not sure, exactly? Everyone’s room starts like this. You could always ask Caine to personalize it, or get the paint and do it yourself. Gangle is wonderful at drawing- she could make a poster or two if you asked,” Ragatha explained.

You step into your room, running your fingers over the smooth wood of the desk, thinking, “I have a few ideas… for one, the blankets should be (F/C), not this boring white. I’ll need some desk ornaments, and a few posters too.” You envisioned the perfect room as you listed it. Ragatha smiled, “Well, I can run and tell Caine, if you’d like, you just get settled in,” she waved as she headed back up the hall, “if you need me, holler!”

You turn, settling onto the bed and taking a deep breath. This was crazy, impossible, even, but you were going to get through it. You could take it. You’ve been through worse. At least it’s better than a trip to the emergency room for a broken bone, right? No pain. And it isn’t as if your life before was something spectacular, in fact, it was the opposite. Weren't you now living about a million people’s dream right now? A new, fantastical place with new, interesting people?

“How’s it feelin’, whiney?” your head shot up. Jax was leaning against the doorway, his already typical smug grin plastered across his face. You roll your eyes, “Pretty good, actually, this is gonna be better than my life back home.” Your statement seemed to surprise him, his smile faltering a moment, before he retook the jerk persona, “Oh, yeah? If you’re sooo sure about that,” he shrugged and invited himself into your room, glazing around with disinterest, “I’m betting you won’t last a month. The tough ones crack first.”

Your lips twitch as you resist snapping at him, “Mm, well if you say so,” and lay back against your bed. You were determined to ignore his rather desperate cries for attention. You ran your fingers over the soft white quilt and sighed, relaxing yourself.

Jax, on the other hand, was staring at you, eyebrow raised and a rather irked expression painted on his face. He narrowed his eyes, huffed, and left the room. This made you snort, he was acting like a toddler who was told “no.” Once he was out of earshot, you began to giggle out loud. His reaction was priceless. You were definitely going to ignore him like that permanently.

“Um… Ragatha told me you wanted a few p-posters?” a shy voice peeped. You glanced up, surprised that someone else appeared so quickly. You glanced up, seeing the ribbon-and-mask girl, then smiled a bit, “Oh, yeah. Gangle, right?” She nods and steps closer hesitantly, sniffing. Her ribbons were wrapped around a small stack of papers and ink liners.

“Oh, do you draw manga?” you ask without thinking. The ink liners were the kind you saw anime artists using all over the internet. Gangle nods, setting the stack of papers on your desk, “I don’t anymore, not really… Jax just makes fun of me for it. You frown, that familiar annoyance tingling in your gut, “Hey, just ignore him okay? He’s just a @#$%*,” your rather unpleasant name being censored by a cartoony boink.

She nodded a bit, then lifted a sketching pencil, “Um… what did you want me to draw?” You think a moment, then smile, feeling a twinge of sibling-like love for the sorrowful girl, “How about you just draw? I’d like your art on my walls either way.” Gangle perked up a bit, “Anything?” “Anything.” She nodded and shyly began to sketch. You watched her doodle for a moment, then realized something.

“Weren’t you a comedy mask when I got here?” you inquire, wondering if it changed depending on her mood. “Oh… yeah, I was but… Jax took in in the hall…” she blinked and her tears fell, but new ones immediately formed, “I don’t know where he went with it…” So her mood depended on her mask, not the other way around.

You made a small growl, “I’ll go get it back,” you gently pat where her shoulder would have been, “just stay here, enjoy yourself, okay? Don’t worry.” She nods, and you walk out the door, “And Gangle?” you add on your way out, “if he tries to mess with you, just tell him you don’t care, okay? He wants a rise out of you.” And off you went, in search of the annoying purple rabbit. Oh boy, was he about to get an earful.

TAGGING TIME: @lostsoullover (my bestieeee) @dai-tsukki-desu

#the amazing digital circus #jax x reader #tadc #jax #tadc jax #tadc x reader #tadc jax x reader #the amazing digital circus jax

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shelbyssins · 2 years ago

Note

Hi there Rosie! Welcome again!! 😊😊 I apologize in advance for the fact that this request may not be the best…I’m not good at thinking them up — but I wanted to send one in, so here goes…

Would you be able to write a Tommy Shelby x Reader where Tommy and reader were previously in a relationship but separated for some reason (I can’t think of one atm so I’ll leave that up to you) but then he crosses paths with her some time down the road, when he least expects to, and is suddenly sidetracked by her again…like maybe he was about to do some business but sees her and is completely distracted. And then he does whatever he can to talk to her again. …. It’s up to you whether you want to go full angst or sprinkle in some fluff at the end.

I hope this made sense…thanks so much in advance if you choose to write the story!! ❤️

Home ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of violence, Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 7,872

Request for: @runnning-outof-time

A/N: So this story ran away with me a bit... I absolutely loved writing this request and really wish I didn't have to work so I could've finsihed it sooner. I hope this story does justice to what you had in mind! If you read this fic, let me know what you think! I'm excited to upload more soon. Enjoy x

The shop was quiet today. Race day wasn’t for another week and most factories didn’t pay their worker’s wages until tomorrow, so most men were scrounging up their last few pennies to put food on the table before they could crowd the betting shop. It was all for the best, really; Tommy was in a frightfully awful mood, clattering about his office, ripping desk drawers and cabinet doors open as if the wood had personally offended him.

“Where the fuck is this fucking diary?” He muttered to himself, an unlit cigarette hanging forgotten between his lips. Stumbling over his desk chair, he cursed at whichever higher power was listening for testing him so harshly today. As he fumbled with his final drawer, the last iota of patience he had left drained out of him, and he forced the handle so hard that the entire drawer came out of the cabinet and crashed to the floor with a near deafening thud. Tommy flinched as the noise echoed around in his head, briefly taken to a place better forgotten, distant explosions, distant death. He pushed away the burning behind his eyes and bent to collect the various papers scattered around the floor.

They were mostly old contracts and accounting bills, permanently wrinkled, ink faded by the passage of the years, but one thing Tommy didn’t expect was peeking out from under a pile of old letters. A photograph, a reminder of someone he all too often tried to push away, just like every other painful memory. He staggered back a little, struck by this sudden resurgence of his past love, struck by this sadness curling around his lungs.

Tommy clasped the photograph in one hand, her eyes staring unwaveringly back at him. He remembered when she gave him the picture; she had tucked it into the pocket of his coat just before he left for France, her hands softly trembling, eyes glassy with tears. Tommy slept with it under his pillow every night during the war. Sometimes she was the only reason he fought for another day, the only thing that could bring him back to his feet from the abyss of crippling fear.

He was so angry all of a sudden, kicking the wooden drawer across the room just to feel the ache of his foot, just for the satisfaction when it hit the wall and splintered apart. Just so he could distract himself from the guilt rising through his body like a sickness.

“Fuck!” He roared into the silence.

Tommy’s fingers twitched for a moment, immediately craving to tear the photo into a thousand shreds, but he couldn’t do it to her - he almost felt like it would hurt her now if he did. He was too ashamed to look back at her beautiful face as he folded the picture away, just like he couldn’t look at her when she left.

All it took was one threat against her. One far too many. Tommy closed his eyes and thought of her, the soft smiles she gave only to him, her melodic laugh, the way she lit up every dark corner of his life. There would be no reason for him to keep living if he robbed the world of that brightness, could never live with himself if he didn’t keep her safe from his enemies. So Tommy convinced himself it was better to push her away than to ever see her dead because of him. He could make her hate him if he had to, anything to get her as far removed as possible. “You’re just not enough for me anymore, Y/n,” He said, aiming for nonchalance though his voice cracked on her name.She recoiled away from Tommy like he had slapped her, eyes stinging with tears as she turned her back to him, embarrassed.“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve proven to me what everybody always told me was true,” She spoke in a watery voice, tearful yet calm, but Tommy almost wished she’d scream at him, anything was better than this broken girl in front of him. “You have no room in your life for anyone’s interests but your own, Thomas Shelby. You knew I’d loved you from the moment we met, and yet you strung me along anyway. I knew exactly what you were capable of, but I never saw such cruelty in you.” Y/n finished her sentence looking Tommy in the eyes, fierce in her grief, “If you say you don’t love me, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Her words tore through him like a bayonet, killing a part of his soul he didn’t know was still alive. He refused to meet her gaze, ashamed of what he might see reflected in her eyes. He didn’t speak for a beat too long, not trusting that the truth of his feelings for Y/n might come tumbling out of his mouth like a traitorous avalanche. “I understand, Tommy,” Were her final words to him, spoken so tenderly that it almost comforted Tommy, it reminded him of the softness of his mother’s voice when she’d hushed him to sleep as a child, he swallowed down the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his face vacant.Y/n left Tommy standing on his own, her perfume lingering just in front of his face, fogging up his brain with all the loving words he wished so desperately he could say to her. Tommy’s chest heaved with the effort it took to keep his legs from darting out after her and begging her to stay. He cursed his ambition, cursed himself for breaking her heart, cursed himself for driving her away. He cursed everything he could for hoping she’d stay away from him forever.

~~~

Two days after he’d rediscovered Y/n’s photograph, Tommy found himself in the Garrison meeting two Irishmen over some headache about a fight. The air was a little stale in the snug, old alcohol soaked into the fabric of the couches and cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls.

“Thomas Shelby,” The greeting hung stagnant in the room, Tommy not wanting to humour the men more than necessary.

Tommy seated himself at the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so, exuding class from every fibre of his clothing.

“So, what seems to be the issue?” Tommy ventured, knowing full well why they wanted an audience.

“One of your men attacked one of ours. All we’re asking for is fair recompense,” one man gurgled through his mouthful of whiskey.

Tommy bit his tongue, dying to praise the Irishman for knowing such a long word, but he kept his little joke to himself, lips turned up in a smirk, “And why would I take responsibility for a street brawl I had nothing to do with?” Tommy asked, bored with the conversation.

“There’s only one gang reckless enough to employ stupid little feckers who wave around their razor-tipped hats like they’re trophies. Am I wrong in assuming you take responsibility for those stupid fucks?” The other man drawled, clearly a few more glasses deep than Tommy.

Tommy leaned forward in his seat, taking the bottle of whiskey from in front of the men and pouring himself a glass, having had his fill of them before he’d even sat down.

“Now, listen, gentlemen, you and I both know that my men don’t fight unprovoked. We also know that the Peaky Blinders have previously forgiven you a little misstep when one of your men tried to take another man’s wife against her will. A man on my territory and on my payroll. It wouldn’t take much for me to find out exactly why one of my men attacked yours and dissolve this little peace treaty,” Tommy rasped, his voice dropped low to threaten the men sat across from him.

“We still demand you make this right. We hear you Shelbys are rolling in the money nowadays,” The glint in their eyes told Tommy they were more moronic than he’d first thought. They’d shown their hand far too soon and shown they couldn’t keep up with Tommy’s intellect.

“So money’s what you want, ey?” Tommy smirked. “Tell you what. Here’s the first fucking instalment,” Tommy reached into his breast pocket and pulled out five pounds, throwing it onto the table in front of the men, “That’s nothing to me, as I’m sure you’re aware. Then for the next instalment, you’ll get your fair recompense in the form of a bullet each, right through both your heads.” Tommy makes an exaggerated and obvious gesture of stretching, showing the Irishmen a glimpse of the revolver strapped to his body holster, enjoying the way it made them squirm.

“My men outnumber your men by four to one. If I catch sight of a single one of you in my territory again, your little gang will go extinct. You can keep the five pound, buy your man a nice new white shirt and hope it inspires him to fight better, keep it clean this time round. Go on, fuck off,” Tommy gestures to the door with the cigarette he was in the midst of lighting, following the scared bodies as they scurried away, their metaphorical tails between their legs.

Tommy took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, closing his eyes to bring himself out of the mood those Irish had put him in. He knocked back another shot of whiskey, the satisfying burn distracting him for a brief moment.

Then he heard it. A laugh, high and lilting like birdsong. A laugh he knew too well. He opened his eyes, his immediate thought that he’d drifted off briefly and was dreaming. He strained his ears, searching for the laughter again when it floated into the snug, tempting him out of his seat.

He was opening the door before he even had a chance to tell himself to run the other way. Then his eyes fell upon her. Y/n was like an apparition, the way the last dregs of the afternoon sun filtered through the cloudy windows and bathed her in an ethereal glow, the light daring to touch only her, just like how she appeared to him in dreams. Y/n was stood at the bar, sipping a clear drink and wincing slightly at the taste after every mouthful. Rum, if Tommy remembered her preference correctly. He smiled despite his shock; she still had to force herself to drink it. She was chatting happily to a girl he didn’t know, a girl who was probably good looking when on her own, but who’s appearance was overshadowed in every possible way when placed next to such a beauty.

Despite the three years that had passed between them, Tommy noted that Y/n hadn’t changed too much. Her hair was a little darker, her features had become sharper, the softness of her youth having departed. Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, so familiar yet so unknown to him. The Y/n that left him was a girl, all wide grins and excitement. The Y/n he saw now had become a woman in her own right, she held her head a little higher, she kept her smiles demure. Tommy’s chest ached a little, he wondered when she changed into the woman who stood at the bar, wondered whether she was forced to leave her youth behind, wondered whether he could’ve protected that innocence if he’d have stayed with her.

Somewhere next to him, some drunkard knocked a glass to the floor, the sound of shattering glass drawing everyone’s eyes. Y/n’s gaze immediately locked with his.

Tommy was rooted to the spot, feeling like the little boy who’d been caught eating sweets just before dinner time. He tried his best to regain control over himself and wandered over to the bar as nonchalantly as possible.

“Thomas,” Y/n greeted simply, Tommy silently thanking her for opening the conversation for him. The way she looked at him felt undressing, her eyes were not unkind but she obviously wasn’t as affected by the meeting as Tommy.

Tommy’s pride was a little wounded by her indifference, he hated that he was so nervous around her when she couldn’t seem more unbothered.

“Y/n,” Tommy replied, “You look good,” Such an understatement seemed like a crime, but he didn’t think he could find the right words to describe how she’d floored him with one look.

“Thank you,” She smiled softly at him, oozing class. Tommy’s legs felt a little unstable as she weakened him with that smile. He cleared his throat to attempt an even tone, “So where have you been?”

The friend she was chatting with whispered something in Y/n’s ear before wandering over to a table, leaving the two alone. She knocked back the rest of her drink and Tommy couldn’t help but follow the way she tipped her head back, eyes trailing her exposed throat as she swallowed. She placed the glass back on the bar silently, “London,” She answered finally.

Tommy supposed that London made the most sense, given Y/n’s drive for adventure, he could see why the big city would attract her. Tommy thought that maybe he should leave it at that, her noncommital answers should have been enough of a clue that she didn’t want to talk, but his entire being was desperate for the encounter not to end so soon.

“So what are you doing back?” Tommy continued when the silence stretched on, distantly remembering the promise she made last time they spoke.

“I’m staying here for a while. For a friend’s wedding,” She clarified.

“I see,” Tommy replied, unsure what to say on the matter.

The silence drew on once again, such an unfamiliar feeling between the two. Tommy remembered the way they used to laugh, how Y/n’s lips were always curled up slightly at the corners, but looking at her solemn face now, he wondered if she had anyone who made her happy like he had.

Tommy was abruptly hit by the emptiness in his chest, the space Y/n left when she was gone having never been filled. He wanted to take her hand and talk about everything like they used to, longed to see her grin like she did three years ago, wanted to mend the heart he’d broken.

“Will you join me in the snug for another drink?” Tommy ventured, watching her eyes intently, hoping he could see the cogs turning in her brain.

She smiled that soft smile again, with a warmth he didn’t deserve, wounding him. She reached out her delicate hand and cupped his cheek, Tommy couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed. He had no idea that he’d missed her touch so greatly. Y/n brushed her thumb across his cheek gently.

“I think you and I both know that that’s a bad idea,” She replied, voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy fought hard to keep the disappointment out of his eyes when he finally brought himself to look at her again. Her hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, and Tommy wanted to run, push her away, fall into her arms all at once.

Y/n’s eyes pierced him, as if searching for something, then she let her hand drop back to her side, “Goodnight, Tommy,” was all she said as she went to rejoin her friend.

Tommy felt winded like she’d punched him. Seeing her again was such a sweet torture, knowing that she’d survived well enough without him should’ve been a welcome thought, but the overwhelming feeling was jealousy and sadness that others got to see her grow up, bitterness that it was his decision to drive her away and yet he wanted her back so badly.

Tommy spent the rest of the evening stewing and drinking, trying hard not to show any expression. All the while his eyes kept drawing to Y/n like a compass needle drawn to the North, eyes studying her face, trying to find his answers there. Not once did she look back at him. He deserved her ignorance.

Tommy suddenly felt like he’d over stayed his welcome in his own pub, so he drained his whiskey and left. The icy rain lashed the gravel streets on his way home. Numbing his face, not quite numbing his heart.

~~~

Y/n walked home alone from the Garrison that night, grateful that the rain had ceased, yet wishing there was something to distract her from thoughts of Tommy. Sadness weighed heavily on her chest as she thought of what could’ve been between them by now. Marriage? A family? Every time she blinked, she saw blue eyes staring back at her. Small Heath invaded every one of her senses, the familiar smell of coal fire burning her lungs, distant shouting and car engines settling in her ears; they were odd things to be comforted by.

She finally arrived at the lodging house she was staying at and let herself into her room, the sudden silence oppressive. With nothing else to occupy her mind, she let out the shuddering breath she’d been holding all night, and with it, her tears fell freely down to her feet, the dam holding them back ultimately giving up. Y/n had stuck the pieces of her heart back together as best she could over the years, but all it took was one meeting with him to shatter it once again. Her ribs ached with the force of her sorrow, as if the shards of her heart were piercing her skin from the inside. She fell to her knees on the creaky wooden floor and clutched her arms around herself, sobbing like a child.

When she had received the invitation to the wedding, her immediate reaction was the throw it away, knowing that returning to Small Heath was a poor decision, knowing she shouldn’t even entertain the notion. But Y/n was tempted already, she found herself daydreaming about the town that had once been her home, imagining what it would be like to return. She accepted the invitation, writing a letter to her friend informing her she would come. Y/n pretended to herself that she was only going because she wanted to support her friend, wanted to witness her marriage. But she knew her reasons were selfish in reality. She craved to see Tommy like he was an addiction, so she’d packed all of her things and was on the next available train home.

When Y/n saw him at the Garrison tonight she didn’t quite know what to do. There was a cruel part of her that reared its head, telling her to be cold, give him a taste of his own medicine. But she found it wasn’t hard to be distant from him, her heart closed its doors as soon as he started towards her, reminded of the pain he’d caused.

Her entire reason for even going to the Garrison tonight was the hope that she’d see him, but when she finally did, all she hoped was that he’d feel a fraction of the misery he’d created in her, hoped that he regretted everything he’d done. The anger was a new emotion for Y/n, she’d spent night after night crying over her lost love, yet facing him now, she only felt a quiet rage simmering in the pit of her stomach.

Y/n climbed to her feet, feeling a little unsteady, from the alcohol or the night’s revelations she did not know, and peered out of her window. The glass was grimy with dust and soot, the town slept below her. The sky was an inky blue, never really turning pitch black during the summer, a permanent blanket of mist completely covered the stars. Her home hadn’t changed at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had changed too much. She itched to run away from it all, return to London and pretend this had never happened, forget everything that once tied her to Small Heath. However, those ties were knotted around her every limb so tightly that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get free, she couldn’t pretend that she had no feelings for Tommy anymore. He pulled her toward him like a string linked them and he was tugging, she feared that soon he’d pull her under if she let him.

Exhausted by the constant battle between her head and her heart, she fell into her tiny bed, head aching. Y/n fell asleep that night with tear-stained cheeks, she dreamt of blue eyes and rough hands.

~~~

The next morning, Y/n awoke fairly early as she’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and the morning sunlight was shining directly into her eyes. She groaned and checked the clock on her bedside table, it read 7:15am. Y/n decided against wallowing in her bed today and instead went to her cupboards to look for breakfast. She was wholly disappointed when she discovered the cupboards were empty save for some preserves, her stomach growled at the promise of food. So she pulled on a simple cream dress and black lace up boots and headed out into town to find something to eat.

There was something about walking the streets of Small Heath that felt so routine even after all these years, Y/n knew every pothole, every turn, near enough every face she passed. She didn’t realise how close she had strayed towards the betting shop until she saw the unmistakable heavy moustache upon Arther Shelby’s face. Panicked, she turned her head away from him, fully aware of his lack of tact, knowing he’d be asking all about her and Tommy if he saw her.

Safely away from being cornered by any Shelbys, the bakery just down the road from the BSA Factory caught her eye, if the display of various fresh breads and pastries hadn’t convinced her, she was thoroughly tempted in by the sweet smell emanating from the building.

Upon entering, she was hit by the noise of the shop, bakers slamming oven doors in the back, cashiers chatting to customers, so Y/n was confused when all the noise suddenly ceased. She looked around searchingly until her eyes found Tommy stood in the doorway, looking every bit the royalty of Small Heath.

He was dressed in his usual three piece suit, tailored to perfection, and it was only now Y/n realised how much he’d grown since she last saw him. His shoulders were broad and muscles thicker, he’d become every bit the man she always thought he would be. He seemed now to tower over her, even though they were still of a similar height. She tried to tamp down the heat rising to her cheeks as she took in his appearance, chiding herself for still being so attracted to him.

“Mr Shelby!” Cried the owner of the place, “So good to see you in here,” the owner nodded his head so low it looked like he was bowing. Y/n nearly laughed, a little twinge of pride swelled at just how much Tommy had made of himself while she was gone.

Tommy just nodded dismissively, his eyes never leaving Y/n. She watched as the rest of the customers shuffled out one by one, all either rightly scared of Tommy or simply having other places to be.

The way Tommy’s eyes raked over Y/n’s body made her feel self conscious, suddenly overly aware of her plain outfit and the fact that her hair was hanging down past her shoulders and not pinned back like usual. She felt irritated that she evidently still cared what he thought of her. Y/n suspected that he’d followed her in here just for the purpose of seeing her again, why? She couldn’t figure it out, but the casual way he stood, hands in his trouser pockets, not speaking, was starting to annoy her. Y/n could only think he was enjoying the effect this little game of his was having.

“What are you doing here?” She accused, like this wasn’t a place open to the general public.

Tommy smirked a little, seemingly amused, it just incensed Y/n that much more, “Just buying some breakfast, same as you,” He replied, warm voice heating her body more than the blaze from the ovens.

She couldn’t let herself be at his mercy, that one sentence sending a flush to her cheeks she could only pray he didn’t see, it wouldn’t do his ego any good. Despite his answer, he still hadn’t moved from his place, apparently content to just watch Y/n.

“Good morning, Thomas,” She bid him like it was a goodbye as she slipped past him at the door, doing her very best not to shudder as she brushed against him, the notion of breakfast flying to the back of her mind.

Y/n’s suspicion that he’d come to the bakery just for her was confirmed when Tommy followed her straight out of the shop without buying anything, despite his disclosure that he would.

Y/n turned to Tommy and met his eyes with all the courage she could muster, “Tommy, will you please just let me get through this stay in peace?” She pleaded, suddenly tired again even though she had only recently woken.

His eyes softened then, and they reminded Y/n so much of the way he used to look at her that she wanted to cry. Tommy reached out and took her hand before she could think to move away and it felt so right that it stole the air from her lungs. His hand was a little rougher than she remembered, a few more callouses rubbing like sand paper against her smaller hand, but it held the same warmth and the same delicate touch that seemed to juxtapose Tommy’s hard nature.

Her eyes widened as he started to speak to her again, she couldn’t focus on his voice over the sound of her blood rushing in her ears, “If you tell me to leave you alone, I will,” is all she heard him say.

She fought every one of her instincts as she pulled her hand out of his, heart aching a little at the loss, a tear she didn’t know had formed escaping her eye when she turned away. It would be so easy to tell him to leave, to save herself all this hurt, but Y/n knew she couldn’t honestly say that was what she wanted.

Even though it pained her to be near him after everything that happened, she was still in love with him, both sides of her feelings constantly warring with each other. She found that her head fell silent when he spoke to her.

Confused and perturbed by what she really wanted, Y/n walked away from him, fighting to keep her pace even. She expected Tommy to follow after her, didn’t know if she was disappointed when he didn’t.

~~~

Today was the day before the wedding and Y/n had only just got round to trying on the dress she’d brought for the occasion. It was a classy blush pink gown, hemmed just below the knees, cut low enough to expose her chest but still modest enough to leave something to the imagination. She slipped the fine fabric over her head, internally praying that it would fit, though she didn’t know what she would do even if it didn’t.

Blessedly, the dress fit. It was tight in all the right places, showing off her attractive curves, but it was just loose enough that the fabric fanned out behind her when she twirled. Y/n thumbed the delicate lace that covered her shoulders and allowed herself a small smile, she thought that maybe she could have fun tomorrow.

No sooner than the thought had settled into her mind, there was an insistent knock at her door. Y/n hurried over and peered through her peep hole, she cursed at the ceiling as she recognised Tommy Shelby tapping his foot impatiently, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor after his last long pull. She felt a little unsteady as she watched him stand there, eyes trained on his lips, the fluttering feeling she always used to get around him making an unwelcome appearance in her stomach.

Y/n considered pretending like she wasn’t there for a moment, staying silent as she mulled over her options. But she knew that Tommy wouldn’t have come if he didn’t know for certain that she was there, and he would absolutely do something stupid like break the door down just to get his way if she didn’t answer.

“How did you know I was here?” Y/n demanded as soon as she opened the door, immediately cutting Tommy off from whatever he wanted to say first.

“Not important,” Tommy replied coolly, and his voice was so smooth and warm like honey, the look in his eyes just as impossibly sweet that Y/n kind of wanted to punch him in the face so she wouldn’t have to see it.

“What do you want?” Y/n asked, turning away and fighting to keep in control as she found herself inexplicably hypnotised by Tommy’s being.

“You look beautiful,” Tommy avoided the question.

Y/n’s head spun a little as she watched Tommy watching her, she felt he had no permission to be looking at her the way he was, hungrily. She felt that the girl reflected in his eyes looked nothing like her. The history between the two simmered in the heat of his gaze as she tried to recall a time he’d wanted her so obviously as he did now.

She was dizzied by the sudden change in her relationship with Tommy. Just mere days ago they were no better than perfect strangers, and now the past she shared with Tommy had come back and hit her with the full force of a steam engine, now he was standing in her room, staring at her as if he hadn’t broken her heart. She felt like she’d been pushed and pulled every way Tommy wanted her to go, like he was a child and she was his rag doll. The worst thing was that she kept letting him.

“What do you want?” Y/n repeated, an unmistakable waver in her voice.

“I want to know if you’re ok,” He replied simply.

Tommy’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, revealing the fine wrinkles at the corners. Y/n noted that there were a few more lines there than when she last saw him three years ago. She assumed he’d laughed a lot since she left. She didn’t know why her mouth tasted so sour at the thought.

“Are you joking?” She asked incredulously, laughing without humour.

She wondered then something that everyone wondered about Tommy; did he really have no conscience?

Did he really care about her so little that he didn’t notice how broken she was when she left? Did he really think they could just continue as if nothing had passed between them?

Y/n was silent for a long time, her hands shaking with silent anger, her face seething with heat when Tommy spoke up again.

“Seeing you around here has shown me just how dark my life is without you to brighten it up. I know I’ve no right to ask you to stay here but… I just really want to know if you’re truly ok living away from home. Away from me,”

Y/n had kept all the despair about hers and Tommy’s relationship trapped inside for the past three years. She pushed it further and further inward until it started filling her bones, weighing her down with every step further away from him she took. Now, as she watched his eyes softly gaze back at her, all of it rose to the very pinnacle, boiling over like an unwatched pot.

Barbed words were spilling from Y/n’s lips before she could stop herself, “No! I’m not fucking ok, Tommy. Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that you shattered my heart, Thomas Shelby? You told me I wasn’t good enough. I - I wasn’t good enough for you.” Y/n finished her tirade with a broken whisper, she had started to cry somewhere in the middle of her sentence, not daring to look Tommy in the eyes, afraid of his pity. “You ruined me for everyone. I haven’t been with anyone else since I left because I gave every last shred of the love I had in my heart to you! Everything I did was for you. And you wasted all of it. So, no, I’m not ok.” Y/n breathed heavily, surprised a little fire wasn’t coming out of her nose by how her words had burned even her.

She heard the old floorboards creak and looked up to see Tommy crossing the room in two long strides, standing face to face with Y/n. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, Y/n knew that if he did, she would crumble.

“So come back. For good. I know I hurt you and I- I’m sorry,” Tommy whispered, looking at her like she was the one who kept the world spinning. Y/n was sure Tommy had never apologised to anyone, so no one could blame her if she didn’t quite believe it.

They stood there for a moment, locked in each others eyes, each one searching for an answer, searching for a way back to their forgotten love. Y/n is so helplessly pulled in by the man in front of her, so inexplicably attracted to everything he did; she thought if they stayed like this any longer that she would just cave in, the part of her heart she gave to him still beating strongly in her chest. Her mouth quivered with unspoken words as she remembered the pain of Tommy’s betrayal seared into her skin, begging her not to let him back in.

“You’re sorry,” she bit back more tears, “Well, you don’t get to ask me to stay. You don’t get to toy with me like this. Are you enjoying this? You push me as far away from you as possible just to pull me back when you decide you want me again! And now you want me, what, because your ego is hurt by the idea that I could’ve possibly moved on? God knows, I’ve tried but you lurk around every corner of my life, waiting in the silence to remind me of what I thought I had. It hurts me every fucking day that I really thought you loved me too,” An ugly part of Y/n hoped every word was painful for Tommy, hoped they were like a poison, rooted in his brain, that they would stay there and remind him every day of what he’d done.

“I forgave you so long ago, so why are you trying to bring it all up again?” All the words that had been imprisoned inside her chest had escaped, she felt a little bereft without them. A new emptiness spread inside Y/n, making her feel faint with the weightlessness as she clung onto her night stand.

“Because I love you,” the world stopped.

Those words, spoken so gently, struck her with such force that for a minute, Y/n thought she’d been shot. Agony bloomed beneath her ribs and her fingers flew up to her chest to touch, she was confused when her fingers came away with no blood.

“No, you don’t, you’re only saying it because you think it will absolve you,” She replied, refusing to let the door to her heart swing open, no matter how hard Tommy was kicking it, “If you loved me, you would’ve fought for us back then. You let me go like it was so easy,”

“I do, I love you,” Tommy said, words coming out shaky, breath uneven, “I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt because of me,”

Even after everything he’d done, Tommy failed to see the irony in those words , “Hurt?” Y/n asked disbelievingly, “You killed me the day you wouldn’t say you loved me. Don’t think your confession will revive me now.” The words hung like lead in the air, neither one wanting to take their weight.

“Y/n-” Tommy began, a glint of something unfamiliar in his bright blue eyes.

“I want you to leave,” Y/n cut him off, Tommy’s every word reopened her countless scars, but now the pain was unbearable. He tried to touch her, but she recoiled so harshly that Tommy backed away, “Please.”

Tommy looked so conflicted, a million ideas spinning through his head, so quickly they seemed to flash across his eyes. Ultimately, he heeded Y/n’s words and slipped out silently, leaving her alone once again.

~~~

Today was Y/n’s final day in her hometown. She thought back to the wedding as she folded away her dress, placing it on top of all her other packing so as not to spoil it. She sat through the entire ceremony with her mind entirely elsewhere, she felt a little guilty about it now but she hadn’t listened to a word of the vows. She would like to pretend that she wasn’t jealous, but as she watched the newlyweds kiss tenderly to rapturous applause, she felt a bitter pang in her stomach. As a teenager, she dreamed of that fate for herself, a pure white dress, fresh flowers in her hands, Tommy waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Y/n had felt tears pricking behind her eyes as she watched the couple exit the church, hand in hand, she tried so hard to feel happy for them.

Y/n closed her small trunk with a click and sat down on the edge of her bed, exhausted. She fumbled for the train ticket in her purse, a return ticket to London. She folded it safely away in her pocket and stood, wandering over to her window. She looked out onto the street below her, the summer sun cracking the cover of mist today, casting polka dot shadows on the cobbles.

Here in Small Heath, the houses were little and charming, warmth seeping out of every window you passed. The streets were never quiet during the day, always bustling with the community of a working class town.

Y/n sighed then as she thought about what waited for her in London. Row upon row of oppressively looming buildings, making her feel even smaller in a city so big. She was surrounded by thousands of people on the streets, yet she’d never felt so alone. Every day was the same, get up, go to work, come home. Y/n tried to be happy with it, she really did, but returning to Small Heath had ruined the pretence. It was like she’d left her heart here, and now that she was back, the beat was even stronger, refusing to let itself be buried again.

Y/n knew though that her love of her hometown wasn’t the only reason she was hesitating to leave for the train station. Her heart rate quickened as Tommy appeared in her mind, if she breathed in deep enough she swore she could still smell him in the room - his cologne, the Irish whiskey, the specific brand of cigarettes he always smoked. Her legs felt weak as she took it all in. Y/n struggled then to remember how she’d found the strength to walk away from this place those three years ago, to walk away from Tommy. Her resolve now was so weak that she prayed she could find that strength again today.

Y/n shut the curtains, blocking the view of the street below, wishing so desperately it was just as easy to shut out her memories of this place. As her hand touched the door handle, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she left now, she’d regret it forever.

Her departure time drew nearer and nearer, so she closed her eyes and pulled the door open, holding her breath.

“Please don’t go,” the sound of his raspy voice made her eyes fly open, she pinched herself subtly to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination.

There he was, Tommy stood tall in front of her doorway, hair flopping over the sides of his head and chest heaving like he’d run all the way here. Tommy reached out one large hand and gripped Y/n’s arm, his fingers almost circling all the way around it. He clutched her as if he was afraid she was going to disappear.

Y/n dropped her case then, forgetting everything else as she searched his gentle eyes, only barely remembering to continue breathing. She could push past him, she could run away again into the arms of a city that didn’t care about her, or she could fall into Tommy and pray this time he’d catch her. But she knew her decision was made as soon as he spoke.

Y/n stepped backwards slightly, allowing Tommy entrance into the room. He pushed a hand through his mussed hair, peaked cap nowhere to be seen. Neither of them spoke for a minute, and Y/n wondered if it was a mistake to let him in, the possibility of her escape becoming slimmer and slimmer as time ticked on.

Tommy sat down on the bed and inhaled a steadying breath, “I meant what I said the other day,” he said, quietly as if admitting a secret.

“I know,” Y/n replied, and the confusion that overtook Tommy’s face almost made her laugh, his eyebrows quirked, lips slightly parted, “I said all those things yesterday because I’m terrified of letting you in again. I’m scared that I’ll let you hold my heart and you’ll crush it again. I’ve waited so incredibly long to hear you say those words that when you said them so easily yesterday, all the pain came straight back.”

Guilt was written all over Tommy’s face, pooled in the ocean of his eyes, colouring his slightly flushed cheeks, “I was just so terrified I’d put you in danger, couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt, so I hurt you myself, told myself I wasn’t worth your love anyway, you’d get over me. I thought it was for the best,” He admitted, palm rubbing into the socket of his eye when it began to glisten with tears.

Y/n went over to the bed, sitting slowly and gently the way one would approach a skittish horse, she put a tentative hand on his thigh, tension buzzing beneath her skin where she touched him. “When did you know you loved me?” she asked quietly.

Tommy looked up at her then and shifted so that they were closer, legs pressed together. Y/n fought not to blush like a teenager, the touch so intimate after all this time.

“About a month before I left for France,” Tommy began, and Y/n didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes when he spoke, “You were out in the garden with Finn. He’d just learned to toddle about and got a bit too confident, fell and skinned his knee,” Tommy didn’t fight the smile that rose to his lips, “And when he cried, you went running and you held him like he was your own brother, you got him to calm down better than anyone else could have. You held him and fussed him until he laughed again. You didn’t know there was anyone watching you, you just did it because you loved him,”

Y/n felt breathless as Tommy told his story, she didn’t know whether to be furious or thrilled that he’d loved her such a long time, “That’s when I knew your name was forever branded on my heart, Y/n. I knew that I could never see you hurt because I couldn’t protect you from my world.”

At some point while Tommy spoke, their faces inched closer together until their noses were almost bumping. He finished his confession in a whisper, his unmissable blue eyes flickering between Y/n’s own gaze and her lips, exposing his desires blatantly.

“You’re an idiot, Thomas Shelby,” Y/n breathed before Tommy leaned in and pressed his lips against hers.

The kiss was exciting yet comfortable, like a knew book from her favourite author; the writing familiar but the content all new. One of Tommy’s hands came up to rest on the back of Y/n’s neck, fingers weaving into the strands of hair there, sending a delightful shiver down her body. His other hand cupped her cheek, pulling at her bottom lip so he could take it into his mouth. Tommy broke away briefly, only to breathe, before he leaned in again, kissing Y/n torturously slow, learning ever crevice of her lips once more.

They finally broke apart, Y/n didn’t know how long later, she couldn’t control the whine from the back of her throat when they did. Tommy looked amused, maybe a little proud of himself and Y/n rolled her eyes at him. Tommy’s hands still cradled her head like something precious, their lips still tantalisingly close.

“I really don’t want to go back to London,” Y/n confessed against Tommy’s mouth, tiny sparks zapping every time their lips touched.

“Please don’t go back,” Tommy all but begged, stroking Y/n’s cheek with a calloused thumb.

She closed her eyes at the feeling, every fibre of her being giving up to him in that moment, “Tell me you love me and I’ll stay,” She said finally, her words so similar to those she’d broken her own heart with three years ago.

“I love you,” Tommy avowed as he kissed Y/n with a dizzying passion, his lips devouring hers as they told each other all the things words couldn’t say. Y/n’s hands found purchase on Tommy’s chest, feeling the rapid flutter of his heart behind his ribs, telling her he really did feel the same.

“Stay with me,” Tommy whispered, each word punctuated by a kiss, the two lovers unable to stop touching as if a magnet permanently held them together.

Y/n nodded, unable to speak as she felt Tommy’s fingers brush against her neck, against the exposed skin on her chest, goosebumps raising on her skin as she fought not to tremble.

All of her nerves were alight, the pieces of her heart coming back together as she kissed the man she’d loved for years; no big city could replace their small town love. London faded into nothing as she felt his tongue lick at her lower lip, her train long since missed as Tommy pressed his kisses deeper.

Y/n broke away just to look at Tommy again, his lips were plump, reddened by his ministrations, his eyes were fogged over with adoration, his hands still clung to Y/n anywhere they could hang on. She smiled one of those blinding grins she only ever saved for Tommy.

“I’ll stay,” Y/n promised.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff

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clubdionysus · 8 months ago

Text

[BAD DECISION #52] Gloating

warnings: fluffy n luverly, we teeter on the precipice of smut a few times but never quite cross the line IMO, shower <3 lovely lovely lovely, busan <33

notes: i never explicitly gave this story a city, but this chapter p much confirmed that it was daegu even if I didn't realise it hahahaha

wc: 8.4K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Jeongguk isn't quite sure what wakes him.

It could be the echo of the television through his bedroom wall, and the tell-tale boom of Ryan Gosling's deep southern drawl when playing Noah that lets him know The Notebook is on.

Could be the light that's streaming in through his bedroom windows, curtains open wide because he was in too much of a damn hurry to get you beneath his sheets to care for preserving your collective dignity from the ever-perverse stars that love to watch his every move – the ones in the sky, and the one with his heart.

Could be the scent of meat wafting in through a small crack in his barely open door. Pork, he thinks. Bacon, maybe. In fact, no - bacon, definitely.

Pressing his face into his pillow, Jeongguk lets out a muffled groan. Stretches his body, then reaches out to drag you closer – only to sit up in great perplexion when he realises you're not there.

Hair haphazardly tufted on his head, body aching from the alcohol, his brows furrow. Sitting on his heels, he looks down. Realises he's far more naked than a slightly open door should allow for.

His skin is dappled in tiny little reminders of you: the silver of your glitter, the red marks left by your nails. If he were to glance in the mirror, he'd notice the purples too, left by your lips on his chest. Doesn't care all that much, 'cause you've got some to match. Tit for tat.

It's as he's studying his body that he notices the mess of a masterpiece on his arm. Thick sharpie bleeds ever so slightly into his skin. It's covered in glitter – an addition made by you in the early hours of the morning, wrapped up in his sheets and tangled in the way you feel about him. Trapped, forever. Perfection.

Though the ink has blurred a little, and it's far from pristine, the identifier remains, as if he'd ever forget: Byeol's Boyfriend.

Subtle, it is not, but since when have his feelings towards you ever been subtle?

As he clambers out of bed, he notices the slight sound of crinkling paper and glances up to a ceiling, which now only has a single bird strung up.

He knows exactly which remains, for he stuck it up a little later than all the rest. Though it still feels like forever ago, it's inevitable that it would be the last to fall – which means the one hidden in his sheets belongs to you.

There's a weighted sadness to the idea of the birds finally drawing to an end. Just one left after you complete the one he's trying to find in his sheets, and then that's it - it's over.

Realistically, he knows he's being dramatic as a pout prevails on his dry lips. He's in desperate need of water. Glances to his bedside table, where a pint glass full of water waits him, courtesy of the girl who left the writing on his arm.

His pout only intensifies.

Jeongguk knows that the birds aren't needed, but hates the fact they're coming to an end.

In the corner of his room, by the floor-length mirror that he's stolen hundreds of glances of you within, reside all of the previously done birds. They sit in a neat little pile, 'cause he doesn't really know what to do with them, but thinks they're worthy of preservation.

It was once just a mirror, but it feels like so much more, now.

Jeongguk discovered the power of tits looking directly in it. Has watched you straighten your clothes out ten dozen times over after evenings spent at his place. The glass traps so much of his life and yet nothing at all. Not permanently, at least. It's sort of like the birds, in a way.

They're responsible for everything, and yet realistically he knows they're responsible for absolutely nothing.

He always would have felt this way about you, he thinks. Maybe you would have followed a more linear path, or maybe he'd have still been plagued by fears he hadn't learned yet how to address, but it doesn't matter either way.

As he comes to stand by the door, tossing the slightly crumpled bird on his desk, Jeongguk knows better than to question the what-ifs. Used to waste so much time on them. Knows life is so much more rewarding now that he faces his fears instead of running from them.

There's a lightness to his gaze, serenity in his stature as he finds you. Adoration in his outwards affection. Eyes trained on you as you laugh with Jimin, Jeongguk's not really looking at you. Not in the way that he'd normally look at you.

You're standing by the kitchen counter, Jimin on one of the barstools. The Notebook is on the television, but neither of you are watching it.

There's an inability within Jeongguk to focus. He's not lost in your lips, or seeking out your eyes, or even counting the specks of glitter on your skin; rather he's engulfed by the warmth of the invisible glow that radiates around your body.

Oranges, and pinks. Clementine. Dusk, before the inevitable night sky you normally are. A promise of the best being yet to come – and yet so terribly perfect as you are.

Jeongguk cannot look at you like you're a human being because the way he feels about you transcends the physical. Goes deeper than the spiritual. Lingers somewhere between the brightest stars and the ancient plans laid out in the skies by the Gods.

But then your eyes flicker over to him, and he's locked in. Eyes on eyes. Lips mirroring lips; smiles forming. He can't see it, but he knows your heart must be doing the same thing, too.

"Here he is," you say fondly. The mascara beneath your lash line is smudged out, half of it on his pillows, most of it washed away after you'd woken up. Jeongguk loves it when you're in this state of undress, hair a mess, glitter everywhere and nowhere in particular.

It's a miracle you're able to articulate any words at all when he looks the way that he does.

Just in his boxers, not caring for you or Jimin seeing him like this, Jeongguk is unashamed – and why shouldn't he be? Boy is carved like a God, and it's his own damn hands that have sculpted himself this way. Has every right to be right at home with next to nothing on. You just wish he'd cover up when you're in front of other people so that you wouldn't look like such a blathering mess.

How he can possibly expect you to articulate more than three coherent words is quite frankly insane – but so are you. Are moonstruck at the mere sight of him. Awestruck. Lovestruck. Unable to think like a normal person, or do normal things like carry on a bloody conversation. Absolutely dumbfounded.

"And on that note," Jimin interrupts the quite frankly vomit-inducing way you're looking at one another. Pushes away the plate in front of him - the culprit of the bacon scent - and stands. "I'm gonna go grab a shower."

Light a bolt of lightning, Jeongguk sprints into action. Tumbles past Jimin's lethargic body – but Jimin is just as fast as Jeongguk is. Reaches for Jeongguk's arm and is catapulted along, as the pair begin to struggle for bathroom privileges.

"I need to brush my teeth," Jeongguk whines as Jiimin tackles him around his waist. "I'll be two minutes-"

"I said I was getting a shower first!"

"You could have gotten one all morning!"

"You could have brushed-"

"Boys," you interrupt, then physically recoil at how motherly you sound. "Jimin, you know he'll only be a minute or so."

"I said it first!" Jimin wails.

"Please," you insist, but only 'cause you know exactly why Jeongguk is so keen on brushing his teeth. You don't wanna have to wait the best of an hour ('cause that's exactly how long a hungover Jimin likes his showers to be) just to kiss him, 'cause he'll be precious about making the first morning you have together perfect.

"Fine," Jimin strops. "But this is the first and last time I'll let you use the two-against-one rule. Never again. Never ."

Jeongguk takes his victory like an asshole. Bows to accept his win. Could literally just go in, get his toothbrush and some toothpaste and use the tap in the kitchen – but no. Walks in circles around the bathroom, door still open just to annoy Jimin a little further.

"I'm gonna piss on his toothbrush," Jimin mumbles barely loud enough for you to hear, and while it makes you laugh, you do also have to kiss that mouth.

"Please don't," you beg, eyes wide, lips a little pouty. If Jeongguk were in the room, he'd be so incredibly fond - but he's not, and Jimin is capable of looking at you like a normal human being.

He grumbles as Jeongguk reappears in the doorway, smile wide. "No promises."

Jeongguk's grin prevails as Jimin walks up to the door, but he doesn't move. Anyone who didn't know them would be forgiven for thinking they're brothers. You understand why Jeongguk refers to Jimin as family. "What's the password?"

Smug in his grin, Jeongguk's towering stature is abruptly stolen from him, as Jimin gently taps against Jeongguk's underwear with the back of his hand. Gets Jeongguk recoiling in melodramatic pain.

"You cunt," he wails, immediately grabbing onto his balls as he collapses to the floor.

Of all the ways you've ever seen Jeongguk, this is by far the least dignified.

"B," he groans into the floor, body twisting far more than it needs to. "Avenge me."

Jimin glances in your direction. Smiles. "Don't need to worry about the piss. This is good enough revenge. Hope you didn't want kids."

"Piss?" Jeongguk whines, still on the floor.

"Get your shower," you tell Jimin, desperately trying not to laugh. They're such idiots, the both of them. Is a miracle either of have any swimmers left, given how often they'd hit each other in the nuts throughout their friendship. Has been a while since the last time, 'cause they're trying to be more mature these days - but it's Jeongguk's fault for behaving like a petulant little brat.

The bathroom door closes, so you finally let out the laugh you'd been holding in. Serves him right for gloating.

"It can't be that bad."

"You try getting sack-tapped in your boxers," he groans, eventually sitting upright. Is slumped in his posture. Looks like he's gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring. You think he might cry. "I was defenseless. God, it still hurts."

Walking around the kitchen counter, Jeongguk is delighted to see you're just wearing his flannel and nothing else. If he wasn't currently nursing aching balls, he'd be nursing a semi instead.

The shirt is long enough on you for it to not be indecent, the tiny silver chain around your ankle glistening in the morning light pouring through the windows. Your face is almost bare thanks to you freshening up in the bathroom before either of the boys woke up, but there are still tell-tale signs of glitter dappling your skin - and even if there wasn't, Jeongguk'd convince himself there was.

Crouching between his spread legs, palms on your knees, you're eye level with his incredibly pouty face. He really is a sight to behold, even like this.

You're teasing when you ask, "Should I kiss it better?"

The way Jeongguk's posture perks up is nothing short of cartoonish. Eyes wide, he nods so fervently it's as if his head might just fall off. "That'll actually really help."

"Oh," you tilt your head to the side, cheeky in how you're winding him up. "But you seem fine now?"

His posture droops immediately. Even starts pretending to cry. "Hurts so bad."

Rolling your eyes, you stand and hold your hands out for him to take. "C'mon."

"So mean, Disco Ball."

And yet his hands slide into yours as if they were made to be there, and you're really not putting that much effort into pulling him up. His own strength and free will is subsidising it. Standing up straight, he doesn't let go of your hands. Looks down at you, and gently gently moves you back to the kitchen island. Says nothing as he loosens his grip just to let his hands dip behind your body.

There's an innate trust between you. Words need not be spoken. Gently, he lifts you so that you're perched on the countertop. Stands between your legs. Strokes the tops of your bare thighs. Nudges his nose up against yours.

"So mean," he whispers. Lets his lips - minty and so incredibly fresh even if still a little dry - sink between yours. There's a furrowing of his brows as he deepens the kiss, your legs hooking around his back to mirror his hunger for you.

"You like it when I'm a little mean," you smirk, taking just a second to pause the kiss - only for him to confirm that you're correct with another desperate meeting of his lips with yours. There's no thought given to the way his hands are all over you. Thighs, throat, cheeks, chest - he doesn't care. Just wants to breathe you in. Inhale everything you are like vapour; let you corrupt his airwaves like the smoke of a gun that was always gonna go off. Just a chemical reaction. That's all you are; an inevitable.

And god, how beautiful it is when the stars align.

"You're my girlfriend ," he husks against your lips, stopping for air and little else. "I like you all the time."

Any chance to breathe is rendered useless, 'cause a statement like that is bound to take all the wind from your sails. Makes you flounder. Giggle.

"What?" he grins, pulling away, to get a read on your face. So lovely. Oh, how he loves this.

Jeongguk has to mentally reprimand himself. Remind his brain that love is something only thought about; not something yet spoken of.

It'd be easy, he thinks.

Could just say it. Knows you'd giggle.

Is too scared of being laughed at, though.

"Nothing," you shake your head, trying to suppress your smile - but it's useless. Stroking down his arm, you let yourself indulge in the messy words on his skin. "Byeol's boyfriend."

"Really marked your territory, there," he commends.

With a raised brow and smirk that he knows means no good, he watches on as you let your nimble fingers tweak at the buttons of his shirt. The way you look beneath Jeongguk's clothes is nothing new - but the dark purple bruises on your sparkling skin are. A product of pleasure, and absolutely no pain, Jeongguk knows he shouldn't like the way they look as much as he does. It's tantalising how you don't completely reveal yourself to him - but he knows you'd let him push the material off your shoulders, if he wanted to.

"You marked yours, too," you shrug.

The movement of your shoulders lets the fabric slide. Not too far. Not enough to reveal everything.

No, it's Jeongguk's hands that do that.

And you just smile, biting down on your bottom lip as he does so.

"Jimin's only in the bathroom," you remind him.

"Lucky him."

Jeongguk doesn't give a shit. Dips his head to latch around your nipple, lips strong, tongue soft. Your head tips back, hands in his hair not to dictate his moves, but to give him little scratches against his scalp. Get him moaning - of which he instantly does. The sensation vibrates around you. Makes you gasp.

The fabric of his shirt pools around the crease of your thighs, but it takes him no time at all to let his curious hands find their way into your underwear.

"Gguk," you whine as he presses the pads of his fingers against you. He doesn't reply. Just sucks harder. Deeper. Gets you moaning. Whimpering. Toes pointing. "Room."

The instruction is clear - and on any other day, Jeongguk wouldn't hesitate. Loves having you in his sheets.

Pulling away from you, he shakes his head. Dark eyes heavy with his desire for you, it's a miracle he was able to stop himself. Holds the tops of your thighs. Isn't breathing quite right. Wants you in the most human of ways, yet somehow feels like whatever the fuck you share isn't human at all. Can't be. Is too fucking good. Cosmic. Celestial. Stellar.

"Not yet," he tells you. "There's a bird waiting for us."

Oh, how you've missed them.

"The kids are gonna be so pleased we're back together," you grin - only for Jeongguk to find it impossible to not kiss you. He does, however, pull the shirt back up over your shoulders. Preens you. Adores you.

"So is their father," he admits, then adds, "And I hope their mother is, too."

"The happiest," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod. "So - bird?"

"One of yours," Jeongguk says, making sure your legs are still wrapped around him before holding you tight to his strong chest as he stands up straight. Carries you back to his bedroom. Quite literally dumps you on his bed, reaches for the bird, then clambers into his sheets with you.

"I'm supposed to be heading over to Busan this afternoon," Jeongguk tells you as he hands over the bird.

This is news to you, but you had also spent the best part of a week not talking. Of course you wouldn't know.

Unravelling the folds of the bird as Jeongguk gets to his feet, you already know what the bird must be for it to have prompted that information from him.

Reaching for the clothes next to his bed, crumpled from how quickly you'd taken them off of him the night before, Jeongguk tosses them into separate piles. White tank in one, dark jeans in the other. Looks around his room for more clothes to add.

"Well, no, I need to," he adds. "Mum got Yoongi to make some trophies for her Salsa group. The ceremony is next week, but today is the only chance I'll have before then to get them to her."

Nodding, you've no issue with it. It wouldn't be the first time a bird has been postponed, and given the nature of your relationship now, time really isn't of the essence. Got all the time in the world. He'll still be your boyfriend, by the end of the week. The month, too. The year, you hope, but know better than to jinx it.

"It's fine," you offer. "It's been a while since you last visited. It'll be nice."

He nods now, tossing the last of his shirts into the pile of washing. Waltzes towards his bed, and flops down with you. Top and tail, his head is by your feet, one of his large palms wraps around your ankle just for an excuse to touch you.

"Yeah. Haven't been to Busan since we went together."

"She'll be pleased to see you," you hum a little mindlessly, your hand stroking up and down his leg.

You envy his natural state of near hairlessness, and lament the fact you know you need to shave yours - he never mentions it, but you also know he kind of likes it when you're not pristine. Goes against the beauty standards you were raised with, but you think that's part of it. Is taboo. He's also just, like, the most primally charged man you've ever known. Him and that nose. Never stops smelling. It's nudging against the top of your foot, now, lips pressing a small kiss to it.

" Us ," he says softly, correcting you. "Pleased to see us."

"Wasn't aware I was invited," you say, a smile resting on your lips.

"Of course you are," he says. "Come with me. You know I get bored when I'm driving alone."

"Ah, so you're just using me?" You tease, really not minding in the slightest.

Jeongguk laughs. Shakes his head. "Boyfriend privileges."

"You're cashing them in early," you laugh right back, butterflies in your stomach making sure to say hello.

"Would have cashed them in months ago, if you'd have let me," he assures you, without a care for admitting just how much he's wanted this, and for how long.

Little admissions like these would have been so terrifying for him back when he first realised how he felt. They kind of melt into nothingness, now.

You're beaming like a ray of cosmic light as you sit up and change position to straddle over his lap. He makes no objection. Accepts your body on top of his like he always does. Welcomes you, even. Reaches up for you, hands on your cheeks, pulling you down for a kiss. Suffocated in your hair, the lingering scent of your perfume, he's smiling as he presses his lips to yours.

It's all very sickening how sweetly you giggle, and how serenely Jeongguk matches your energy. There's an understanding between you both that the happiness you share is not normal. Nobody feels this way. It's not possible. You're unmatched.

In all reality, you're just in your own little world. People are falling in love all around the world at the very same second - you're just too enamoured to even consider the way you feel for one another could be challenged.

And in a way, you're right, because no one will ever love in the same way that you two do.

But love is a big word, and neither of you are brave enough to say it. Have spent so long denying your feelings that some of them are still hard to admit.

"I'll come with you," you mumble into his lips. "Overnight or just the afternoon?"

"Just the afternoon," he says, pouting slightly as you sit up straight. "Boss is on my ass about those refurbs I've been putting off."

"Could always just hire a professional to do it," you say, thinking his Boss is being cheeky trying to use him for cheap labour.

Jeongguk doesn't mind. Has always been treated well by his Boss. Knows a fair amount of his tab gets written off as damages, or waste. Also knows if you want a job done properly, you should just do it yourself. The refurbishments aren't that huge, and Yeonjun will be on hand, too. Worst comes to worst, he'll give Yoongi a call.

"No need," Jeongguk shrugs, shoulders digging into his duvet. "Plus it'll be good to get my hands a little dirty. I'll be doing most of the work for the restaurant, so."

You raise a brow, offended he hasn't kept you posted on any changes there. "There's been news? With the restaurant?"

He shakes his head, then says, "Fake it till you make it, right?"

A flawed logic, he'll admit, but he's not about to give up on his dream just like that. Has spent too many months thinking about floor tiles and till systems, signature drinks and banchan just to let it all go to waste. The plan he set up with Yoongi was immaculate.

Sure, he'd always dreamt of that building, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be. There are plenty of other vacant buildings in the city. Probably ones that are even better.

Maybe he'll just have to reconfigure those little daydreams he's had of dropping coffee at your workplace, then heading a couple streets over to his own little restaurant, but it's really not that much of a big deal.

"Fake it till you make it," you agree. Think that speaking things into existence is one of the most powerful things you can do in the face of defeat. "What time are you heading over to Busan? I'll wanna make myself look human first."

"Hour or so?"

Nodding, you say, "That's fine. I'll run back to mine and get ready there."

"Let me put my washing on, then I'll drive you over," he says. "Probably be easier for me to just get ready at yours."

"Sure?"

He nods, and taps your leg to encourage you off his body. "Sure. Head over to Busan, say hi for a bit, then we can do the bird on the way home."

You let your body fall into his sheets, and pick up the bird once more. Study it. It's your handwriting, yes, but it's been so long since you wrote it that you'd almost forgotten it.

!!! FUCK IN A CAR !!!

Not the most intimate of all your birds, but one that requires a hell of a lot of trust. One that you're pretty sure will no doubt just become a standard, frequent occurrence with Jeongguk. Given how much he seems to like the idea of people knowing he gets to fuck you, it's that golden line between public and private that'll get him off easily.

Gathering your things as Jeongguk puts the washing on, you borrow a pair of his sweats and let him give you a piggyback to the elevator, party shoes in hand. In all likelihood, he probably shouldn't be driving just yet.

Thankfully, showers always seem to sober him up, and so as soon as you're in your apartment, he's turning it on. Doesn't wait for you. Gets in, and leaves the bathroom open for you.

Danbi's at Taehyung's place like she so often is, so there's no worry of any intrusion. Doesn't really matter, given that as soon as your phone is on charge, you're joining him.

The stream of water crashing down on you both is warm to touch, but incomparable to the warmth being fostered between you.

There's an awareness that nothing will ever quite match your feelings for one another. Jeongguk knows it. You know it. Need nothing else, so long as you have one another.

Rivulets of water trail from his soaked hair down his toned back as he turns to get your shampoo, and you can't help but marvel at him. Powerful in his stature, when he faces you again, you're so damn pleased to see the softness of his face; round eyes, sweet smile, cute nose.

A man of complexities is Jeon Jeongguk, and you'll gladly spend forever and a day trying to understand them all.

For now, you just let him do as he pleases. Keep your eyes on him as he lathers up shampoo between his large palms and redistributes it into your hair. He definitely doesn't realise you're not supposed to put it on the end of your hair, but it's a crime you'll take the fall for. Will suffer drier than usual ends just to feel his touch in a moment like this.

"Roots," you smile, voice a lil hazy from the serenity of it all.

"You just want a head scratch," he hums, but doesn't object. Does as he's told.

Closing your eyes as he delivers a head scratch that makes you realise why dogs always seem to like him so much, you smile. "Shampoo on the roots, conditioner on the ends. Have you learned nothing from our showers?"

"I won't lie, B," he promises. "Your hair is normally the thing I pay attention to the least whenever we shower."

It's not like he can nestle his nose into it while it's all wet. Loves it dry, but loves other parts of you when you're wet a little more.

He's deliberately been trying to avoid thinking about them. Knows he stands no chance as soon as he does. Is saving himself for later.

Sure enough, as soon as the thoughts are in his head, his prick starts being, well, a prick .

He'd done so well at keeping it down - but you're naked, and you're just so pretty, and he can't help how much he adores you.

"Ignore it," he mumbles, tilting his head back with a groan.

Rinsing your own hair off as Jeongguk has his little crisis, you can't help but find the predictability of him so incredibly sweet. Sure, his near-constant state of wanting you isn't always practical, but it definitely is a compliment.

He told you to ignore it, so you will. You'll think about it, still. Look at it. Smile. Get a little flustered. But you don't mention it, so you're basically ignoring it.

Why on earth you're choosing to start your relationship out with a denial of physical closeness, you'll never truly know.

Part of you wonders if sex will cheapen it; as if your desire to be with one another has no connection to your feelings.

That's the trouble with being so abhorrently intimate while under the guise of 'friendship'. Lines were so blurred, they're hard to make out, now. They need to be redrawn. Redefined - and they will be, just not right now.

For the first time, in a very long, the pair of you make it through your shower without coming undone. Neither of you mention it. Jeongguk's proud of himself. Pleased.

You're the one who thinks you might die, for a change. Are on the verge of getting to your knees as you watch him dry himself off.

"You're a perv," he tells you, and you don't deny it.

Instead, you drop your towel and are pleased to find he's just as transfixed as you are. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

He swallows. Hard. Mumbles, "Put your clothes on."

"Why?" you tease, as if he's not fuckin' twitching.

"B," he whines. Close his eyes. "Please."

Rolling your eyes, secretly so incredibly pleased by the way he reacts to you, you pull open the drawer that houses your underwear, and set about covering yourself up. A simple set is chosen. Not quite matching, but at a glance you'd be forgiven for thinking it was. Is just black, and a little lacey. Still has him winging and whining.

"Oh my God, just get dressed," you laugh, tossing his shirt across to him. The back and forth of you riling one another up is so stupid. Will only end in disaster. "We'll be late."

"In that case, we may as well do the bird on the way to Busan instead of on the way back," he suggests. Knows full well he'd gonna have a hard-on for the entire drive. Is not looking forward to it.

"I'm not showing up late to see your parents just so you can get your end away."

"Why not?" he pouts. "It's not like they'll know."

"Yeah, 'cause your mum totally didn't know we were up to no good before she got home last time."

"She never said anything," Jeongguk shrugs, ignoring the sarcasm in your voice.

"Well, what do you expect her to say?" you laugh. " Oh, yeah, Gguk, lovely to meet Jimin's former flame, hope you wrapped it up when you went to town with her. "

"Okay, when you put it like that," he begins, but chooses not to end the sentence. Sighs. Is all pouty and pathetic as he says, "Fine. Have it your way. We'll shag later."

"You're so hard done by," you tease him.

He nods. "It's a miracle I survive."

Death seems like a constant worry for Jeongguk. Always appears to be on the verge of it whenever he's horny, and to be near you is to be randy, as far as he's concerned.

Rolling your eyes, you don't entertain his whining. Dress casually, but make sure any evidence of the night before is covered. Jeongguk's wearing a long-sleeved shirt to keep the faint grey lines left on his arm covered.

There's very little talk of the night before; just acceptance of who you are to one another. It really shouldn't surprise you how normal being together feels. Had practically been official for weeks. Months. Were just too stupid to realise.

In the way that he lets you dictate the car stereo, and how he holds your hand whenever he can, there's nothing friendly about the drive.

You've two shared playlists. Called one STARFUCKERS and the other one STARLOVERS. Had initially been assigned for different moods. You've got the STARLOVERS playlist on this morning, and know damn well that the other one is always the one Jeongguk lets run through his speakers whenever he wants to add a little ambience to a shag. Friends don't have sex playlists.

You, as a collective, are stupid. And have never been friends. Not in the way you convinced yourselves you were.

Though you've only visited his parents' place once before, you recognise the roads enough to realise you're drawing near. It's only accentuated by Jeongguk slightly turning the volume of his car radio down, as if he's scared he'll get in trouble for having it too loud. Old habits die hard, or so it would seem - but he likes the idea of making new ones with you.

Pulling down the sunvisor to check yourself over, you worry that maybe the glitter is too much, or maybe your hair isn't quite right. None of it matters, and you know Jeongguk's mother is as lovely as anything, but you still want to make a good impression.

"Relax," Jeongguk hums. "You look fine."

"Fine isn't nice," you remind him.

Fine is fine . Boring. Irrelevant. You've something to prove now that you didn't have to worry about so much last time.

Last time you were here, you were just a friend (again, bullshit, but whatever).

This time, you're his girlfriend .

His girlfriend, who Jeongguk's mother thinks dated Jimin.

You're already off to a bad start. Don't even want to think about the gossip that will spread at her salsa class - especially if Jimin's mum attends, too. They're gonna think you're a floosie. A harlot. A homie hopper - though you're pretty certain that neither of those words will be in his mother's vernacular.

"Fine is nice," he tells you. "And besides, you know you're gorgeous. You don't need to worry."

"You're biased," you tell him right back, enamoured with the compliment, but also far more critical of yourself than he is. You know he's got a lovely pair of rose-coloured glasses on when it comes to you.

He could take them off and it still wouldn't matter. The stars would be fucking with his view, too.

"And you won't believe me regardless of what I say," he counters, seeing right through you. "So just accept you look nice, and that my mum really doesn't give a shit-"

"But I give a shit-"

"But you shouldn't," he whines, knocking the indicator to the left to pull into a space on the side of the road. "She already loves you."

"She's met me once."

"She's full of love," Jeongguk insists. Doesn't really understand why you're insisting on arguing against him. You know that his mother liked you. Wouldn't have been so warm with you if she didn't - or maybe she would have. She really is as kind as they come. "Doesn't have it in her heart to dislike anyone."

This isn't true.

There's a reason why Jeongguk only invited Hayun to his family's place if his parents were out of town, or in a group setting. His mother just never warmed up to her. At first, Jeongguk had thought that maybe it was in his head, but it's not like he hadn't brought girls home before. Then he thought that might be the issue - that his mother liked his high school girlfriend so much that anyone else just wouldn't be liked as much.

Wasn't until he saw the way the pair of you teaming up against him, and joking at his expense, that he realised his mother was very much capable of liking new girls just as much as she had liked his first girlfriend. Realised then that perhaps the issue of Hayun ran deeper than he could have ever imagined.

Funny, how these little tell-tale signs had always been there, but it took having the juxtaposition of knowing you for him to realise. Knowing everything that he does now, Jeongguk thinks it was obviously a bad fit from the start. Was just as delusional back then as Hayun seems to be now.

"I just really want her to like me," you say quietly, as you tuck the sunvisor back up. Glancing over to Jeongguk, you find his eyes already on you. Reaching out his hand, you give no objections as he holds yours.

"We don't have to tell her," he offers. There's sincerity in his dark eyes, wide and honest as they promise to do whatever you're comfortable with. "I mean, like, B- it's literally been less than a day. We're really jumping the gun with the whole meeting the parents thing."

You laugh at the flippancy of his remark. It's circumstantial, not intentional. Nod. "I guess if she asks we could say yes?"

He nods now, too. Squeezes your hand. "And if she doesn't, we simply won't say anything."

It's a compromise. The first of many, most likely. Relationships are built on compromises, and if this is how easily you're able to rectify worries, you really have nothing to worry about going forward with Jeongguk.

"Deal," you nod.

Part of you feels a little twinge of disappointment. One day into an established relationship and you're already downplaying what you are for the sake of an easy life - but it's not linear, cut-and-dry type of situation. Seeing his mum today is simply due to circumstances, not because you actually want to do the whole meeting the parents thing so soon.

In all honestly, Jeongguk's brought you here for the sake of a shag, and you definitely can't admit that .

"Nothing to worry about," he reminds you. Glances over his shoulder. Has parked on the street that runs along the side of his house. You're probably obscured from any window views, but it's still not worth the risk, he decides when he contemplates kissing you. Tells you so. "Not gonna kiss you, 'cause I dunno where she is, but I promise you'll be fine."

His insistence is sweet - and entirely correct, for when Jeongguk's mother rushes to the entryway, she's smiling so brightly she could blind.

"Oh, sweetheart!" She greets you, in that bright yellow motherly way that always makes you feel right at home. "He never said you were coming along, too! How are you? How was the drive?"

If looks could kill, Jeongguk wouldn't be dead, but he might just wish he was. "You didn't tell your mum I was coming?!"

"He doesn't even tell me when he's coming over, most of the time," she interjects, as if she didn't deliberately drop him in hot water just for her own amusement. "Just shows up expecting to be doted on."

"Okay, firstly, I never expect to be doted on-"

"He does," she insists. "He's a real princess when he wants to be."

"-And secondly, I was in a rush this morning. Was a last minute thing."

The proximity of your city to Busan - about an hours drive away - makes it an easy enough trip for Jeongguk to not have to plan ahead.

If he had moved to Seoul like he'd half considered a few years ago, it would have made it far more difficult - but he likes the ease of a life like this. Is quite content away from the hustle and bustle of the capital city, and the clientele it attracts.

Recently, things have felt breezy. Nothing is too much trouble.

Sure, some things don't go to plan, and yes maybe some aspects are going a little less than grand, but for the most part, his days feel like the calm oceans of Busan, even when he's miles away.

If his life was busy and hectic in the way that he's sure Seoul is, he'd get homesick far too often.

Truth be told, he thinks he'd be alright in the big city if you were there with him. Could find home anywhere he could hold your hand. Has known it since the last time he visited Busan. Doesn't matter where he is in the world. Home is a feeling, and it feels like you.

"Suppose it makes sense," his mother dismisses his comments as she ushers you further into the family home. You're carrying one of the bags with the wooden trophies inside, so Jeongguk reaches over to take them from you. Wants you at as much ease as possible. "I hear you two are basically joined at the hip, these days."

Your cheeks flame.

Jeongguk scoffs. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Where'd you think?" She smiles, the glint in her eyes just like Jeongguk's whenever he's being cheeky. "A little birdie told me."

"I'm gonna kill him."

Jeongguk's mother gasps. Looks at her son with perplexed horror - then smiles, because she really is the person Jeongguk gets his dramatic flair from.

"You're gonna do no such thing, Jeongguk," she assures him. "A murder conviction would bring shame on the family - and Jimin's mother has promised to give me her recipe for Castellas next time I see her, and I don't imagine she'll see that one through if you murder her youngest."

"She'd thank me," Jeongguk insists. "Plus, he's a little shit-stirrer. A self-inflicted murder."

"Watch your language, young man," his mother playfully scolds, knowing it'll fall on deaf ears. "Don't show off just because we've got company."

Credit where it's due, she knows exactly what buttons to press.

"I'm not showing off!"

"Boys," she says to you, with a kind smile and a roll of her eyes. "So precious."

It's so easy to tell she's the mother of only boys. Had to lean into being a wind-up merchant in order to not let the house be overrun with masculine energy. Anyone who meets Jeongguk would be able to tell he was raised with love. His softness and his humour both come from his mother, his logic and his love for good food from his father. He's the best of them both.

This outward kindness from Jeongguk's parents is what makes it so easy for Jimin to just pop by whenever he's in the area. Visits home far more frequently than Jeongguk does, and often will say hello, or pick some food up to take back to Jeongguk. Will stay for a gossip 'cause he just can't help himself. Neglected to tell Jeongguk how he choked on his drink when his mother mentioned his 'dating history' with you.

He very quickly set her straight - minus the whole shagging you twice thing - and made sure to let her know that you're a pair of idiots.

And so while his mother might not know for sure that you're dating, she's also not stupid.

She won't mention it specifically - but she will ask questions that teeter along the precipice.

In the kitchen, a bunch of fresh wildflowers are laid upon the kitchen counter, a pair of scissors and a vase beside them. Very recently back from running errands, his mother thinks a home without flowers cannot be classed as a home at all. Buys them herself, because she likes them. Doesn't wait on Jeongguk's father to bring them home.

Which almost makes it even sweeter when he arrives home from the driving range shortly after you and Jeongguk have made yourselves comfortable on the island barstools, newspaper in one hand, pink roses in the other.

It's a small bunch, just picked up from the grocers when he was fetching the paper, but it doesn't matter.

"For you," he smiles, pleased to have witnesses as he presents the flowers to his wife, then turns to face you both. Has a very similar mischievous grin to the one Jeongguk's mother often sports, and you both know he's about to wind Jeongguk up. "Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn."

As his mother takes the flowers, she's all smiles. They're far less impressive than the bunch she'd just been arranging herself, but they complement hers perfectly. She's a firm believer in the notion that it's the thought that counts. Appreciates her husband's gesture.

"Oh my God," Jeongguk whines again - and it makes you laugh how much of a petulant teenager he becomes whenever he's with his parents. "I don't need to 'learn' anything ."

Jeongguk's dad finds this quite hard to believe. Also has a lot less tact than Jeongguk's mother. Turns to you and asks, "When did he last get you flowers?"

It's at this point that both you and Jeongguk look at one another in a mutual state of mild panic. It's not technically admitting anything if you say last week, but it also confirms that he does buy you flowers - and that's not very friendly. Not in the slightest.

And, like, the flowers were props more than anything.

Props... for a date. That he arranged. And ended with you on your knees in Yoongi's spare bedroom.

You wonder Jeongguk is thinking about it, too.

The way he shuffles in his seat would suggest so.

"Oh, don't tell me he's never bought you flowers?!" His mother gasps in horror. Thought she'd raised him better. "I swear, you try and give them morals-"

Both of you frantically try to cover your panic, but only panic even more.

"No, he has!"

"Fuck off, I have!"

The way you talk over each other is terribly awkward, and embarrasing, and ever so cute .

"Language!" His mother reprimands Jeongguk, and then smiles, smug in her assumptions. "So you have bought her flowers."

"Oh my god."

"Young love," his father teases you both, but you know it's directed mainly towards Jeongguk. You're pretty sure he'll just whinge again - but he doesn't.

Instead, he rolls his eyes. Knows that the only way to end this conversation is to divert it. Mumbles, "You guys are lucky I didn't run away as a teenager."

Seeing the dynamic between Jeongguk and parents, you absolutely know that it never would have been an option. While you're sure they must have annoyed the absolute daylights out of one another, and that he probably did threaten to pack a bag on more than one occasion, their willingness to embarrass him is just a testament to how well they know him.

Of all the people you've ever dated, you've never seen a family dynamic as lovely as theirs. Gets you thinking that it's the kind of dynamic you'd like for your own family, one day.

"If you'd have ever left, you'd have been back in a couple of days to get your laundry washed," his mother assures him, as his father tosses down the newspaper onto the counter.

There's little care given to the fact you and Jeongguk are present as his father reaches for his mother's hands. He sets her hands into a position for dancing, and gently moves her to sway along to whatever song is playing on the radio. She lets him, no objection.

He embarks them on a slow little waltz, round in circles, nothing special - and yet the fact they're doing it at all is incredibly special, you think.

"Would not," Jeongguk protests, utterly unphased by his parents. The scene in front of him is entirely normal, to him. Grew up with affection. Is why it comes so easily to him. "I'll have you know I put on a washload before I left this morning."

"Is that true, sweetheart?" his mother asks as she turns to face you, still letting Jeongguk's dad lead the dance.

"It is," you say - because if there's one thing Jeongguk is good at, it's doing his own laundry. You've only ever known his room to be a mess during his exam period, or in the mornings after you've been there. "Separated his lights from his darks and everything."

"Thank you," Jeongguk beams, pleased that you noticed, and smug in proving his mother wrong.

She knows out of her two sons, Jeongguk was always going to be the domestic angel - his brother is simply too messy. Chalk and cheese, it's a miracle they were raised by the same parents.

"We can't stay for too long," Jeongguk tells his parents. "Gotta get back home-"

"Oh, you can stay for a little bit," his mother interrupts. "There's always room for you to stay, if needs be."

Jeongguk shakes his head. "We've both got work tomorrow. Can't be too late."

This seems to appease his mother, but she does insist that you stay for something to eat. It's an easy compromise, or at least one that Jeongguk puts no fight up against. Checks that it's alright with you and of course it is.

His parents manage to simultaneously treat you like they've known you for years, and yet make sure to ask all sorts of questions about your life, and how you fit into Jeongguk's.

Both his mother and his father are absolute chatterboxes, and it makes you realise why Jeongguk can be quiet at times. He's a listener. Knows the perfect place to interject.

Time slips by. With good chatter, and good spirits, there really wasn't anything to be worried about. Jeongguk always knew this.

"Sorry," Jeongguk offers as you finally retire to his car after half a dozen goodbyes. "I really did think we'd be in and out."

Shaking your head, you smile. "It's fine. It's actually really lovely seeing how well you get along with your parents."

He shrugs, opening up your door for you. His parents are watching from the door, and he can hear them cooing. Has half a mind to tell them to fuck off again. Instead, he rolls his eyes, and does his best to ignore them.

"They're annoying," he laughs, but gives them a wave before he walks around the car to get in the driver's side. Turns to look at you, key in the ignition. "So what now?"

Shrugging, you connect your phone to his speakers. Switch the playlist over. Jeongguk knows exactly which one it's on. Thinks it's a miracle he's been able to avoid thinking indecently for the last hour or so. Is utterly consumed by it now he's in the confines of his car with you.

"Drive?"

Biting down on his bottom lip, he nods.

"Home?"

You reciprocate the way he's looking at you, all starry for his eyes only.

"Home."

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