#like i'm taking a gap year before my Master's

[grinleysspa]

i am once again thinking about how much i love living in canada while also dreading having to deal with actually complicated immigration shit after i graduate :(

[alxclaremont]

i may, or may not, have fucked up

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.  

thank you for reading!! x

[juletheghoul]

distraction

a/n: I'm as shocked as you probably are with posting a full chapter today, along with a pretty extensive ask on Friday but here we are. I don't know why this character has inspired such devotion and creativity in me but I am not going to question it. This might be the most toxic chapter yet lol and If you aren't into it. no hard feelings! This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for being a light in a pretty rough week, and for listening to all of my rants and tangents. Love you girlie! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, gladiatorial violence, exhibitionism, Marcus being a possessive, jealous mess, creampie, heavily leaning into the ownership aspect of their 'relationship', master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.7k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

The sun rose, much like it did on every other day, and you rose with it. 

With a yawn and a stretch you dressed, cursing at the way your tunic tattered at the seams. You’d have to mend it later, you made a mental note to remember as you rushed to start on your chores for the day. 

You found him splashing water from the jug and basin in his room, and moved quickly and quietly to help him dress for the day ahead. Silently he moved throughout the room, letting you adjust his clothes so they looked their best, he let you push his hair into place and to take the basin to be emptied while he made his way to his study. The sun was still high in the sky when the messenger came for him, bringing him the invitation from the Emperor himself to oversee the gladiatorial games in honour of his victory. His brow furrowed at the news, he would be in the pulvinus with the Emperor along with other Romans of proper birth. 

He didn’t take the news well, to him it was a folly. He had absolutely no wish to be celebrated, as far as he was concerned, his march into the city had been more than enough but he could not deny the invitation. So with a clench in his jaw and a number of frustrated sighs, he accepted, and set about making the preparations. 

The day of the games came and as his constant shadow, you followed to see to his needs and to pour for him. It was difficult to keep the excitement in check, every so often you’d glance down to your new tunic, bright white with details of gold to match your Dominus. Despite your many years of service, none of the people you’d served before had ever brought you to the arena, let alone in the presence of the Emperor, or in such a high seat as the pulvinus. Your march through the city towards the Colosseum was filled with cheers and the screams of people clamoring to see the General of the Roman army up close. 

He did his duty, waved and smiled for their benefit despite his great discomfort, and you did your duty as well–kept your head down, and your attention on him. 

The pulvinus was blessedly covered by rich fabrics, shielding the esteemed guests and slaves alike from the unforgiving rays of the sun. With his cup full, and his attention with the Emperor, you used the moment of reprieve to take in the sights. The opening games had come and gone and now the main event was to start. The gladiators filed out and took their place, awaiting the words that would set them on their path of violence. 

They were a mixed batch of fighters, all of them fearsome in their own way. There was a small, stocky one, his face was all anger and his arms were covered in scars. There was one that towered over them all, his arms and legs long enough to keep anyone from getting too close. There were twins, both of them smiling for the crowd, clearly favoured from the cheers they inspired. There was another, and he was the one that drew your eye. His hair was black as coal with eyes to match and although on the leaner side, the strength in his limbs was obvious. His sword hand flexed at the hilt and you watched him twirl the weapon, test its weight before he looked up to the pulvinus, in truth he reminded you of your Dominus; twenty years younger. 

He smiled up in your direction and your stomach twisted, for a moment you imagined your Dominus down in the sand, fighting for the crowd and it thrilled you. You imagined meeting him as a younger man, what he might have been like, what might he think of you?

“Girl.” His voice cut through your musing, his cup outstretched and you stumbled for only a heartbeat, imperceptible to anyone but him. His eyes tracked what had distracted you, and found the young Gladiator smiling still, and said nothing. His mood soured though and at once you chastised yourself for letting the arena distract you.  

Marcus introduced the main games, the Primus, and he did so without flair, without embellishment but it mattered not, the people screamed and the men before you fought for their lives against a myriad of challengers. You kept your eye on your Dominus, on his cup but the young gladiator –Varus– kept drawing your attention, he looked so like your General that you idly wondered if he could be his son, could he have fathered him during his younger years? It was known to happen, did he see the resemblance? Did anyone?

Varus is relentless, and despite making sure your Dominus’ needs are met your eyes track him, enraptured. It is difficult to be sure who it is he smiles at when he glances up in your direction, it is most likely the high-born Roman women. His skill is undeniable, and again your thoughts drift to a younger, wilder Marcus, would your general have given you those smiles so brazenly at that age?

“He does like to put on a show does he not?” One of the high born ladies remarks and you cannot help but watch as Varus laughs, cutting down those who challenge him with ease, even as some of his brothers fall. “Look how he smiles, he is of a form today.” They giggle between themselves as he points his sword in tribute towards them, or you, or the Emperor, it is hard to tell. 

“He definitely draws the eye.” Marcus speaks, agreeing with them, but you hear his displeasure and when you meet his eyes they are already focused on you. Your stomach drops at the look of displeasure on his face, your momentary lapse had not been taken lightly. Heat and embarrassment fill you to the brim and from then on your eyes find themselves downcast. “More wine, girl.” His tone is colder than you’ve ever heard it, enough to set your nerves alight. 

“Yes Dominus.” Your tone, in turn, is demure and humble and you pray to the Gods that you get through the games without embarrassing him further.

Varus and the twins stand victorious, and the crowd loves them for it, enough to shake the ground with their cheers but you keep your head down. With your error, you expected Marcus to excuse himself and make his way home once the games were over but it wasn’t to be. The Emperor had arranged for his guests to exchange words with the victors, and so down into the sand you went, following where your Dominus went on shaky legs. 

Up close, Varus was taller than your General, but not by much. He was strong, and lean, and covered in blood and gore, it did nothing to take away from his allure. It didn’t seem to bother him, if anything, it only made him more appealing. The resemblance was there, not as close as you’d imagined but there was something there, in the profile, in the gaze, he was a handsome man, but no one held a candle to Marcus in your eyes. 

The Emperor bestowed words of congratulations, and they bowed dutifully. Varus smiled, boldly, unbothered by the ire of your Dominus, his eyes wandered and when they found you they raked over your form unabashedly. He drank in the sight of your thighs through the slit in your tunic, in the curve of your neck and although you had no real interest in this man, you couldn’t help but fidget. 

Your Dominus clenched his jaw, but offered his good will all the same, albeit in a curt manner and once the pleasantries were exchanged, you were blessedly away from the arena, and off towards the villa once more. He’s eerily quiet on the trek back home, even for him and although he’s usually quite forgiving despite his gruff exterior, you pray to the Gods that you haven’t offended him past the point of return. His horse whinnies underneath him while you and his personal guard follow behind, and all at once he is off his horse and handing off the reins. 

“Come girl, I have business here.” He barely looks at you, but you rush to follow where he leads, down a quiet street away from the chaos of the day. You have to take two steps for every one of his in order to stay close. You take it as a good sign, that he calls on you to attend to him after the business in the pulvinus, and you steel yourself to serve to the best of your ability in whatever possible way he may need. He winds through different alleys and it takes a moment for you to wonder idly just where exactly he needs to go before you find yourself pressed up against the wall. 

“Have you grown tired of your Dominus?” His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you up against the wall. Not tight enough to cut off your breath, but tight enough to make you stand on the tips of your toes. His eyes were cold as frost, but there was passion laced through his words as well as rage. 

“No Dominus��”

“Do. Not. Lie.” His grip tightened for only a second, “Do you think me blind, girl? I saw the way you watched Varus.” The gladiator's name was a curse and for a moment you frowned at him, was this jealousy?

“Dominus, I could never, I was merely distracted–” You brought your hands up, trying vainly to soothe him with gentle touch but the anger burned hot within him, and he stepped closer, kicking your legs apart to press his knee between them. 

“Yes, distracted by him, he caught your eye. Do you desire him?” You felt your heart racing, thumping against his palm at your throat, “Tell me girl, have you forgotten that you belong to me? Do you wish to belong to another?”

“No Dominus! Only you, I–I could not help but notice Varus–” His jaw clenched at the sound of the other man's name upon your tongue. “Because, because he resembled you, Dominus.”

His anger faltered for a moment, but the frown remained, and so you continued. 

“He looked so like you Dominus, and I couldn’t help but imagine you at that age, fighting and smiling at me. I do not desire anyone else, I do not wish to belong to anyone else.” You brought your hands up, tentatively placing one upon his at your throat, and the other on his chest. 

“Did that excite you? Do you wish me to be younger?” There was a vulnerability in his eyes then, obscured by anger but shining through all the same and had he been anyone else, you might have laughed at the absurdity of his complex. 

“It only excited me, to imagine you smiling at me, fighting for me Dominus. I do not wish you to be any other way.” Your hands moved in tandem, one stroking at his arm softly, the other sliding down his chest, towards where his passion grew and pressed against your hip. “Look into my eyes and see the truth in my words, I belong to you, mind, body and soul, only you.” His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

“Can you not see how much I desire you? How my heart beats only to the tune of your pleasure?” He isn’t unaffected by your words, you see him drink them down like a fine wine, and he sighs heavily at the feel of your palm on his manhood. “Take me, here and now Dominus, my want for you drips onto my thighs.” 

His eyes close and a heavy breath escapes his lips and you see your chance, you see the tiny fracture in his armor. “May I have your mouth Dominus?” You pulled him closer, while guiding his free hand to the Elysian fields between your legs. His fingers slipped under your coverings and found you wet and wanting and all at once his violence is coloured with passion instead of anger. 

“You will never belong to another, do you understand me girl?” Frantically he pulls at your tunic, moving it up, and pulling the neck down to bare your breasts to him, uncaring of the people who happen by. 

“You are mine, all of you, is mine.” His mouth pressed to yours roughly, stealing the breath out of your lungs. Your hands fumbled at his robes, joining in his madness and releasing his cock. He doesn’t let you touch it however, instead he turns you around and pulls your hips out. You hear him spit into his hand before lining himself up at the mouth of your sex, barely giving you a moment before burying himself to the hilt. 

You can’t help but moan and hold onto his arms, the grit of the wall pressed up against your face. His hand wrapped around your throat once more, holding you still while his hips drove forward, filling you over and over without respite, his other hand found your breast and held it tight, fanning the flames of your arousal for him. 

“This cunt—“ his mouth pressed against your ear, breathing harshly with the force of his exertion, “is mine, mine alone.” The moan clawed its way out from your throat, that he would be this affected by a simple glance should have scared you, but it didn’t. It only made your arousal flow like seawater.

Your cunt was the altar of his devotion, and his prayers were violent.

“Yes Dominus, yours alone.” You pushed back, turning your face as best you could to look him in the eye and his expression pulled another sound from your throat. He was enraptured, eyes blown black and mouth slack as his hips drilled, bouncing against the plump flesh of your backside. “I want to look at you Dominus, I want your mouth–” He groaned, pulling out quickly to turn you back around and within a breath he had one of your legs wrapped around his hip, his hand holding it at the knee, and his cock buried deep. His other hand held you firm by the throat. 

“Tell me girl, tell me you’re mine, only mine.” There was a desperation in his voice that pulled at something within you, something tender despite his brusque movements. 

“I’m yours Dominus, I belong to you–” You threaded your fingers into his hair and yanked him close to you, your grip tight and he moaned, unabashedly, “I only ever want to be yours.”

His eyes close before his lips have found yours, and you feel the way his pace stutters, he is close and all at once you need to feel him spill inside, his need to stake his claim burning you up like a fever. You move one hand down to your sex, to the swollen bundle of nerves begging for attention, and with the other, you hold his hand to your throat. 

“Please Dominus, please fill me with your gift.” You moan the words out, and smile at the way he grinds himself deep with a low groan. The coil in your belly snaps as you feel him spill inside, and your flutters make him hiss, his mouth surging forward to claim yours hard enough to hurt but it matters not. Your heart and cunt are full with him just as it should be. 

His breath comes in pants as he removes his hand from your neck, and your breath hitches when he brushes his lips against your skin in silent apology. You know the moment will pass, and that soon, his mood will change and this interlude will end, as all interludes must but you seize the moment anyway, and pull his face up to meet his eyes. 

“I speak truth Dominus, my heart fills with joy to be yours.” Softly, you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him close, for a moment you are worried that as his blood cools, so does his passion for you but he proves you wrong, and lets you kiss him. More than that, he keeps kissing you as he set your robes to right with gentle hands before pulling out with a hiss. He does not respond, there is no need to, his eyes speak for him. 

Within a few heartbeats, the look is gone and his usual mask is back in place. 

“Come girl, let us away.”

“Yes Dominus.” 

—

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[star-anise]

are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

[risuola]

Gojo x reader who's a student and she's 18y/o and he likes yn but yn doesn't or she doesn't wanna admit

SENSEI — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Gojo Satoru is your sensei and everyone seem to notice that he likes you more than anyone else. Everyone but you.

cw: student x teacher, age gap (reader is 18, Satoru is 28), very brief description of fighting, public kissing — 1,4k words

a/n: thank you for the suggestion! I made if sfw but I made the ending open for part two maybe? I hope you enjoy it 🩶

» PART TWO [nsfw]

"Idiot," you grunted, your cheek was pressed against the grass as Gojo forced his knee into your back, holding both your hands in one of his own, the other keeping your head down. Another day, another training session with your teacher – you couldn't count how many of these you've already been through, but you can easily count how many sparring matches you've won. None.

"That's a strange way to ask for mercy, sweetheart, but okay," he hummed. You can tell he was grinning just by the sound of his melodic tone and you snapped at him, "I'm not asking for mercy, sensei."

"Ay, ay, so stubborn," Satoru chuckled and lifted up so you could do the same and as you stood on your feet, facing him, his hand caressed your cheekbone, successfully freezing you on the spot. The touch was so gentle that if you didn't know better, your knees would probably buckle from the sensation. But this was Gojo. The flirtiest of flirts, and the man you deeply disliked. It's not that you despised him, no, it's just the way he carries himself, the way he treated everyone around him, and most importantly, the way he treated you.

When you moved to Tokyo, joining Jujutsu High, you were barely fifteen, a first-year student that Satoru recruited himself by finding you on the streets of your small town and saving you from the mental facility that you already had one foot in, voluntarily. Before that, you tried to live your life as normally as one could, ignoring everything you saw around you because no one else seemed to see it. The curses, which you did not know were curses at the time, made you doubt your sanity for the longest time.

After moving, everything became easier – you met people who were just like you, you learned how to fight and mastered the cursed techniques in no time. Now, you just recently turned eighteen, you were pushing your last year of education, though there wasn't much more to learn, so you focused on helping younger students and if you were to be honest, this practice had taught you more than any theory could. You had the luck, or misfortune, to be Gojo's first official student – he took care of you himself, helping you to refine your control over the cursed energy and thanks to his guidance, you quickly discovered and mastered your own cursed technique, and since there wasn't much anyone could teach you at this point, you trained hand-to-hand with Satoru.

"Think you have more in you?", he asked, his thumb still brushing across your cheekbone and you took a step back. "I'm always ready to kick your ass," you bit, your eyes narrowing as you clenched your fists.

"That's my girl," Gojo grinned and you snorted at the sight. He's always so careless, never taking any of your attacks seriously, bragging about how untouchable he is, turning your wildest dreams into fantasies about erasing that infuriating smile from his face. And he was taking your fists like they're nothing, blocking and pushing them away like he's chasing a fly away when you tried to land a punch, with no luck at all. "Come on, I'm sure you can hit me at least once," he mocked, moving effortlessly, as if he could see what action your body will take before you even think about it.

"Shut up," you groaned, trying and trying, before he kicked you in the stomach, pushing you against the tree and you had no time to react before he was pressing you back with his own body. The sudden closeness made you gasp and act impulsively, but Gojo blocked the knee that buckled up, aiming for his crotch. "Nuh-uh, that's against the rules," he chuckled and you felt his breath against your lips.

"And you being on me is not?" you argued, but he was unfazed. "Who made these rules?"

"I did," of course he did. "It's only fair that the strongest make the rules."

"You and your damn bragging-"

"I'm stating facts," he cut in, and you rolled your eyes, "and you can't seem to be able to prove me wrong. Not even one of your eager punches lands."

That was the last straw – you inhaled to calm your anger, and you could physically feel your composure snapping as you looked at his smiling face. You were desperate to prove him wrong, not to defeat him, no, you're not that insane, but to just prove him that he's not as untouchable as he says. And then you recalled every teasing joke you heard from your younger colleagues – all of them seemed to come to the collective conclusion that the 'special treatment' you got from your sensei was surely an effect of his feelings towards you, and you brushed off the idea every single time. Gojo Satoru is handsome, annoyingly so, and his eyes are an absolute blessing to gaze into (when you're not his opponent in a deadly encounter, that is), and he's a kind, friendly man, very caring and protective of his students. His strengths make him invincible; he can win any fight with no effort, and everything he does, he does perfectly. He often brings you sweets, remembering your favorite flavors, and he always addresses you with a slightly warmer tone than when he speaks to any other student. He's also ten years your senior, your teacher, and he's way out of your league, so you simply chose to dislike him because allowing yourself to believe in such an absurd theory that he could fall for you would only bring disappointment.

But now, you were desperate to slam your fist into his face, to draw blood from his nose, to make him lose his balance, to get something– anything more than a swift, effortless dodge from him. Without thinking, you moved your head forward, reaching up, and he hummed in surprise when your lips landed on his. You could feel he smiled while taking control over the kiss, and you fought for dominance just a little before grabbing a handful of his snow-white, messy hair. You felt his well-built body pressing harder against yours, much smaller; the wall of muscle flush to your chest, and his large hand landed on the side of your neck, fingers curling around the back, pulling you more into the kiss. For a moment you were lost in the sensation – it felt so wrong and yet so right, and your mind became cloudy; his lips were soft and plush and perfect against yours, as if they'd been carved precisely to match yours, and it made your temperature rise to feverish levels at how skillfully he guided the sensitivity. Nothing you've ever felt compared to the feeling of Gojo's lips slowly dancing on yours, as if he's starving and now, he was allowed to devour the long-awaited meal – but he devoured it slowly, savoring the taste to remember every second of it. You whimpered as you felt his hand sliding down the length of your spine, sending shivers along it as your back arched beneath the touch.

You tugged at his hair, causing a contented purr to rumble within his toned chest, and you moved against your body's desires. You'd like to stay like this forever, careless about how everyone can see you publicly making out with your sensei; you'd like to kiss him longer, deeper, to take more of him, to make him yours, even if only for a moment, but instead you moved your hand. Curling it into a fist, you bit onto his lower lip following it up with a harsh, heavy punch to the side of his face and it landed perfectly, the contact between your knuckles and his cheek undeniable as he touched the bone. Despite the force you put into it, the blow wasn't strong enough to make him fall or even step back, but it was satisfactory for you. His face was colored with surprise as he looked down at you, and you couldn't help but grin broadly.

"New rule," he said, grabbing your hand and planting a kiss on the reddened knuckles that just made contact with his face. "No kissing your teacher during spar sessions."

"Too bad I wasn't familiarized with the rules before the fight, sensei," you shrugged, pleased with your accomplishment, and he couldn't get over the way you made the word 'sensei' sound. Suddenly he wished to hear it somewhere else, somewhere other than the school's training grounds or classrooms.

"Now I declare the end of the training."

And Satoru's lips were once again pressed to yours, taking your breath away.

» PART TWO

[yoursweetwife]

Synopsis: chess game didn't end the way Ratio wanted it to, but he's definitely not complaining.

Warning: kisses, fluff, a little shy reader, self-confident Ratio, female reader

"Do you want a rematch?"

Ratio looked up from his book and looked at you calmly, as if he was ready for this question. You were standing right in front of his desk, your face inches from his. Sometimes you forgot about your personal space (although who is he to talk about it?).

"That's right, this time I'm going to defeat you!"

You spoke excitedly and started giggling. Ratio couldn't deny that it was a pretty sight, but he needed to keep himself in check, thanks to his excellent self-control.

"So," a loud bang echoed through the huge office and the book ended up on the table. "I see mistakes don't teach you anything."

Ratio grinned and waved his hand. A chessboard appeared not far from the table.

"The rates are the same as before. Any wish of the winner."

You looked defiantly at the man in front of you. You may not be as good at chess as Ratio, but days and nights of training should do the trick. You've managed to take his strongest pieces before, so there's a chance that you'll win today, right?

"Mistakes help us achieve perfection, even you weren't always a chess master.

You said, sitting down on the chair in front of Veritas.

"Over the years of my life, I have honed my playing skills to perfection," he put one foot on the other, not breaking eye contact. "it's going to take a lot more than a few months of amateur play."

Did he just call your game amateur? Did he even know how much time you spent training? You smiled irritably, trying to remain calm, although, judging by Ratio’s teasing look, he saw your emotions perfectly.

"I'm starting."

Your hand moved towards the pawn. Veritas has been watching you closely.

"Yes, it's better that way."

It is unknown how long this game lasted. The students and almost all the teachers went home, but you two didn't care.

A drop of sweat trickled down Ratio's forehead, his hand lingered over one pawn, then another. He couldn't help but see your progress, that's what he likes about you, your tenacity and desire.

For the first time, he felt such a huge adrenaline rush from just playing with someone. He glanced at your tense face. Your gaze never left his hands, waiting for the long-awaited move.

After Ratio's move, you saw the gap he left for the King. Without giving your opponent time to think, you "ate" the King.

"Checkmate, Veritas."

Ratio's gaze did not leave the King's figure. His wide-open eyes expressed shock and bewilderment at defeat. Did you really just beat him?

"It can't be..."

You didn't pay attention to the man's confusion and continued to celebrate your little victory. Finally, you will be able to carry out your little plan.In an instant, the chessboard disappeared. You looked at Ration in disbelief. Veritas turned away, as if considering something.

"Veritas?"

You gently called his name, an action that is only allowed to you.There was a slight blush on his cheeks after you called him by his first name.

"Defeat is defeat, you can ask for anything you want."

You instantly perked up and smiled shyly. Your body ended up in front of a seated Ratio, who was intrigued by your strange behavior.

Your eyes met.

"Kiss me."

Ratio looked at you like you were an idiot.

"Kiss you?"

"Why are you asking again!"

Your face has turned incredibly red from embarrassment. You were sure you were ready for this!

"Idiot, how can you ask such a thing."

He closed his eyes, trying to put his thoughts in order. No matter how absurd it may sound, but Ratio had the idea of kissing you for a long time, but he did not know that today he would have to face his worst fear face to face.

"Compared to what you told me to do, a kiss is just a flower."

Veritas's heart was beating against his chest with great speed. He wanted to listen to his rational side, which says to stop it, but the soul wants to continue. This may be the only chance to get closer to you than standing next to you.He sighed and looked at you seriously.

"So be it, I will fulfill your wish."

A soft sigh escaped your lips when Ratio abruptly pulled you in. He really decided to kiss you! Your lips met each other. The feel of his soft lips on yours made you relax and put your arms around his neck. To your surprise, Veritas's arms wrapped around your waist, gently stroking it with his big hands. You behaved almost like a couple...

Veritas moved your face away from his. The scientist couldn't see himself, but he could tell with certainty that his face was a mess, just like yours. The sunset outside the window, heavy breathing, heartbeat in time and your red faces created an atmosphere of romance in which you wanted to stay. Just like your lips, painted with strawberry balm.

You smiled sheepishly because of the intense attention of the golden eyes. Still trying to put your thoughts in order, you moved away from Ratio (you couldn't help but notice how his hands were trying to hold you back). You weren't an expert in romance, but there's no denying that there's something between you and him.

"Ah, a simple kiss on the cheek would be enough..."

Ratio snorted and stared at you.

"Be glad you got it. If all your next wishes are the same, then I won't let you win anymore."

Lie.

You both understood that.A smile spread across your face.

"Then I'm waiting for the next game."

With that, you left the office, slamming the door. Ratio did not scold you because of the loud sound, left to himself, instead he continued to stare at one point and reflect on this situation.

Veritas could tell for sure that from now on, your relationship will be different. Not that he was against it.

[luveline]

Hi babe! Not sure how you feel about writing ab parents so feel free to ignore, but had an idea for kbd au if Steve’s parents tried to contact him/get into their lives and he’s all like stay away from my kids

kisses before dinner —steve has a tense relationship with his parents. mom!reader, 1.5k

The girls haven't seen their grandparents for… a while. 

Steve's dad always has something to say about his life. How he's thrown everything away being a stay at home dad, or how idiotic it was to stay with you. The latter was enough for Steve to want to cut contact initially, but you convinced him not to do it on your behalf. 

Steve, pretty much everyone we knew thought I was baby trapping you, you'd said. 

Well, he'd said, attempting to lighten the mood, little do they know I baby trapped you. 

Damn. Wanna do it again?

So it was funny. His parents didn't like you but they hardly liked him, he didn't mind —he was so fucking angry because who the fuck did they think they were, how could they look at you and not love you, you, in what world was it possible?— and he put up with their passive aggressive Christmas cards and their sparing visits, but then his mom took it too far. 

He can remember it word for word. “Beth, honey,” his mom had said, her nose stuck in its permanent wrinkle, “why are you eating it like that? What do your friends at school think?” 

“Mom, don't,” Steve had butt in. Beth didn't even go to school at that point. 

“She's such a weird kid,” she said, shaking her head. 

Some could argue it was fond or that she didn't mean anything by it, Bethie is very unique sometimes, but Beth turned her face to her dad with crestfallen eyes, as heartbroken as Steve had ever seen her before, and asked, “I'm weird?” 

Steve doesn't remember the last time he spoke to his mom. A year ago at least. 

He does miss her. But he doesn't really know her, never has, and he'd choose Beth over her without a thought. It would take a hundredth of a millisecond to decide. 

That's why seeing her is a shock. He's going to see her, they live in the same town —you bumped into her a few weeks ago and had to give her the rundown. Everyone's okay. Yeah, we had another baby, she's doing great. 

Steve had blown up at her. The girls had never seen him that angry in their lives and they haven't seen it since, and the gap is impassable. 

Or so he thinks. 

“Steve!” He tenses up. “Steve, honey!” 

He can't decide what to do. He can't exactly run away; Bethie and Dove sit knee to knee in the shopping cart, Avery has her hand in his pocket, and Wren is strapped to his chest. Running would leave at least one girl behind, and where would he go? The frozen food aisle?

“Oh, it's grandma,” Avery says. “She looks… old.” 

“She is old,” he says, turning reluctantly on the spot to watch his mother rush past a stack of cans of carrots. “She's ancient.” 

“Steve, baby.” His mom stops in front of him, more flustered than he knew she could get back, struggling to maintain a sense of casualness. “How are you? Girls? It's been so long.” 

Steve doesn't have an inkling of an idea of what to say. He's not mad anymore, but he knows she'll never change, and he knows that your family is a hundred times happier without worrying what grandma and grandpa think of you. “We're perfect,” he says. 

“And this is baby Wren?” 

Steve grimaces. “Yeah, this is Wren.” 

She's only three months old but she has a good weight to her, and she's brilliantly healthy. She blinks at the woman in front of her without recognition, her dark lashes a thick hedging. She's a beautiful baby. 

“She looks like you again, Steve.” 

“Yeah, my girl's good at having babies, but she hasn't mastered the mixing process,” he jokes without thinking. Love for you falls off the tongue. 

His mother has the sense to make herself laugh. “Where is Y/N?” she asks. 

“Mom went back to get milk!” Avery says. 

“Yeah? And how are you, sweetie?” 

Steve clears his throat. He understands what she's trying to do, but he remembers Beth's crushed face and he can't abide this shit again. I believed you when you said I wasn't good enough, he'd said, he'd shouted, his voice hoarse with it as you’d wrapped a hand around his wrist arm, but I will not let you do it to them. It's not happening, mom, I won't let it. You don’t get to say that to her.

“Steven…” 

“Mom, we have to get going.” 

“I said I was sorry,” she says. 

“But you weren't.”

“Steve–” She doesn't look a thing like her son beside the similar way they begin to cry, that frown, “Please, I know I'm not perfect, we don't have to pretend I've– I'll hold my tongue. I just want to see my grandkids. I've never even held her.” 

Steve covers the back of Wren's head with his hand, her baby hair soft as down. The girls are being remarkably quiet, beside Dove, who's whispering, “Who is that?” to Bethie in her clumsy toddler drawl. 

“That's gran'ma,” she whispers back. 

Steve's mom is, at the end of the day, their grandma. And she sucks and she doesn't deserve anymore chances, and the girls are better off without her for the majority, but… 

Steve screws his eyes shut. Don't make me regret this, he thinks. 

“I just want to speak to them,” she says. 

“Alright,” he says quietly, covering Wren's ear. “Alright, mom, fine, but this is it. This is your chance. If you ever upset or insult one of my kids again, we're done. We will never, ever speak again. You won't see them, and you won't see me. I'm serious.” 

“I'm sorry,” she says again. 

“Fine.” He pulls the strap off of Wren's harness and shushes her gently as she protests, lifting her out of his arms into his mom's. She doesn't have time to decide if she's ready. This is how it's going to be. “Her head.” 

“I know how to hold a baby,” she says. 

You come around the aisle slowly, a little wince to your step, some residual tightness in your hips as you recover postpartum, but the frown you wear slips into surprise. “Terri?” 

You save Steve and take the reins, suffering a conversation on your pregnancy, birth, and Wren's first weeks of life as Steve takes a breath. His heart races, adrenaline and a sticky, icky feeling in his chest as he watches his mom. He doesn't know if he's doing the right thing. His arms ache to steal Wren back. 

It ends in an invitation for dinner. Whenever you're free, whatever you want, Steve's mom offers. 

He's glad to see the back of her. 

You put the milk carton in the cart and touch his elbow. “You okay?” He hums. Your hand moves up to his face, cupping his cheek. “She makes you so mad, babe. Do you need a second?” 

“I think I'm pissed because…” He glances down at Wren, who's happier now she's in familiar hands. “I didn't realise she was a shitty mom. I knew we didn't get along, the same with my dad, but I didn't know…” He sighs. 

“It's okay,” you say, giving him a gentle squeeze before Dove demands you pick her up. You do it unthinkingly, and that's why he's mad. 

“I know what a good mother looks like,” he says. “I know how hard it is. And I know she didn't even try.” 

You're all sympathy, looking like you wanna wrap him up in a cuddle in the middle of the grocery store. “You deserved better. It makes me angry too.” 

“Are we going to dinner?” Beth asks. 

“What, with grandma?” Avery asks. 

“Not right now,” Steve says. 

“Good,” Dove says decidedly, wrapping her arms around your neck to hug you, squishing your cheeks together. “Cocoa?” 

“Cocoa? You want hot cocoa?” you ask, pleased. 

It breaks his heart thinking about himself as a kid. He knows there weren't any moments like this, no soft touches or sweet treats that weren't begged for. You don't even think about saying no. 

“And marshmallows,” you croon, rubbing the little space between her shoulders. “And we'll have to get a cinnamon roll too, for your sister. How does that sound, Beth?” 

Beth doesn't like hot cocoa but she loves cinnamon rolls these days, and she nods her head exuberantly. As quick as that, the girls forget their grandma's interruption, and Steve tries his best to put it out of his mind. Family is messy, and it's harder now he has to make decisions for all of them, but he has you. His support beam, his sweetheart, you put Dove on your hip and sew your arm loosely through his. Tonight he'll talk your ear off about things you know already. You'll listen without complaint, stroking his hair back from his forehead if you have a free hand. His family growing up wasn't worth calling a family half the time, just three people connected by blood and a shared house, but the family he has today takes the cake. There's no competition. 

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 23. homewrecker

chapter tags/warnings: naoya has sex with toji’s older ex-wife. misogynistic! naoya. age gap. exhibitionism. creampies. masturbation. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. plain manipulation. corruption. 

word count: 3.8k

notes: a longer chapter, but i had became so enraptured in the writing process hence the quick turnaround! given the thanksgiving weekend in the united states, i want to thank all my readers for being so invested my story! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya Zenin had no qualms in calling himself the Master of the Universe.

He had everything he wanted in this world.

Money? Check. Power? Check. Fame? Also check.

Mind you, Naoya had to work hard to get into this position too. He didn’t just sit around on the couch all day waiting for opportunities to come flying his way. He had to be proactive. He had some tough decisions to make. Like how he had to choose between spending the weekend on a golf course or a ski resort. Or if he should pull up to the next board meeting with a Patek Phillipe or a Rolex. Nothing in his sad and poor life came easy when he only grew up as a spare heir, always living in the shadow of his once almighty cousin.

Which was why nothing could fuel his ego more than watching Toji's ex-wife ride his dick like this was some fucking rodeo.

"Naoya, baby," Mari whined, flushed as she ground down hard on his cock, her pussy squeezing him to the point his sight became spotted with stars. "I'm so close."

“Yeah?" Naoya managed to croak. His voice was hoarse; he longer recognized himself. He could only feel how his cock was splitting his mistress open, and with one long groan, he sank his face into her fat tits that were like clouds against his skin, his heavy balls slapping against her ass cheeks with each thrust up. "Gonna make a mess over my cock?”

She nodded confidently. “Mhm…We’re going to leave the sheets covered with cum.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Sighing, the woman leaned forward with her palm holding the headboard’s edge for dear life while the other groped her own breast to keep her bosom from moving wildly.

“Don’t stop,” she mewled.

But shit, Naoya knew he was going crazy at this fantastically sexy sight. With this goddess before him, his mind and body wanted to go all in. No holds barred. He wanted nothing but to stuff this celestial being full of his cum, making sure her cunt would be aching when she woke up. 

The Zenin CEO moaned at his lewd ideas, the mattress beneath them rocking back and forth from their combined forceful movements. Damn, he knew he should've booked a hotel room at the Ritz Carlton rather than at some InterContinental, where he knew (from experience) that the beds were sturdier and wouldn't be such an annoying mid-sex turnoff. 

"I'm cumming!" Mari shouted in the midst of Naoya's haze, and his mind placed a screeching halt in his thoughts to focus solely on how her walls now squeezed around his cock, contracting around him in waves. 

“Shit.”

She might be twenty years older, but goddamn, did she still have that grip.

Naoya’s climax didn’t take long to follow. The way his mistress's hot body crumpled against him as she wailed out his name repeatedly was simply too much, his own breaths dissolving into a strangled moan as his orgasm consumed him. “Holy fuck.”

In one white flash, Naoya's vision went blank. Hot semen shot from his tip in intense bursts as Naoya plunged himself completely into one of the tightest cunts he'd ever fucked. (And yes, he had enough girlfriends and one-night stands to make this conclusion. Don’t be silly to assume he didn't have experience.)

He panted hard, trying to catch his breath as Mari rolled over into the spot next to him, leaving their sweaty forms tangled in bed. As his heart slowed down from its marathon, he puffed his cheeks out and exhaled. 

Wow. 

He hadn’t gotten his dick twisted like that in a while, and to award the star of tonight’s show, he faced his lover and pressed a kiss against her forehead. 

“Drained my balls completely empty,” he hummed in sheer amazement, pulling the sheets to cover their naked bodies. If they hadn’t gone for four whole rounds already, he would have hauled her into another episode of intense thrusting and moaning, perhaps slamming into her by those windows for the entire Tokyo area to see.

Giggling, the older woman slipped off the bed. She trailed toward the vanity mirror to re-apply her lipstick for what must be the millionth occasion. Not that Naoya was complaining because he had a thing for women with that cherry red on, and every time Mari went smacking her painted lips together, Naoya would find a way to get all that off.

All Naoya could picture in his head was how much he wanted to watch her suck him off again and see her print lipstick stains on his dick, from the base to the tip.

Well, fuck. 

He’s getting hard again.

To distract himself, he tossed over to the side, propping an elbow on a pillow and resting his chin on his palm. This gave him the perfect angle to watch his hot girlfriend while hiding the boner between his legs. A genius move.

Then, he thought aloud, “I don’t know what I would have done without those nudes that you’ve been sending me over these past several weeks.”

She purred, flattered. “Liked them?”

Naoya had to correct her.

“Loved them.” Recalling the slew of dirty photos that he had received over text made his eyes roll to the back of his head. “I would bring my phone to the bathroom just so I could beat off to your pictures in the shower. Even came on my screen once because I couldn’t hold myself back a moment longer.”

Mari grinned from ear to ear from the compliment, staring into the mirror to wipe away a misplaced smear. “So, you really missed me.”

Naoya nodded in acknowledgment, reaching for his unfinished glass of Rémy Martin that had been left on the bedside table. “Most certainly, I did.”

“Of course.” Through her reflection in the mirror, he saw her scarlet lips pucker into a pout. “We haven’t been together in weeks since you are always busy and all.” 

Despite her leveled tone, the bitter twinge caught Naoya off guard. 

Did Mari think he did not care for her anymore after everything that he had done just this night alone? It was not like he had intentionally avoided her in recent weeks. Naoya had made himself extremely clear in the past that he had a company to run, a marriage to tend to, and a father to please. 

Especially that last bit. 

Naobito Zenin had been on Naoya’s ass on what seemed like everything lately: ‘financial forecasts’ this and ‘earnings call’ that. The Chairman had been chasing him on whether he had been planning for his upcoming strategy discussion with the board, consulting with other C-suite members about new firm initiatives, and speaking with Daisuke (your father) about recent company operations. Immensely annoying. His very own father should at least have some sympathy, knowing that Naoya—unlike his older cousin—did not grow up with a business mindset drilled into his head. 

With the family patriarch also now aware of his son’s extramarital affair, Naoya must especially tiptoe around every interaction that involved his mistress.

After all, Naobito might have been turning a blind eye ever since discovering those scandalous paparazzi photos online, but he was no fool to ignore his son’s funny business, especially if this would jeopardize the Zenin Corporation’s success and the proud family’s reputation. In their most recent meeting, the older Zenin had reiterated that if there was any evidence that his son’s affair may imperil the company’s bottom line, there would be ‘severe consequences’—and in these matters with his own father, Naoya understood that no punishment was off the table. 

“So,” Mari pressed, noticing the blond’s silence, “when are we going to see each other again?” 

Meanwhile, the woman before him was absolutely oblivious to everything that had been going on ever since Naoya rushed back to Japan from Mexico. 

He would take the blame, too.

Naoya intentionally did not mention how his father discovered their scandal’s photos, to lessen Mari's worry. Turned out the decision bit him in the ass, given how the woman narrowed her gaze in suspicion.

With the glass of cognac now trapped between his teeth, he took a slow sip that burned down his throat like spiced liquid fire. The warm residue, a testimony to the drink’s potency, pulsed through his veins like a slow-burning hearth as he sat up slowly.

“As soon as I can.”

She surprised him with her fast response. “Why not this weekend? We were supposed to go to your lakehouse in Switzerland soon, remember?” she pointed out, and Naoya had to conclude that she could not possibly be serious given that the European country called for a ten-plus hour flight from Tokyo, even with his Gulfstream. 

“That, I cannot do,” he replied, his tone firm.

If he went missing again, his father would be livid. 

“Why not?” an unaware Mari asked while walking over to the bed again and seated her naked form along the edge. “Trying to make time for your wife again?”

Interesting that she assumed you had a role in this. Frankly, Naoya had not thought about you the entire night, seeing you last as a sobbing mess in the penthouse.

As your husband, he should feel a teensy bit bad about cursing you off, but he had never been the one to chew on an emotion that did not serve him, so he quickly let that guilt go. This whole thing was your fault, anyway. Purposely poking around in his business, and then letting him have his way with you despite how obviously little he could care. As far as he can tell, he left you huddled up in an adorable little ball on the floor, sulking and crying over how badly you fucked up. 

Pathetic. 

That should teach you a lesson.

Perhaps Naoya would like to see a little backbone in you, but if that meant you may grow even more testy when around him, then he would rather not.

With his tongue running over his lower lip, he placed his glass atop the oak table again. “About my schedule,” he began, “no, my wife doesn’t have to do with anything.”

“Good!” Mari huffed with finality, his answer giving her the green light to crawl across the mattress and push the covers off Naoya. She straddled him perfectly, allowing his latest load to trickle out slowly from her cunt and onto his thighs. “That’s what I thought, that you two were over had your marriage certificate not existed. Besides, what was that you had texted me?” she continued as if she wasn’t pressing her slicked pussy against his semi-hard cock. “That your wife had been cheating on you for who knows how long.” 

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Disgusting,” the older woman spat, rolling her eyes at your audacity. “So, she’s a spoiled brat and a two-timer. For someone from her noble background, your wife is one dumb and cheap whore.”

Quite an ironic statement given who was talking, but Naoya kept his mouth shut at the thought. Rather, his hands kneaded his mistress’s fat butt, which at least helped him keep his mind away from things he didn’t want to think about. 

“Yeah, she sure is a slut,” he agreed.

Naoya sent a convincing smile in between his words, and he could practically see Mari’s face light up from his validation. 

“See! Exactly!” she exclaimed. “That bitch never lived a hard day in her life and is already blessed with everything the world can possibly give her—wealth, respect, a good last name. Yet, she dares to act like she has nothing?!” Enraged, she threw her hands into the air from frustration. “Might as well just leave someone as entitled as her! Filing a divorce is simpler than you think, speaking from my own experience. Once the whole world understands that she’s a nobody unmatched by you, everyone would support your decision, right?” Wrong. His father surely would not. But to satiate his own curiosity, he let her continue. “Not to mention, baby, people would respect you more as a businessman without your current wife.” Wrong again. 

His hands might be tracing another woman’s curves, but Naoya understood that he needed you if he hoped to ascertain his ascendancy in the company. That was why his father, with his life’s many decades, easily recognized this necessary union and had pressed for this marital arrangement.

To the Zenin family, you were the perfect addition. 

Descending from a line of honorable financiers, you not only had the right connections to the upper echelon since birth but also were the daughter of the Zenin Corporation’s Chief Operating Officer. Yet, most importantly, you were incredibly elegant, classy, and admired, exactly the person people would want to be associated with if they wanted to clear their public images and tarnished pasts…and exactly the impeccable character that Naoya needed by his side.

His marriage to you served him as not a bond forged upon mutual love, but rather a calculated decision to leverage your virtuosity as a cloak—or moreso, a distraction. With the public adoring you, Naoya could confidently hide his lack of competence and credentials behind your flawless paragon. Goddamnit. He fucking hated how he relied on you more than you depended on him (albeit you might not realize this), but until his father kicked the bucket, what could Naoya realistically do?  

Therefore, dissolving this shrewd alliance between him and you would be detrimental not only to two distinguished bloodlines but also to Naoya in particular.

He already skirted around being shown out the door once.

Given Naobito's recent stringency, there was no room for Naoya to make another mistake again.

But rather than dealing with an upset Mari if he chose to reveal these facts, Naoya instead patted her head with encouragement and brushed her brown locks. “That’s my smart girl,” he praised, tilting his head forward to express his agreement. 

Flustered at the commendation, she went on without much thought. “I’m so glad you agree with me, baby. That’s just…That is a thought that has been on my mind for a while, but,” and she paused briefly to formulate her next words carefully, “I mean, I only want the best for you. Naturally. So, maybe there are better people to spend your money on and life with.”

Now, Naoya would admit that he can be shortsighted at points, but he was not that stupid to realize that she was alluding to herself. 

“I appreciate you for thinking about me,” he still said, because he must stay on her good side if he hoped for a comprehensive answer to his following question, “By the way, do you know any new rumors going around about Toji?”

The said man’s ex-wife perked up visibly at the question. Even though she was busy plotting your downfall a moment ago, the mention of Toji inveigled her such that she would push all her other thoughts aside. 

Although Mari had presented divorce papers to her then-husband earlier this year, Naoya continued to allow—in fact, encouraged—Mari to still visit Toji on the occasion. He didn't give two hoots that his mistress was getting railed by his cousin if that meant that she came back with fresh dirt about him, allowing Naoya to indulge in his custom-tailored version of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

“I had an appointment with him yesterday." Using her fingers, Mari combed through her dark strands. “Crazy that you used to work with him and his stupid little entourage, right?"

“That is crazy.” Had he not been reminded, Naoya would have nearly forgotten that he used to work as a sex therapist too up until earlier this year. In that office was where he befriended the then-Mari Fushiguro, although he had known her years prior as an in-law. Naoya only terminated his position after his father finally decided to hand his only son (rather than his nephew) the CEO and heir apparent titles. “To think that now I oversee a large conglomerate,” he stated proudly, “so unlike everyone else, I have matured and am off to better things.”

"Funny for you to say that,” the woman resumed, now twirling her hair out of habit. “Do you remember your office in the middle of their hallway? Only recently did I realize someone scratched out your name from the door’s plaque. Don’t even know who did that.”

What pettiness.

What was this?

Middle school?

Were the other therapists that butt hurt when Naoya turned against them to propel himself toward his well-deserved future as the Zenin Corporation’s heir? “Choso probably did that. He is the type to hold grudges and act upon them.” 

Even if he has to kill, Naoya mentally added from what he recalled about his former co-worker but preferred to keep that morbid possibility to himself.

“That makes sense. I never liked Choso anyway. He will talk shit about you to your face,” Mari declared, which launched her into a soliloquy about her grievances regarding the other therapists that Naoya used to work with. “Meanwhile, Geto smiles too much. Creeps me out.” Agreed. “Sukuna is overly cocky.” True. “Then, Toji,” and this is the part that Naoya really wanted to hear about, “has been distancing himself from me these days.”

Why, this was not the news that Naoya hoped for. 

Rather than soaking in joy from hearing about Toji’s demise, Naoya instead felt his stomach drop from a sinking dread.

While he found some sick gratification in pleasing his cousin's past partner both emotionally and sexually, the more important reason he needed this MILF in his life was to monitor his estranged cousin’s moves from afar.

She was merely the perfect spy.

What better source of intel was there in this world besides Toji’s former spouse, who simply walked up to Naoya and offered her espionage services the day she learned that her then-husband was no longer set to inherit the Zenin thone? All that she asked in return was a little money and a little physical attention, which was easy for Naoya to throw at her.

After rightfully (and he must place emphasis on that last word) taking back what he was entitled to, Naoya was positive that Toji had a target placed on his back. Therefore, Naoya needed Mari's updates on Toji and Co. to protect himself, to protect his position, and to protect the status quo that he had worked so hard for.

If Toji stopped talking to Mari completely, how else would Naoya keep his threats under watch?

“Do you have ideas on why Toji is giving you the cold shoulder?”

Pressing her bare chest to Naoya’s toned ones, Mari stopped briefly in contemplation but ultimately shrugged. “Do you think he’s getting suspicious? That he realized I left him for his younger cousin Naoya?”

“No,” the said man denied vehemently. “That cannot possibly be.”

Naoya had been extremely careful in keeping his extramarital relationship as discreet as possible. For example, the moment he learned about those photos of him and his mistress en route to Mexico, he immediately called every publisher to have them take the pictures down, no matter the monetary cost.

He made sure to leave no crumbs along his trail and refused to believe in the contrary. “Any other reasons you can think of?”

With Naoya not reciprocating her libido, Mari started to appear visibly annoyed. “Maybe he’s moved on," she suggested, answers curt. "Maybe he'd found another person.”

If Naoya thought the first hypothesis was alarming enough, this second explanation definitely took the cake. 

At least, if Toji had truly gotten suspicious about Mari’s affiliation with the current Zenin successor, Naoya somewhat had some control over that situation. Divert the paparazzi. Create cover-up stories. Bribe more publishers. Find each and every way possible to take the spotlight off him and his secret affair.

On the other hand, there was not much Naoya could do if Toji no longer found interest in his ex-wife.

Huh.

Well, that wasn't quite good.

How could Naoya play his next move?

Or had Toji been playing him all along?

Strategize.

Naoya needed to strategize. C'mon, he was the fucking CEO of the fucking Zenin Corporation. He had done strategizing plenty of times before, so why was his mind suddenly going blank on what to do next?

“Who has Toji taken interest in?” Naoya found himself asking, desperate for information.

“Beats me.” Mari guided his hands to trace her curves, cupping her breasts with Naoya's palms to urge him to massage the rounded mounds. “Although, think about this: she cannot merely be anybody,” and she released her grip around his wrists to start counting with her fingers, “One, she has to be well-off. Therapy ain't cheap. Two, she is stuck in a bad relationship. And three, she is also stuck with bad sex.”

What a good approach to the situation, narrowing down the potential suspects and investigating from there!

Who knew some women had the smarts in them to devise such detailed commentary? That was what Naoya loved about mature and more experienced psyches in ladies like her. 

Now, her brilliant analysis reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t exactly place his finger on who. 

Whatever, because with this turnaround in the mystery, Naoya decided he would figure this out soon enough.

Triumph was right within his reach.

It was only a matter of time until his aging father Naobito, the one person who had the final say in all company and familial matters, solidified his Last Will and Testament to ensure his wonderful only son Naoya would be the successor to the multibillion family-run conglomerate, condemning Toji Fushiguro to be dwarfed by his little cousin forever. 

But first, he must treat his paramour to a much-deserved reward that would render her limping in the morning.

With all the moving parts falling into place, Naoya burst into a wicked cackle by her left tit, leaving Mari staring back at him with a confused frown.

"What's so funny?" she demanded to know. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Naoya assured between snickers, leading his mistress forward by gently pulling her waist toward him. He attached his mouth to the nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue as he added, “What you should worry about, though, is how you will walk when you wake up after how sore I’m going to make you.”

The cheesy comment made Mari laugh as she batted her long lashes. She saw where this was going, and her large chocolate-colored eyes sparkled with an excited twinkle as she met his hazel ones, her thin lips stretching into a Cheshire Cat grin from delight.

"Baby," she cooed, "the dirty things you say to me make me forget that you have a wife at home sometimes."

Something about her remark made Naoya chuckle even more heartily as his mind meandered back to his nearly forgotten spouse: his wife.

His…wife.

Wait.

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗘𝗡𝗗

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The end to Act Two: House of Cards! The very reason behind this act’s name is to reference the precarious web of disguise and deception in this story, only for this structure to topple like a domino chain. Thank you to all my lovely readers for reading, and although I recognize my writing is imperfect, I would love to hear your thoughts before the third and final arc!

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[sugume]

STOLEN TOUCHES — NANAMI KENTO

✧･ﾟ You were just trying to get a better angle.  

( TW ) f!reader, stepdad!Nanami, highly suggestive, teasing, touched starved Nanami, age gap (reader is 26, Nanami is in his 40's).

note. this was just sitting in my drafts omg I forgot to post 😭 this is for the anon that requested!! sorry you had to wait so long i swear I thought it was queued!

Nanami steps into the dark foyer of his home, taking off his work shoes. He winces from the pain; he’s been running around like a headless chicken in the office. He was supposed to get off hours ago. Nanami shrugs his suit jacket off and hangs it on the small rack before turning the corner. A small part of him had wished you would’ve been up, watching TV in the living room, but as he walked further into the house you were nowhere to be seen. He sighs in disappointment before making his way upstairs.  

Your mother isn’t waiting for him, obviously. She’s probably out with another one of her many men. God, he shouldn't have folded under pressure when she had asked him to open the 'monogamous’ relationship they had. His shoulders slump at the neatly made king-sized bed that sits in the corner of his room. He walks to his closet to grab a pair of satin pajamas you had bought him before making his way to the bathroom. He sets his clothes on the counter before stripping down to his boxers and walking over to the tub. He leans down to turn the water to the perfect temperature. 

“Kenny!” You squeal wrapping your arms around his naked waist from behind. He jumps in surprise before grunting in pain. 

“Kenny? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You ask, pulling away. Kento turns quickly despite the pain and grabs your arms. 

“Sweetheart! Nono, you didn’t hurt me. Why are you up?” He questions and you smile sweetly at him. 

“Kenny don’t lie! And I'm up because I’m currently an unemployed twenty-six-year-old who had to move back home. Now,” You clap, stepping in-between his legs. “Tell me why you winced like I stabbed you and don’t lie.” 

Nanami stuck in a breath and your close proximity. 

“Jus’ had a long day at work that’s all. Stupid cramped muscles don't worry about it, sweetheart.” He answers in one long breath before inhaling your sweet smell. Was that too obvious? 

“Well, I can give you a massage if you want, ‘cus my mom isn’t to give you one.” You spit on the last part before staring back up at your Stepdad.  

“You don’t have—” 

“Shush, I want to! C’mon, let's go to bed when you can get comfortable. We gotta hurry ‘fore your bath overfills.” You pull Kento's arm, dragging his heavy body up and out of the master bathroom.  

"Sit—scoot a little further—no your back to the pillow silly!” You laugh. 

“Aren’t you giving me a massage sweetheart?” Kento frowns, confused but complies anyways.  

“Yep!” You lift a leg to the bed and blink your thick lashes at him before lifting the other and crawling onto his lap. 

“Sweetheart—” Kento blushes, hands going to your hips to push you off but also to hold you there. 

“Calm down Kenny! This is just a massage; I've read you can get the shoulders better this way,” You lie, putting your hand onto your stepdad's neck and squeezing. “Just shut your eyes and relax.” You whisper dragging your hands down Kento's’ arms. You squeeze your way back up before gliding your palms to his peaks and resting them on his hard nipples. He grunts when you dig your thumbs and knuckles into his chest, throwing his head back onto his headboard. His grip on your hips tightens and he swears he feels you sit on his lap. 

“Feels good?” You mummer watching your stepdad's Adam apple move. You can’t help but bring your hands up and caresses it. Nanami groans.  

“Mhm.” 

“Sit up so I can get your back, Kenny.” You push on the back of his neck. You smile when his face falls into your chest. Before he has a chance to move you hold the back of his neck with one hand, the other squeezing at his shoulder blade. 

Nanami can feel his cheeks heat in arousal. He hasn’t been touched like this in so long maybe he’s just imagining the tension between you two. He doesn’t have the balls to act on this anyway, he doesn’t want to scare you off.  

“Sorry, gotta get comfortable.” You whisper in his ear as you grind down. You bite the inside of your cheeks when you feel his hard cock graze your pussy. Nanami holds in a groan. Fuck if you keep doing that, he's going to cum in his underwear. 

“Sweetheart,” 

“Hm?” You dig your knuckle onto tense knots in his back. 

“Oh, fuck sweetheart, just like that.”  

“Doin’ good Kenny?”  

“Yes, b-but,” He breathes heavily on your breast. “But my bath waters gonna overfill.” He looks up at you. You move your hand to cup his neck. 

“Oh, well how about we continue this in the tub?” You smile down at Kento. His eyes widen, mouth agape. 

“What!?” 

“Kidding! Gosh, look at your face! I’m gonna go watch some TV, goodnight. Have fun in your bath.” You crawl off his lap, giving him a good view of your ass in the short shorts you were wearing. You look back and smile innocently.  

What you really meant to say was you were going to masturbate about what just happened. Don’t worry, Kento was going to too. 

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late To Dream ༓ jjk (m) I Ch. VIII (final)

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 8,618

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), first kiss, painting date, taehyung makes oc a busi proposal, jk goes back to teaching at uni, cute note, therapy with therapist!hoseok, talk of absent parents, insecurities, fear of fatherhood, jk working through personal struggles and gets clarity, jk being good hubby to oc, sexual content

sexually explicit warnings: switch!jungkook, switch!reader, f*ngering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (be safe everyone!), cussing d*rty talk, penetration, b**b sucking, biting, multiple org*sms, m*ssionary;legs on shoulder, body worshipping, praise kink, impreg kink, slight lactation kink, making out in the kitchen, suggestive morning shower s*x, Kook just wanna please oc really 🥺

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: This is now the most I have ever written....ngl the therapy section will be DENSE( but i tried not to make it TOO long) 😪 anyway, we have come to the end folks 😭 thank you to all of you who have stayed with me through this whole series. It's close to my heart and always will be. I'm happy to be able to share this with you all 💞

<< ch. VII ༓┃series masterlist

Kissing you is his favorite pastime. On the lips, on your cheeks, neck–everywhere and anywhere you'll let him. He loves how squeamish it makes you. Out of all the times Jungkook's kissed you, his favorite will always be the first time in that tiny art studio of yours at your old apartment.

You didn't have much living space but you made do with what you had. And what you had was one extra room near the laundry machines.

He'll always remember how gentle your lips were against his that night. Warm as well, yet reserved. You made his whole body come to life in the most unexplainable ways.

4 years ago–

Jungkook slouches on the stool with a pout on his face and a paintbrush spinning between his fingers. This is the third time he's called you over in the last ten minutes. You've told him repeatedly that painting takes patience but it doesn't seem to make him feel any better about his artwork.

"Can you come look at this __? I don't think this is coming out the way it's supposed to be."

"Here," you set your drawing pencils on your own art desk and circle around to him, "let me see."

Jungkook scootches his stool to the side, allowing you to peer over his shoulder.

"To start, you’re using too much water if your paper is peeling and curling this much. I'd give it a few minutes before doing anything more on it. Secondly, you have water bubbles."

You reach for the blue painting sponge next to him and hold it up as if showcasing it off.

"This is going to be your best friend. It absorbs liquid so if you gently dab areas with excess water, it'll take all that water away." You demonstrate for him then hand the sponge to him. "Give it a try."

"Okay…" He takes it from you and mirrors your movements. "Isn't this called watercolor painting though? How can I be using too much water?"

You shrug. "Because it's like anything. You need to find the right balance between the paint and water or else it'll make your strokes messy. Control the need to soak your brush."

"But I like soaking my brush," he says, tongue in cheek.

"I'm going to ignore that you said that."

"You said it first."

"Not like you meant it, I didn't."

Jungkook smiles and continues dabbing his painting.

"You're pressing a little too hard Kook. The paint's smudging," you warn as he attempts to clean up the extra water spillage.

"Hm?" He doesn't seem to understand what you mean.

"It's like this," you say, carefully closing a hand over his knuckles. Jungkook's hand goes limp in yours as you guide his movements across the water bubbles. "See, the water's gone now."

When you gaze down at him, he's not paying attention to the artwork at all but to you instead.

"Someone I'm hoping to call my girlfriend soon," he mumbles back and you release your hold from his hand.

"Jungkook?" He feels you tense under his stare, eyes restlessly shifting back and forth. "What are you looking at?"

"Oh, well, um—" your mind races with what to respond. Up until now, you’ve been seeing each other for a month but no labels have been placed on your relationship yet.

"I'd really like to know what it'd be like to kiss you too.” He sets the sponge on the table and slowly leans forward to rise from his seat.

Naturally, you step backward but forget about the second art table set up directly behind you. Your hands grip the edges at the sudden contact on your backside.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't mean to make you feel pressured." His fingers reach out to lightly rest on your trembling hands. “I’ve just been having the best time getting to know you this past month and I’d like it if we could keep going out…as a couple.”

“I’d like that too.” You swallow thickly. “I think you caught me off guard but yeah, let’s make this official. And also, if you want, we can—kiss."

"Are you sure?" He needs to know he heard right, careful not to jump the gun. “Really sure?”

"Yes. Please kiss me.”

With your consent, Jungkook grips your hands tighter and closes his mouth over your lips. They're sweet and taste a bit like peppermint from the candy you ate earlier. He moves slowly at first, tongue swiping across the seam of your lips every now and then until you let him in.

"Jung–" you breathe a small moan yet it's only when you break apart that you're able to finish saying his name. “–Kook.”

"I liked that," he says, a smile on his face. "Any chance we can do it again?"

You nod and lean forward to kiss him again. This time firmer, holding back nothing.

Present–

"Honey, you should go back to bed for a bit. Get some more sleep." You watch your husband button up his navy blue dress shirt in the mirror. Today's the day he has to return to the university for the new academic year and he needs to be out the door within the next ten minutes.

"I have to get used to you leaving before me," you yawn. "I'll miss you."

Jungkook runs his fingers through his damp hair, fluffing it up some before striding over to your lounged position on the bed.

"Me too. I'm going to be thinking of you all day." He bends down to peck your lips. When he does, you take in the scent of his aftershave–Old Spice. "I'll see you when we get home, okay?"

You nod. "You home at 4 tonight?"

"Plus traffic so 4:30 at the latest.”

"Okay, I should get home at 5:15. Mondays are a bit hectic so it might be later. I'll text you."

He gives you another kiss, longer than the last, and you moan lazily.

"Sounds good," he stands up straight and snatches his phone from the nightstand. "I need to head out now but I'll see you later. Love you!"

Jungkook opens your bedroom door and you shut your eyes to get more sleep before having to start the daily grind yourself.

With about thirty minutes to spare Jungkook rushes to his office with his leather satchel. He doesn't remember the room being as bare as it is when he tosses the door open–only his desk, PhD, and some books left on the shelf. He hasn't been here since the end of June so granted, I'd be pretty dead in the room.

But there's not even one photo of you.

That's going to be the first thing to change, he mentally

notes. Right now, however, he needs to prep for his lecture that’s in—he checks his watch—shit.

Twenty-eight minutes.

Jungkook shoves his satchel on the bulky mahogany desk and swivels into his office chair. "Damn," he curses and re-adjusts in his seat. "Since when was my chair this uncomfortable to sit in?'

He shakes it off and pulls out his notes. A tiny blue sticky note falls out as he sorts the mix.

'Deep breaths today Dr. Jeon ;)! It's your first day again and I know you're always so hard on yourself :( But your new students will love you I'm sure. So keep yourself in good spirits and remember I'm only a phone call away. I love you and I can't wait to hear about your day when you get home tonight! <3'

He reads the message again, then again, and one last time for good measure.

Jungkook sticks the note on the surface of his desk, next to his computer where he can view it easily. He then goes back to reviewing his notes for his lecture, feeling a giggle creep up his throat; he really fricken' loves you.

Well, his first class of the day was a complete disaster. The first twenty minutes consisted of him having to troubleshoot technical errors between his laptop and the projector. His students weren’t chipper either, preferring silence when he tried striking up a conversation. And the worst part? They didn’t laugh at his jokes! Like at all. Usually, he’d at least get one or two chuckles, even if they were merely out of politeness.

It was when he ended the class half an hour early that he earned a few brownie points. Thankfully he’s not a lecture on the first day kind of professor. Still, with any luck, the semester will get better and the remainder of his sections today will be smoother.

"Dr. Jeon," a low voice rumbles down the hallway as Jungkook returns to his office. He whips his head to his left to see Taehyung taking long strides towards him.

"Dr. Kim," Jungkook responds to the greeting. "What are you doing in the School of Business?"

"Just wanted to stop and say hi. I got a studio art class to teach soon but thought I'd check in with my favorite economist first.” Taehyung stuffs his hands in the pockets of his silk trousers and follows Jungkook into his office.

"My wife isn't here Tae," Jungkook teases.

“Isn’t it about time you drop that? Yes, we had a thing back in—"

"It wasn't a thing okay?" Jungkook is eager to correct. Being reminded that his wife and best friend used to hit it off a little too well back in the day makes him queasy. "It was you who kept being obsessed with her. Well, she's mine now. Understand?"

Taehyung laughs. "You need to chill Jungkook. I see the wedding ring loud and clear. Besides, I didn't come here for her alright?" He pauses and wets his lips. "Well actually…there is something I'd like to bring up to you that may involve her."

"Oh, what?" Jungkook's ears are on high alert. What could Taehyung possibly need from you?

"How often is __ painting these days?" Taehyung takes a seat in one of the spare chairs in the room.

"She doesn't have as much time these days due to work, but I know she's got a couple of art projects in the process."

"She's got a pretty big collection though, doesn’t she? Has she ever considered showcasing them off at galleries or selling to collectors?”

“Yeah, I’d say she has roughly eighty finished pieces between drawings and paintings. But she's tried the gallery route before and they've all rejected her work from being showcased. I don't think she wants to pursue it anymore. And as far as selling? Don't think so."

"Hmm." Taehyung taps his fingers on the armrest. "What if it were to be my art gallery? Over the summer I managed to form a minor partnership with that local gallery downtown. Remember, the one I displayed work at years ago when __ was in postgrad? Took a visit down there weeks ago and found out the owner is running low on funds. He's had my art displayed for a while now and I've always wanted to own a gallery. I've no shortage of assets either so I'm taking the plunge to keep it open.”

Jungkook quirks his head to the side with an open mouth and eyes wide as saucers. “You're really part owner of that gallery now? Wow, Tae. I always knew you were a free spirit but damn that's an investment."

"I guess, but hey now that you know. We're looking to expand our collection so how would your cute wife like to show her work? __ is a phenomenal artist and it’s a shame she hasn’t had the opportunity to have it publicly admired. I’d see that her work be approved immediately, of course."

“You're joking,” Jungkook sputters in disbelief. He can't speak for you but he's pretty darn sure you’re going to be absolutely tickled about this.

"I'm being completely serious. Talk to __ about it and see what she thinks." Taehyung checks the time on his phone and stands up from his chair. "Hate to cut this short but I got that class in ten. Let me know what she decides though."

"Yeah, I'll ask her. I—thank you Taehyung. I'm not sure what else to say."

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m happy to do this for her. For you both actually.” Taehyung leaves with a tight-lipped smile, a pep in his step.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Hobi: Hey, sorry for the late reply. Had a couple of last-minute patients to see. I’m happy to hear from you though! If you want to come in for a session I have a slot free late Thursday evening. Other than that we may need to do it next week since I have a pretty full schedule this week.

Oh, that’s right. Jungkook reads over the text. He messaged Hoseok about possibly coming in for a therapy session last night. After telling you about both his apprehension and interest in starting a family, he thinks it is best to get some professional input. And what better person to ask than one of his long-time friends?

JK: I’d really like to meet before I get loaded with papers and tests to grade, if possible. How late on Thursday? I get out of work at 4.

Hobi: I understand. Can you come right after work? Sessions last around forty minutes to an hour.

JK: Sure, I don’t think I have anything to do after that. __ will still be at work. She knows I’m seeing you too, so it’s fine. I’ll see you at 4:15-ish. Your practice isn’t far from here last I remember.

Hobi: Yup, short drive. I’ll put you on the calendar for Thursday afternoon. I’m glad you reached out, Jungkook. I’ve been thinking about you and __ lately. Heard you babysat Yoongi’s twins.

JK: We did.

Hobi: And how was that?

JK: Not bad. I’ll tell you tomorrow though. I’m prepping for another class right now.

Hobi: Got it, I’ll let you go. I’ll see you on Thursday.

JK: Thanks, man!

Jungkook sends a thumbs-up emoji and sets the phone flat on his desk. Well, he sighs, looks like you got yourself an appointment with a shrink.

He doesn’t know what to expect. But what he does know is that he needs to go in with an open mindset. Previous conversations with Hoseok have led him to conclude that it matters what you put into it.

“Therapy isn’t an answer to all your problems,” he recalls Hoseok explain years ago. “Its purpose is to create a space for you to process struggles in your life; triggers even. The goal is for you to better understand the root of those triggers and to find new tools that help you navigate through them. Whenever you are posed with said challenge, you can be better equipped to confront them so you can come out stronger on the other side.”

Jungkook takes a swig of water from his water bottle. He thinks of you as he does–he’s doing this for both of you in hopes that something beautiful might come from it.

At 3:15 Jungkook has his last class. His afternoon students ended up being far more engaging than his morning students. They talked to him casually, asked good questions, and gosh darn it they laughed at his jokes too. They were a great bunch of kids, Jungkook hums. He’s looking forward to walking alongside them this semester.

Before calling it a day and leaving the university, Jungkook decides a brief stroll around campus would be nice. One, it gets fresh air in his lungs and two, he’d really like to stretch his legs before sitting back down in his car.

As he walks through the middle of campus, he smiles at the groups of students rushing with their book bags. It’s a good mix between undergrads and grads. Seeing all of them rush around takes him back to his days of late-night studying at the library and partying with friends on the weekends. He tried not to party too rough but well, he might have been a little too eager to finally be on his own the first year.

He dated around a little too. The chicks at his undergrad were cute and he went out with a few of them. His longest relationship lasted a year but she broke it off with him the last year–she married an architect a year and a half later. No matter though, Sana was a sweet girl and nothing drastic ever happened between them. Hearing that she was getting married made him more happy than sad because she deserved to be with someone great. Plus, if he stayed with her, he would never have met you.

Jungkook stops in his tracks when he spots two students from his 12:15 class standing behind a small outdoor table. They appear to be selling something he can’t quite make out due to the distance.

“Dr. Jeon!” The girl waves when she catches her professor looking in their direction.

Jungkook walks up to the table with a smile. “Mi-suk, Doyun,” he greets each individually. It’s at this point that he’s able to see a dozen frames of sea glass art spread across the table. “Did you guys make these?”

The pair nod in unison. “We went to the beach this summer and found a lot of glass so we decided to do something with it.” Doyun, Mi-suk’s boyfriend, holds up one of the framed pieces that are decorated with green and blue sea glass. “This one is about lovebirds. See the heart that connects them?”

The birds that he refers to are easily seen from the sea glass’s sharp edges and carefully selected clustering. The heart is also made out of sea glass and lays between both birds. It’s a simplistic yet meaningful design.

“We wanted the heart to be interpreted in all kinds of ways from love to new beginnings like–“

“A child.” Jungkook takes the words out of Mi-suk, in a low whisper. “How much?” He digs out his wallet from his back pocket.

“33000 won. ($25 USD).” Doyun responds. “Do you have a child on the way?” Mi-suk jabs her boyfriend in the side at this.

“You don’t have to tell us Dr. Jeon. We don’t want to be nosy.” She laughs it out but Jungkook shakes his head at her.

“It’s no big deal. I’m married but we don’t have a kid at the moment. My wife loves art and she loves sea glass so, I’d like to hang one of these in our home.” He hands over the cash and takes the artwork from Doyun.

“Thank you, Dr. Jeon,” Doyun remains polite and puts the money in the cash box.

“Do you have a picture of her?” Mi-suk asks to which her boyfriend says “Now who’s being nosy?”, earning him another jab to his side.

Jungkook pulls out a small, lightly crinkled photo of you from his wallet. “This is her.” He shows it to them with a proud expression–he enjoys showing you off every chance he gets.

“She’s so beautiful Dr. Jeon! You both look so good together wow.”

“She makes us look good together.” Jungkook chuckles and slides the photo back into his wallet.

“Aww, why don’t you ever say things like that?” Mi-suk turns to her boyfriend who only shrugs.

“Why do I have to be the one to say it? Why can’t you say it?” Doyun moves to fold his arms but Jungkook gives a grimace, hinting him not to follow through. “Sorry babe, I’ll do it more often.”

Young love, Jungkook thinks. “I have to get going now, making dinner before she gets home. But thanks for the sea glass art. I’ll see you both in class on Wednesday.” He waves goodbye and heads for his car.

“He makes dinner for her too…” Mi-suk watches as her professor leaves. “You’ve never made dinner for me.” She shifts her eyes to her boyfriend who’s too busy counting the money they’ve earned so far to see her distraught face.

“Where did you get that?” You point at the new art piece hanging from the wall with your chopsticks. “It’s lovely. Are those birds?”

“Yeah, they’re love birds. A couple of my students were selling seaglass art in the middle of campus. I thought one would look nice on our wall and you like this type of art right?” Your husband takes a bite of the roasted chicken he’s made.

“I do,” you say. “Thank you for bringing one home. How was your first day back at the university?”

“Fine, my morning class is struggling but I’m hoping the energy will pick up as the semester progresses. The afternoon class is good, they seem like a fun bunch. Looking forward to the year. What about you? How was work?”

“Oh, nothing much to tell. I had a meeting with one of our business partners. Went over a series of analytical reports with him, and made suggestions on what they could do to make better-informed business decisions.”

“Yeah? Did they sound like they’d take them?” You giggle when some of the sauce from the chicken smears the corner of his mouth. “What?” he looks at you for an answer.

“Wipe your mouth. There’s sauce all over it.” You hand him a napkin and he cleans himself off. “But back to your question, they seemed receptive to my advice. We’ll see what happens in the next three months though, time will tell if they listened or not.”

“Well,” he swallows down his bite before continuing. “If they have any sense they’ll follow your suggestions. Still, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.”

You nod in agreement. “So, did anything else happen for you today? I really don’t have much else to share other than that. It was a fairly normal day.”

Jungkook sets his chopsticks on his plate and takes a drink of his beer. “There’s a few things I need to talk to you about. Oh, also,” he interrupts his own line of thought, “the note you left me was sweet. I have it on my desk by my computer.”

“I thought maybe you could use some encouragement on your first day so you’re welcome. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“First on the agenda is Taehyung. He stopped by my office and told me that he’s got a partnership with that gallery downtown. The one he displayed his work at years ago when you were in postgrad. Turns out the owner needs financial support so he’s decided to help them out as a part-owner.”

Jungkook sees that you’re just as surprised as he was when he first heard the news. “So he owns that gallery now? That man gets around well. You know that’s something about Taehyung, he’s a good networker. Never have to worry about if he knows someone or not.”

“It’s one of his strengths for sure. Taehyung’s asked me to ask you if you’d be interested in showcasing some of your artwork. He says they’re looking for more artists for their gallery and that he’d like to have your work displayed. What do you think?”

“I–what?” Getting to showcase your art has been one of your biggest dreams since a teenager. But after countless failed attempts to take your art beyond the studio, you’ve nearly given up hope that any galley would accept your pieces. “Are you shitting me Jungkook?”

“I know it’s shocking. Taehyung literally just dropped the bomb on me today and this is 100% real. If you want to get your art out there, Taehyung can pull the right strings to make that happen. Now that I think of it, he didn’t tell me when to get back to him. Probably will need to text him whenever you make your decision I guess.”

“I think I’d love to be able to do that. I don’t even know which ones to show though, I have so many to choose from.”

“I’m sure if you take a week to think it over you’ll be able to narrow down your options. And besides, this doesn’t have tp be the only set of paintings you show off. You can always switch them out from time to time. Taehyung will see that it happens.”

“Damn,” you say. “Kim Taehyung really has the whole world in the palm of his hand huh?” That man has more power in his little toe than all the world’s leaders combined.

“Taehyung is…one of a kind.” Jungkook leans his body forward, arms crossed on the dining table. “There’s a second topic I’d like to talk about too if it’s alright?”

“Shoot.”

“I have a therapy session with Hoseok on Thursday after work. I should be able to get back before 5 p.m. but we might want to order out for dinner that night.” There’s a trace of nervousness as he tells you so you reach out to sneak a hand into one of his.

“That’s fine, I can pick something up on my way home from work. I’m glad he was able to get you in this week.”

Jungkook flickers his eyes down at your hand in his, then back up to your face.“It probably goes without saying but I’m not sure what’ll come from this session. And even if it does go well, I can’t promise that we can start a baby right away. I mean maybe we can, I’m not saying we can’t but–”

“It’s okay Kookie,” you say gently. “This isn’t only about us having a baby or not you know? You’ve had a lot of challenges with your parents that I think Hoseok can help you talk through. I want you to be able to have clarity in those areas of your life too.”

“Thank you __. I love you so much.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it.

“I’m glad you wiped your mouth off before you did that,” you tease, playfully. Jungkook immediately lets go of your hand and gets up to walk to your side of the table.

“Come here smart ass,” he orders, grabbing your face to pepper several kisses on your cheeks.

Draining.

That’s the one word that comes to Jungkook’s mind if he were to sum up the rest of the week. He enjoys teaching at the university but four days in he’s already feeling the stress kinks in his neck.

“Mm.” Jungkook rolls his shoulders back to stretch the tense muscles–it’s a good thing he’s seeing Hoseok today. After getting a good stretch out, he puts his car key in the ignition and heads for the practice downtown.

"Come in, come in," Hoseok greets Jungkook with a beaming smile once he arrives at his office no short of ten minutes later. His room is on the smaller side but it has a harmonious energy with the way the sun peaks through the blinds. "How's your week been?"

Jungkook takes a seat in the large, cozy chair angled across Hoseok. He leans against the back lazily and lets out a long sigh. "It's alright, tiring, but it's to be expected. You?"

"Roughly the same.” Hoseok shuts the door and takes a seat in the chair diagonal to Jungkook. “I’ve had more patients this week than usual which has made me short on time lately. But I'm happy to make time for them."

"Thank you for seeing me this week. I was surprised when you said you could given how full your schedule gets.”

Hoseok waves his hand in dismissal. “Oh, of course, it’s no problem,” he reassures. “I had an opening so that’s why I offered. You and __ are also good friends of mind; I’m more than willing to meet with you today Jungkook. So…why don’t we get started? How was taking care of Yoongi’s rambunctious twins? You’ve taken care of them before right?”

At this, Jungkook sits straight up in his seat, his shoulders back and eyes directly trained on Hoseok. He appears stiff like the tin man from The Wizard of Oz. “Feel free to sit back,” Hoseok lightly suggests. “This isn’t a test or anything so you can relax and get comfortable if you’d like.”

“Okay.” Jungkook follows his friend’s suggestion and sinks into the back of the chair. His hands relax on his spread-out thighs. “So yeah, we’ve taken care of Yoongi’s girl before. Ari and Eun-ji have no shortage of attitude that’s for sure.” He chuckles, then continues. “They’re sweet though. I had this warm, positive energy throughout that whole night. Usually, I never have a strong feeling towards being around kids. It’s always been ‘ah they’re cute but not for me’ or ‘yes hyung, I’ll be fine to take them for a day’ but it wouldn’t go any further. I told __ about it and I think she’s holding onto hope that it means I’m changing my mind about kids.”

“And are you changing your mind? Sometimes those strong emotions will come at specific moments and they can give a false narrative. You and __ have been thinking about a baby recently which may influence these new feelings. But we have to be careful that they don’t blur what you actually want.” Hoseok pauses a second to let Jungkook maul over his words.

“It’s like this,” he continues. “You want to have a baby with her because you love her but last time we met, you said you weren’t sure if you could want it naturally for yourself. Now that you know what the other wants, and you’ve had a picture of what having kids may look like with the twins, you are more welcoming of the idea of starting a family. ‘Maybe it won’t be so bad’, your mind will tell you–‘Maybe this can really happen and I’ll be okay with it’. Meanwhile, your subconscious will say the complete opposite–that you’re pressuring yourself to feel a certain way to get that ideal outcome of giving your wife a baby. Which in turn, makes her happy and gives you security in your marriage and in yourself. I’m not saying this is exactly what’s going on but it’s a possibility to consider. Does this make sense?”

“I get what you’re saying.” Jungkook gives a brief nod. “I’m trying to be careful not to go by my feelings alone or say yes to a child out of pure tolerance of it or a willingness to please my wife. I’ve had some minor hiccups with saying we can have a baby at random times to __ . It’s caused her confusion so I’m more careful to not do stuff like that so casually. But I really am thinking about potentially starting a family so I think my mind really is changing. It’s like I’m 60% there but 40% not there.”

“60% there and 40% not there,” Hoseok repeats. “Could you break those down for me? How did you come to those percentages?”

“Well, I’m 60% because after giving it a lot of thought, I don’t dislike kids so I’m open to having them, any children I’ve been around recently have oddly uplifted my spirits, and I love my wife so if there’s anyone I could have a family with, it’d be with her. I’m 40% not there because I’m afraid I’ll revert back to my previous mindset if said child were to come. I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

“There seems to be a small pattern forming–you being uplifted around children,” Hoseok replies. “Patterns of behavior can be a measurement of progress or lack thereof. If you’ve been repeatedly uplifted around kids that’s something to think about as you sort through the matter of starting a family with __. You can trust yourself more in the conclusions you come to when there is repeated behavior and action to support them. Now as far as you being afraid you’ll revert back to your old self, why did that old Jungkook not want children? Was it a lack of interest in itself or were there external influences?”

“Uh, I guess I wanted to live a life focused on my career. My parents have done the same, but I wanted to do it separately from them. Growing up was always about meeting goals, whether they were academically or socially based. My parents were pretty absent from my life outside those frames. I couldn’t know them up close, like a healthy parent-child relationship. So when I grew up the thought of having children disinterested me. I’m happy for people who have kids but I didn’t see myself in a parenting role myself. I wasn’t fit for it either, so why have a child that I can’t properly take care of? I’d do better focusing on my career and maybe having a partner when the time came. That was my mindset.”

“It starts as disinterest and shifts to inadequacy,” Hoseok thinks a moment as he processes the explanation. The wheels turn in his head as he sorts through the information disclosed to him. “Jungkook,” he slowly starts. “Do you see yourself as naturally insecure? It seems like this different life you are describing works well for you and you’re comfortable with it, partly due to how you were raised. So the thought of something new coming into your life, like a baby, risks flipping your life upside down. You’re in turn, left vulnerable and scrabbling for what the proper course of action is. This leads to my next question–do you have a fear of becoming like your parents?”

“I suppose I do, but I never put that much weight into it before because I always thought I’d do better than them. And for the most part, I have. When it comes to raising a child though, the potential of following their lead still frightens me.”

“Given the environment you grew up in, that's completely understandable. Unfortunately, your parents didn’t raise you as a child but more of an employee or predecessor that only adds to their self-value. If it’s any encouragement, you being aware that they raised you poorly and successfully becoming a person that doesn’t embody their harmful traits means you will likely not end up like them. So you can be at ease, Jungkook. You’ll raise your children with a healthy mindset–separate from your parents.”

“Just to clarify, hyun–Dr. Jung, you’re saying that I've been against having a child because I’m worried I’ll lose my comfortable lifestyle; my security in other words. And because I’m scared to become my parents which shouldn’t be a fear because I know what they did was wrong?” Jungkook struggles to wrap his mind around the logic.

“It’s alright that you still have that apprehension Jungkook, the fear of following in your parent’s footsteps. I’m suggesting that it won’t happen because you’ve become a person who actively repulses those poor choices that they’ve made. So if you were to have a child, the chances of them being raised as you were is significantly low. Also, you wouldn’t be raising the child alone. __ will be there with you every step of the way and all of us who have been your friends for ages will be more than willing to help you too. Yoongi and Seokjin been fathers for years so they’ll be the first ones to offer a proper hand.”

“So wait, does this mean I’m ready to be a parent then? Because I see your point and it’s starting to make sense. I think I am leaning towards being one but I'm unsure if I can have a child right away. __ won’t say it but I think she’ll want to get pregnant fairly soon if I agree to having a baby. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“It’s still up to you to decide if you’re ready or not, Jungkook.” Hosoek clears his throat, leaning forward in his chair. “Here’s what I’m saying. Your aversion to having kids doesn’t seem like a mere disinterest in kids. It’s more of an insecurity in yourself that you can work through with some help. Plus, part of you wants a child because you’ve had positive experiences with them recently. I believe, with all the factors we've discussed, you will be able to better understand the source of your hesitation and openness toward starting a family. This will help you make a clearer decision on the matter instead of holding yourself back from one based on previous misconceptions–”

“So that’s it then,” Jungkook interrupts as if enlightened. “I actually do want a baby, generally speaking. I’ve just been looking at the whole issue the wrong way, holding myself back and such.”

“Uh okay, slow down there,” Hoseok eases. “You don’t have to make the decision to have a baby right away. I’m glad you’re beginning to understand your situation more but for now, let’s talk more about this subject okay?”

Jungkook nods in agreement and continues his session with Hoseok for another half hour. He feels good by the end, so good that he schedules another meeting with him next week.

And yeah, he thinks he really does want that baby. When he gets home he’s going to wrap you in his arms and tell you all about it.

Jungkook finds you on the living room couch when he gets home. Your legs are tucked underneath you as you scroll on your phone. You're out of your work clothes and have a plain t-shirt and shorts on instead.

"Hey," you greet your husband. "How was it?"

Your husband rushes to sit beside you, the cushion bouncing due to his eagerness. He proceeds to tell you everything that Hoseok said, from his inner struggles with his parents to his own insecurities with fatherhood. By the end of his spiel, you're delighted that your husband's gotten helpful insight but are in utter shock as well.

"I–wow I'm blown away at how good seeing Hosoek was for you. I knew he'd help you a ton being who he is but I wasn't expecting you to be this enthusiastic to talk about babies." You let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, nothing's funny. I need a minute to process everything, that's all."

You head to the kitchen for a glass of water. Jungkook follows behind you.

"You know...we met at a time that a child wasn't really in the cards, but now we're at a place that I think it could work," he says. "Hoseok helped me understand my hesitation and openness towards starting a family. And by the end, the thought of having a baby excited me more than scared me because we'll be doing it together."

"Are you–Junkook, are you really serious about all this?" You lean against the kitchen counter with a glass in your hand. "This a big step for us and I don't want you to have to make a quick decision. I know it was me who brought up having a family first, so it's no problem if we need to take more time to–"

"I want to do this with you __." Jungkook walks over to you and takes the cup from your hand to set it on the countertop. He then folds his hands over yours. "Nothing would make me happier than having a baby together. You still want to, don't you?"

"I do," you swallow hard and stare into his loving eyes. A small smile creeps on your face when the reality of the situation hits you–you're actually going through with this; you're going to start a family.

"So..." Jungkook drawls, inching his body closer to you.

"So, what?"

"So don't take your birth control tomorrow if you don't want to." He drops your hands at that in favor of cupping your cheeks instead, bringing you into a passionate kiss. You moan when the kiss deepens and you feel his muscular body press you further against the counter.

"Not in the kitchen," you mumble between kisses.

"Could be fun though," Jungkook smirks and brings his hands around your waist, lifting you up on the surface. Experience tells you to wrap your arms and legs around him so you do. And when he goes back for another kiss, he makes sure to bite on your bottom lip so he can slip his tongue in your mouth.

"Mhph–" you moan when his hands slip underneath your shirt, dragging it up until you lift your arms for him to take it off. He moves to your neck next, placing several open-mouth kisses on the delicate skin that is sure to turn into bluish-purple hickeys in the morning. "Jungkook," you tug his hair roughly.

Your husband grunts at the gesture and traces his fingers along your bare skin until they find the delicate band of your bra. He unclasps the material in seconds, leaving your nipples pebbling from the cool air.

"Is it too soon for me to say I can't wait until these are lactating?" He cups the swell of your breasts and circles his thumbs over your hardened buds. You mewl at the touch, arousal already collecting between your thighs.

"They'll be for the baby," you reply. "Not you."

Jungkook growls immediately and brings his mouth over a breast. The relentless sucking and licking makes you throw your head back in pleasure. He moves to your other breast after his teeth tug at your nipple a few times, repeating the process all over again. "Fuck–" you yelp when one of his tugs gets a little too harsh.

"Shit, I'm sorry baby." He draws his teeth back and starts licking the bud soothingly. "Feel better?"

"Mm," you whine. "Need more, please."

Jungkook knows exactly what you're asking for so he gives your nipples one last lick each, then pecks your lips. His sturdy arms lift you off the counter next and carries you into the bedroom where he lays you on the bed.

"Just a second," he says. You nod and watch him yank his shirt over his head, revealing his toned body. It's always sexy to see him taking his clothes off like this, you think to yourself. He removes his pants; leaving his briefs on, then climbs on the bed with you. "You're so effortlessly beautiful you know that? I'm gonna make you feel good tonight baby," he promises and plants gentle kisses down your abdomen.

You raise your butt a little when he starts peeling your shorts and underwear off. "Fuck, I didn't know you could get this wet," he comments, spreading your thighs apart so he can comfortably sit between them. A single finger drags up your slit, a moment after and you buck your hips at the suddenness. "How many fingers do you want? Or do you want to skip to my tongue eating you out? I'll do whatever you tell me, baby."

You moan hearing the last part. Jungkook is always quick to please. "Both, please. Your fingers and mouth," you say, gripping the sheets in preparation.

At your word, Jungkook slowly pushes a finger into your wet pussy. The initial squelch gives both of you pleasure; a shiver runs down your spine and Jungkook's underwear tightens.

"Oh god," you moan when a second finger slides next to the first one, both curling inside you just right. "One more, need one more." Jungkook pumps his fingers into you two more times, then adds a third.

"Like it?" he asks, fingers moving faster in you. "Feeling good?"

"Yes, fuck–keep going Kook."

Jungkook continues pumping his finger inside you, carefully watching you bite your lip as he does. He loves seeing you like this–getting so fucked out over his fingers. "Shit–" he grunts and leans his head between your thighs when he sees some of your pearly white liquid drip down your thighs and onto the bed sheets.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you repeat, nearly breathless as your husband starts licking a long stripe across your sex. He removes his fingers before doing it again, allowing him to dip the tip of his tongue into your folds ever so slightly. "I think I'm about to come," you warn and claw at his luscious hair with one hand.

Jungkook takes this as the perfect time to start sucking your clit, biting it teasingly until you finally have your first orgasm of the night. When he lifts his head from your pussy, his mouth and chin are both glistening with your cum. "I love eating you out," he says, using his arm to wipe his mouth and chin, "You always taste like fucking candy. And you have no idea how turns on it makes me to see you enjoying it just as much."

"I'm pretty sure I can take a good guess," you reply, eyeing his obvious erection. "Want me to suck you off?" You move to slide the band of his briefs down but he stops the movement.

"Not tonight baby," he says. "I really just want to fuck you now."

"You sure?" you ask again but he only gets off the bed and removes his underwear. His hard cock smacks against his abdomen when he does, making your pussy clench around nothing.

"Missionary?" Jungkook crawls back on the bed and guides you on your back before throwing your legs over his shoulder. "Heard this angle is good for making babies." He winks and you laugh at his sudden playfulness.

"Kook, you know it'll be a few months before I'll be able to get pregnant right? Since I've been on birth control for years?"

"Well, I guess we're getting a head start then." Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you flirtatiously then slowly sinks the tips of his length into your pussy until bottoming out.

"Oh fuck," you both moan in unison at the familiar stretch. You and Jungkook have had a lot of sex over the years but not like this; this is a whole new experience.

"You're gonna make such a pretty mama," he coos, slowly thrusting his cock in and out of you. You feel the pressure in your core start to build at the simple comment. "You want me to make you round with our child don't you?"

"Yes–please, I want it so bad."

"My poor baby." Jungkook quickens his pace, pulling his cock out before slamming back in. Every thrust is rougher than the last, leaving you in a moaning mess as your body bounces up and down on the mattresses. "Gonna give you as many as you want now okay? Gonna fill this pussy up so good."

"Kook!" You scream and clench uncontrollably around him as he continues fucking you at what you can only call an animalistic pace. His hair is messy, body sweating, and his teeth are clamped together in sheer pleasure.

"Fuck!" He lets out another loud groan, his tatted hand clinging onto your legs while the other presses down on your stomach. "Look at you taking me so well," he praises. "Always so good for me or do you really want a baby that bad hm? Talk to me baby, tell me how it feels having your guts rearranged."

"It–" you can barely speak as his cock beats into you messily, his balls slapping against your asscheeks as he does. "It feels so good, shit! Don't stop!" You claw the sheets, desperate to cling onto something.

"Yeah? You want me to keep fucking you like this?" He pushes down on your stomach a little more. The added pressure makes it so you can feel his cock even more.

"Oh god, oh god fuck–" your eyes roll to the back of your head as your pussy starts spasming from all the thrusting. "So close, I'm so close Jungkook..."

"I can tell baby," he grunts. "You're squeezing me so tight but you're also so fucking wet. Come whenever you're ready okay? I'm going get us both there."

The next thirty seconds to a minute consists of Jungkook snapping his hips and several of your broken moans echoing off the walls of your bedroom. Finally, after a series of long, hard thrusts, you both reach your peak and have your release.

"I love you so much," Jungkook lets go of your legs and moves to straddle you. His elbows come up on either side of your head as he leans in for a kiss.

"I love you too," you mumble and card your fingers through his hair. "You're going to make a wonderful father Kook."

"Only because of you," he whispers before capturing your lips in simultaneously the most fiery and sweet kiss you've ever shared.

"What time is it?" You lazily throw an arm around your husband but to your dissatisfaction, it slips off him and hits the mattress instead. He's getting up for work–crap.

"It's 5:30 a.m," Jungkook replies and stands up from the bed, back muscles flexing as he does. He's still naked from last night and so are you now that you think about it. "I need to hop in the shower for work."

You reach forward to catch his wrist before he can move any further. "Let me join you."

Jungkook smiles. You're so beautiful with the way the soft sheets wrap around your bare skin. And your grip on his wrist makes him wish he could crawl back in bed with you.

"As wonderful as that sounds, we both know what'll happen if you jump in the shower with me. And we don't have enough time for that today. Sleep instead, okay?" He gives you a quick kiss and heads for the bathroom.

"Kook–" You kick the covers off your body and follow him.

"What are you doing?" he turns his head in your direction when he feels a cool breeze coming from the door.

"I need to shower too," you say and step behind him in the tub.

"Alright," he narrows his eyes at you. "I'll allow it but behave." When he turns on the hot water you grab your bodywash from the shelf.

"Mhm," you hum. "I definitely will."

You definitely did not. Which is why your husband is about to be late to his lecture with potential hickeys on his neck. You tried to be careful not to put them anywhere visible though—the kids don't need to see that.

"I gotta leave honey," he kisses you by the front door, keys jingling in his hand. "Bye," another kiss. "Yup bye…okay I love you but if I can't get fired by not showing up to class."

You give him one last smooch before reluctantly letting him go. "Oh wait, your collar." You smooth the fabric down for him when you see the crinkles. Jungkook likes it when you groom him like this, it's cute.

"Thanks," he says. "Love you!"

Once he's out of sight you shut the door behind him and walk back to your bedroom.

oh god.

You immediately stand still when you feel a sudden throbbing in your head. You place a hand over your stomach and close your eyes in hopes it'll pass.

"I think I need some water," you say. "I'm so nauseous. This has to be a dizzy spell. No way I'm pregnant after one night of being off my birth control." You dismiss the idea at the mere thought. "It's too soon."

Despite your protests, you decide to pick up a pregnancy test on your way home from work—just to be sure.

"Negative," you read the results of the test later that night. Outside the bathroom, you hear your husband rustling about in the bedroom. "Well, we'll just keep trying."

You smile, anticipating the start of your new life with Jungkook.

A/N: What do you think of the ending? I know oc is negative for pregnancy but she just got off bc so it'll take a few months. Still, they will keep trying ;) stayed tuned for an epilogue and hit me up with drabble ideas, as I will be writing more myself haha. Love You!! 😘

Masterlist

Taglist:

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[theclaravoyant]

bucktommy + 29 kiss on the back of the hand

AN ~ (from this prompt list) this idea started as cute regency ball flirty vibes but then the spirit of Tucker compelled me and it was replaced by Crying About Animals In the Sky and I'm sorry . hurt/comfort . it's cute i swear

-

The number one rule of any aircraft, Buck has learnt, is that you don't distract the pilot during critical flight times, like taking off. Yes, even if that pilot is your boyfriend and you're on a date and he's just argued you out of bringing the champagne because he's being responsible and it's never been so thrilling to call yourself a law abiding citizen.

He tries watching Tommy work the controls instead, but even that is a little bit too fascinating: there are so many buttons and switches and stuff in here, it must have taken him a lifetime to learn what they all do, but he moves with ease like it's no different to riding a bike. All Buck wants to do the whole time is ask, and what does this do, and what does this do, and what does this do. So he searches for something else to look at instead, and his eyes fall onto a photograph tucked between dials on the dash.

It's not a particularly good photo; the camera that took it is probably twenty years old by now, and the sun glare in it is atrocious, but Buck makes out that the person taking up about half the image is a younger, rugged-looking Tommy. He looks to be wearing maybe fatigues? Something khaki, with a chain from dog tags disappearing out of frame around his neck. He's got one arm slung around an equally rugged-looking, not nearly as young German Shepherd, who looks to be smiling at his master or maybe about to give him a big old kiss on that dusty face.

The tone in his earpiece changes, then, indicating the communications line has opened back up so he asks;

“Is he yours?”

“Ha, I wish,” Tommy says. “She belongs to the Harrison Airfield. But she's one of my favourites to hire on my off time. Flies like a dream.”

Buck frowns, and then realises Tommy's eyes are still on the skyline.

“No, I mean-” He holds up the picture, waving it in Tommy's periphery. The man does a momentary double take.

“Oh.” His voice gets tight. His eyes move back to the horizon and stay there.

There's a lot we don't know about each other, Buck recalls.

“That's Tucker,” Tommy says, after a moment. “He was an EDD over in Iraq serving with a friend of mine. Retired same time I did, but Bailey stayed on so she asked me to take him. Got me through a lot, that dog. Osteosarcoma got him in the end. I scattered his ashes at Big Bear – me and Bailey fly out every year to say hi. That must have been when I left the picture. Sorry, I- I wasn't expecting that to be there.”

“I'm sorry,” Buck offers. “Sounds like a good boy.”

“Yeah. He was.”

Buck wishes they weren't in a helicopter right now, so that he could pull Tommy in for the bear hug to end all bear hugs. But they are, and he can't, so instead he bumps his shoulder against Tommy's and the man relinquishes one of his arms. Buck takes his time; intertwines their fingers slowly, and lifts Tommy's hand up to his lips for a gentle kiss. He holds on for a long time after that, admiring the scenery and honouring the memory in the silence gifted to them by vast blue skies and craggy mountain forests. Buck resolves to get out of the city more. He's not gone for a decent hike in so long. Maybe there's just something special about sailing over it all like a hawk, but it feels like he's forgotten what beauty lies beyond the vim and vigour of the concrete jungle.

“I can see why you like it up here,” he says. “Everything kind of falls away. It's beautiful. Reminds me of horse riding, now that I think about it.”

“You ride?” Tommy asks.

“Oh, no, not for years. But I used to be a ranch-hand, back in the day before I joined the 118.”

“I thought you used to be a bartender?”

Buck laughs. “Yeah, I used to do a lot of things. Feels like I had the world's longest gap year.”

“Tell me about it,” Tommy offers.

So he does.

[gracieheartspedro]

I Can See You

fem!reader x dbf!joel miller

Hi friends! It's been awhile (:

I am back to writing! This time, I'm planning on having many parts to this story. It's a DBF Joel Miller story, which I love to read, which means I had to write it, right?

I wrote this with no Y/N, instead each character gives her a nickname/pet name.

So here's Part 1, I really hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: DBF! Joel, age gap-ish (reader is 25, Joel is 39), eventual smut, joel being a little bit of a perv, reader not having a filter, alcohol consumption

“Mornin’,” His Southern accent was even deeper than usual. My head peaks up from behind my computer, noticing his very tired eyes. The bags under his eyes still somehow did him justice. 

“Mornin’ Joel,” I mutter before taking a sip of my coffee. I watch as he finds his way towards my bosses office. He was only my boss at work, but at home he was just Dad. 

I watch his ass move in his jeans, shamelessly. 

Finding your coworker hot is one thing, it’s another when it’s also your dad’s friend and he was about 20 years older than you. 

I’ve thought Joel Miller was quite the looker since I was about 18. I had just started working for my dad. I was mainly just scheduling and doing work orders. Joel took me out to a work site one day, on my father’s request. He wanted me to get know some of the people who would be scheduling work from us. I got to sit around with the property manager of an apartment complex in a tight black dress in the dead of summer, watching guys replace windows. While outside that day, Joel worked alongside some of the laborers, his tanned skin and shaggy dark hair glistening with sweat. Something about him doing manual labor turned me on. Something awoke in me that day, and ever since then, I thirst over him in silence. 

I catch myself looking a bit too long, quickly averting my eyes to my computer screen. I act like I am typing something, glancing over to Joel and my dad walking out of his office together. They are discussing another project that Joel was overseeing that would keep him very busy in the upcoming months. 

“My girl here will be starting back at college in the fall, so she will only be part time for awhile,” My dad says, drawing attention to me. 

“Oh really, where ya going?” 

I blank out completely for a moment.

“UT Austin,” I finally answer.

“Smart girl, you living on campus?”

“Nope, just getting my master’s in Engineering so living from home makes the most sense.”

Joel shakes his head, “Master’s. Didn’t you just graduate high school?”

“I’m 25, Joel.”

His eyes scan me for a moment, realizing I’m much older than he remembers. 

“Ha,” He grumbles, “Time flies huh, Steve?”

“Sure does, you just wait for that Sarah of yours is off to college,” My dad laughs, slapping Joel’s shoulder. I wince, realizing again he has a young daughter. It wasn’t ideal, to say the least. 

“We got about 5 years on that,” Joel says, his eyes returning to mine, “Well it’ll be nice havin’ you around during our busy season.”

“Happy to help,” I reply, not really meaning it. 

“Hey, Joel, you and Sarah making an appearance at our BBQ this weekend? We invited the whole neighborhood and I can’t remember if you told me you’d be there.”

His eyes are still on me, “Yeah, I’ll be there,” his eyes return to my dad’s, “Just me and Tommy though, Sarah is goin’ over to a friend’s house.”

“Can’t wait!” My dad cheers, “Baby girl, can you make sure my schedule is cleared Friday evening so I don’t have to worry about when I can get the meat?”

“Of course, dad,” I grit my teeth, “I’m on it.”

-

“Hey baby girl, can you go grab me some extra plates?” 

My dad was over the top with his BBQs to say the very least. The whole neighborhood was in on it. Steaks, burgers, hot dogs, chicken, the whole thing. I spent all morning getting the huge backyard and cabana ready for all our visitors. We usually had someone come over to do all the setting up, but Dad made sure to remind me that I was living rent free and being paid on his payroll, so setting up was the least I could do. 

People littered the pool and backyard. I weave between people, giving smiles and welcomes where I could.

I walk in to the kitchen, the cold AC air hitting my bare arms. Luckily, I was wearing shorts over my bikini shorts, or else the goose bumps would be up and down my legs, too. I begin searching the cabinets for the large serving plates you always used for big gatherings. Leaning down, my triangle bikini top almost lets my boobs loose. I sit up straight, messing with the knots on my back. I knew tightening it could only help so much.

“Need help?” I almost jump out of my skin. I turn quickly, spotting Joel Miller standing in the kitchen with me.

“Shit, you fucking scared me,” I breathe loudly, patting my chest to make my heart stop racing, “I think I can get it.”

“Mhm,” He sticks a tooth pick between his teeth, “Lemme help, girl.”

God he was so fine. I hated myself for having a crush on him. But the domestic and simple gray t-shirt that hugged his arms so well and the blue jeans? I simply could not resist staring. 

No chance in hell. But I got to look at him every day and imagine it. 

I turn on my heels, holding the ties out to him so he could tie them. 

“I need them tighter,” I mutter, “Don’t want these puppies falling out in front of the Adlers.”

“Don’t want to excite Mr. Adler too much, he may have himself a heart attack.”

I smile to myself, biting my lip. He ties it, his fingers grazing my bare back slightly. 

“All good now, girl,” I turn to face him, looking up at him through my eyelashes, “Now what were you lookin’ for?”

“Serving plates,” I explain, “Dad is finishing up those steaks, needs more space.”

“Well let’s get ‘em and head out to all the fun,” He says, ducking down to the cabinet I was looking in originally. He finds them, handing them up to me. He looks so good looking up at me from this angle. 

“You want to grab us some beers,” I suggest, “I’ll meet you out there?”

“Your dad runnin’ low?”

“Probably, so grab three.”

–

“So, you going to be here all summer?”

I had no interest in talking to Tommy, but he was keeping me from toeing the line with Joel in my drunken state, so here I am. I sit in my lounger chair, wanting so bad to take off my jean shorts. I knew if I did, Tommy would take it as I’m making a pass, so I sweat extra. 

“I’m starting college in August, so yeah I’ll be around the office and staying home.”

He smiles, “Good to hear, love seeing you around.”

I smile back faking a cheery laugh, “Thanks, Tommy… care to grab me another beer?”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

I watch him walk away before searching the crowd for Joel. I spot him across the yard, talking to one of the newer neighbors. A single mom who moved in two months ago. My dad kept joking the other night that he’d be making her my stepmom, which only made me gag. She was beautiful, younger than my dad, but just about Joel’s age. 

A pang of jealousy rises within me. 

Joel finally catches my wandering eyes. He smiles gently, giving me a nod.

“Here, darling,” Tommy says sweetly, “Need anything else?”

“Yeah, actually,” Your brother, “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure, ‘s up?”

I sit up, leaning over making my boobs hang right in his eye line. 

If I couldn’t keep one Miller’s attention, maybe I could snag second best. My beer filled brain thinks about how they are cut from the same cloth, so they both are probably good at this. 

“Do you want to help me change a lightbulb?”

He raises his eyebrows, “I guess, where at?”

I smirk, “My bedroom.”

We sneak away, my eyes scanning the area. It didn’t appear as anyone was following us. My room was the last room on the left upstairs, so the anticipation as I guided him down the hallway was killing me.

Ever since Joel grazed my back earlier, I’ve been ready. So fucking ready. 

“Are we actually changing a lightbulb?”

I open my door for him, gesturing to him to follow me in.

In the dim light, Tommy was very cute. He was a sweet guy and I knew he’d be the first to jump on my idea. 

“You tell me,” I say, starting to untie the knot Joel tied. In my moment of trying to be sexy, I realize Joel tied the stupidest and hardest knot ever. Tommy notices my struggle, reaching around me, frantically trying to get the top off.

As it gets loose, I reach up to grab his neck.

“What the fuck is going on ‘ere?” 

His voice freezes me. Tommy looks towards the door in horror.

“Joel-“

“Tommy, you fucking know better,” His voice is so intimidating and scary, I cant even muster the courage to turn around, “Git.”

Tommy gives me eyes saying I’m so sorry, and I just stare blankly at my wall. I hear Tommy’s foot steps run down the stairs. I realize how drunk I am because my wall paper begins to move on it’s own. It doesn’t usually do that. 

“Now you,” His stride towards me is quick, “I’m not your Dad, but don’t think he’d like you fucking his employees.”

Maybe it was the liquid courage, “Who said I was trying to fuck him?”

I snap my head towards his stern and impossible to read face.

“Bullshit,” He spits, “He got through my knot, he assumed somethin’ was about to happen.”

“Well, even if that’s where it went, why are you putting your nose in our business?”

He chuckles darkly, “So now it’s ours, huh? I have you know, girl, Tommy’s business is my business. And you’re just makin’ my job hard.”

I tiptoe closer to him, “And what’s your job, again, Mr. Miller?”

“Make sure people are behavin’ themselves.”

I realize what he’s doing. My tipsy mind took a second to search his face for more, but I can't read him at all. 

“I’m behaving, Mr. Miller. I promise,” I reach up, touching his jaw, “No more funny business.”

It was the closest I had ever got to him. I felt a rush just touching him.

“Good, get your top back on and come down to the party. Your dad is looking for you.”

I look down at myself as he leaves the room. My fucking tits are out, and he didn’t even look down.

The game he was playing was not the same one I was playing.

–

The next morning, I have a pounding headache and no drive to leave my room. I was embarrassed and horrified. I knew I would have to face Joel and Tommy on Monday morning, so I had to make amends beforehand. I really didn’t want them to tell my dad and I was pretty out of line for trying to fuck Tommy when Joel wasn't giving me the attention my drunk ass thought I deserved.

After spending hours in bed, rolling back and forth thinking of a script to say, I figured that honesty is the best policy. 

Well, honesty with a little bend in the truth. 

I get showered and dressed. My usual summer time outfit was a crop top and short shorts, but today I needed to be more… conservative. 

I find a nice summery dress, that went to midthigh. It was yellow, not a lot cleavage, floral. Innocent. 

When I get downstairs, my dad sits in the living room, his feet propped up watching the news. 

“Where ya going, baby girl?” 

“I’m going for a walk,” I lie. 

“Wearing that?”

“Yes,” I nod quickly, “Do you need anything while I’m out?”

He shakes his head, “No, have fun, I guess.”

I could tell he was suspicious, but he wasn’t one to pester me too much. He had high expectations for me, but I always exceeded them. He never questioned me too much, unless it was about school. He didn’t even really care about my love life. He always got excited when I told him I was going on dates in college. I mean, I rather him be excited than bother me about the guys I was seeing.

I start my journey to Joel’s. I didn’t even know if he was home or not, I was going on blind faith.

It was hot as shit and I was not fully prepared to walk to his house in a dress and sandals. 

I could’ve just driven there and back. But no, I decided to roast in the hot summer sun.

–

When I arrive to his house, I just kind of stand in his driveway, catching my breath. He was home, his truck was here. 

I walk to the front door, knocking first then ringing the door bell. 

It takes about minute, but he gets the door. 

And he’s shirtless. 

It was the worst and best moment of my entire life. 

“What are you doing here?”

And it’s not quite the response I was anticipating when I arrived at his door. 

“I uh-,” I hear some stirring inside the house, which causes me to peak my head past Joel’s shoulder. 

I see movement, but my eyes find Joel’s again before I could focus in on it. He pushes me back a bit, coming outside and shutting the door behind him. 

“I came to apologize, but you seem busy.”

He shakes his head, “Not busy, just woke up.”

“With someone?”

What the fuck? Why can’t I shut my mouth?

“Pardon me?”

“Well I walked this whole way to apologize about my inappropriate behavior yesterday,” I explain, “But yeah, that’s it.”

The door creaks open and I am wholeheartedly anticipating a hot MILF or something. But instead, it’s a little girl. 

“Sarah, get inside!”

“Oh hi, I know you!”

I smile at the girl. She was cute, I had to admit. She looked a bit like Joel, mainly the smile. A smile I wasn’t too familiar with, because he wasn’t too keen on my jokes. Ever.

“Yeah, I work with your dad,” I explain, “Nice to see you, Sarah.”

“You too, do you want to have lunch with us?”

“Sarah she can’t st-” 

“I’d love to, only if your dad says it’s okay.”

He got himself in a pickle, but I was aching to have a conversation that didn’t involve me putting my foot in my mouth like I almost did again. Plus, some food and water would help the heatstroke I felt coming on.

He stares at me, almost like he wished I’d disappear, “Of course, come in. Sarah is making sandwiches.”

“I hope you like turkey and cheese!”

—

“Thanks for the sandwich, Sarah,” I say, wiping my face making sure I didn’t have mustard left over.

She smiles with her mouth full, “You’re welcome!”

“Hey Sarah, why don’t you go get ready for swim practice,” He suggests, “Me and your new best friend need to have an adult conversation.”

She looks up at him annoyed, “I guess, but don’t scare her away. She has a cool pool I want to swim in.”

I laugh out loud, “Yeah, don’t scare me away, Joel.”

He doesn’t laugh, he just looks at me with his lazer eyes. I just wish Sarah a farewell and shut my mouth, waiting for the storm. He stirs, eating another bite of his sandwich. 

“So you came to apologize, huh?”

I swallow, “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry for my inappropriate behavior. I had one too many yesterday.”

He nods, “Yeah you were practically falling out of that top of yours before you took Tommy upstairs. Surprised you didn’t have it off before then.”

My eyes widen, “Well that’s humiliating.”

“Don’t think anyone was particularly mad about it,” He says, “Maybe one of those neighborhood watch moms, but who cares about ‘em?”

I can’t help but smirk. Was he insinuating that he wasn’t mad about almost seeing my boobs?

“Yeah, they always give me the most disgusted looks when I’m out jogging.”

“Cause’ they miss bein’ young and beautiful,” He explains, “All their husbands stare, too.”

I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this, I find myself leaning in a bit to try to talk quieter. It seems like this is conversation we should be whispering to each other.

“Do you stare?”

Foot. In. Mouth. 

He smirks, giggling a bit. I finally got to see him smile.

“Of course, I do.”

----

Hehehehe tell me what you think! I'll be back with part 2 soon!

[yuri-is-online]

A Step Behind the Curtain (Jamil Viper x Yuu)

He didn't know you then, but that didn't stop your kindness. If you were willing to go so far out of your way for a literal stranger what would you do if you were friends? How far would you go for someone you cared for?

Would you still want to wish him happy birthday?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, stranger crushes, mild angst with the intent of comfort, Jamil deserves nice things. If you like this please check my master list here.

The first birthday Jamil had at Night Raven College had been painful. He had been looking forward to it initially, marked it in ink in his planner with the expectation that he would get to spend it alone.

When Kalim showed up he'd thrown away the whole book instead of re-arrange it. The thaumarks it cost to replace was nothing compared to the blow the Asim's continued to deal his pride. This year Kalim had agreed to keep from throwing any ostentatious surprise parties, but there was still the threat he would decide he knew Jamil's wants better than the man himself and do... something. If he was in a more reflective mood he might have noted that by "something" he really meant "anything," but the tension headache working itself across his forehead is preventing any thought other than a need for medication.

That he has conveniently run out of, it's all he can do to keep from grinding his teeth and making the pain worse. This is not the first time he has been grateful there aren't limited hours on the school's hospital wing, and it might not even be the last time today depending on what Kalim has planned. It is the first time he walks in on someone already sorting through the first aid cabinet, it stops him in his tracks and almost tricks him into pinching himself to make sure he's awake.

"Oh I'm sorry." The other student is just as surprised to see him, but they keep their voice at a three a.m. appropriate quiet. "Jamil right?"

"Right." He can't figure out if he has the right to encroach on their space, maybe it's the headache but he can't place the face anywhere. There is a funny feeling at the realization they know his name, different than when Azul says it but flavored with a similar worry as he opens his mouth to try and ask for his turn with the cabinet only to find they've somehow closed the gap with the tablets he was looking for in their outstretched hand.

"You were massaging your head." Is all they offer to soothe his confusion, turning towards their back pack to offer him an unopened water bottle before they turn to leave. He doesn't take the pills immediately, instead he finds his fingers curling around the packet and slowly trying to cover his heart with the illusion of their warmth. Their hands had been cold, but had he really touched them long enough to know that?

"Thanks." He means it, but they just shrug at him with a smile, as if they would do this for anyone despite somehow knowing his name.

"Don't mention it." Their name is Yuu, he belatedly realizes as he agonizes over what you're welcome would have sounded like from their voice instead of a dismissal of merit. As if sensing he wanted to hear more, they pause in the infirmary doors and turn to him with a smile he knows he could never afford. "Oh! It's your birthday right?" And before he can prepare himself they half sing "Happy birthday~ I hope it gets better." He drops the pills in shock but they're gone into the early morning air before he they can realize the flustered mess they've left.

Happy birthday. He bends to pick up the packet and downs the medication along with the fluttering feeling in his heart. There is no time to think about this now, for now he will simply hold onto the gentle calm they created for him. It can fuel his desire for a better life later, in the quiet of the petty realization that this year, Kalim was not the first person to wish him well.

[asmutwriter]

Are You Scared Yet? (Part 1)

DESCRIPTION: You're a new student at your university. You were smart and dedicated to learning. But every uni student gets up to some crazy things, right?

A/N - I have work tomorrow and instead of going to sleep for my day I'm here writing a fan fic. I make very sensible choices.

WORD COUNT: 2245

Next / Master List

WARNINGS: Reader is an introvert/anti social, mild cussing (bloody/Jesus), reader is a little judgy, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex/nudity

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

Not been proof read

You take a deep breath. Living on campus was new to you so you were quite nervous to say the least. Going into the dorm rooms you hear people chatting around you. Finding your room number. 16. Opening it with the new key you had. You shut the door behind you. Placing your rucksack down onto the chair in your new room.

You’d not been in education for about a year at this point. Having had a gap year to do some exploring so you had to get back into the mindset of doing if. You rst your head back as the door knocks. SOmeone walks in "Oh hey!" your roommate says. Her bubbly personaltiy being a surprise based on the rudeness of some of the other dorm people that you’d bumped into. "Im Lucky" she comes over to you. Hugging you. You gently pat her back before she moves away. Resting a hand on her hip she eyes you up and down.

Your oversized hoodie and jeans being a contrast to her mini skirt and tight shirt. Both leaving very little to the imagination. You wihs you had the confidence to wear something like that. "Im Luna"

"Oh that is a beautiful name" she says, cuaisng you to smile. SHe hugs you again "I think we're going to be best friends" she says. ALmost squealing as she moves away from the hug. "What is it that you're studying?"

"Art and drama"

"Oh my friend did that last year. I tried but got bored. Everything I do mildly creative ends up looking like a toddler did it” you let out a soft chuckle

“So does mine but that doesn’t mean I don’t try to do it”she laughs “what do you do instead then?”

“I do psychology"

"Thats cool. I was debating doing it but decided against it” a knock at the door stops your conversation as she looks owards it

"come in". she says. SOmeone walks in.

"Lucky do you want to come see my new room?" she nods, looking at you as she stands

"DO you want to come?"

"No Im ok tha k you. Ive got to unpack" she looks at your singular rucksack but nods

"ALright then. See you later" she smiles before walking off. You grab your bag. Taking out your various items. Your diary, book, clothes, etc. SOrting it all out onto your bed before putting it away properly on your side of the room.

Youd moved in on the Saturday. Sunday having a few induction days or various groups you could join. Then Monday being peoples first day at uni. Now it was Sunday. After a night in reading yur book. Your roommate coming in during the early hours of the morning, very drunk. You got up early and explored the grounds. Going over to a stall with various cakes and such on it.

You hear someone letting out a groan beside you. "Hi there Luna"

"Did someone have a good time last night?" you look at Lucky standing next to you. Sunglasses on despite the dark weather. SHe nods. Taking the glasses off as she looks at you. A black eye adorning her face. "Jesus what happened to you?"

"I had a terrible fight. With the floor. ANd lost" you let out a slight chuckle as she picks up one of the cupcakes. The lady at the stall going to speak but she shushes her. Walking off. You grab out a fiver from your purse, placig it down and mouthing 'sorry' to her. Catching up with your new friend. SHe bites down into the cake, a moan escaping her lips as she speaks with her mouth full "That is a bloody good cake". SHe looks at you, swallowing before talking again "what did you get up to last ngiht?"

"Nothing in particualr. I read my book, had a shower, then went to bed"

"You should come out with me tonight"

"I have classes early tomorrow morning so I really shouldnt"

"Oh come on. Itll be fun!" she grabs your arm "I can introduce you to some of my friends. I think you'll like one of them. Hes handsome and he likes books to. Plus you have similar fashion tastes. Oh lets look over here" SHe drags you over to a stall. Making small talk with the person behind it. You both go round to the rest of the stalls. Meeting a couple of her other friends.

The day going past quckly. You manage to convicne your new friend to stay in the night. Inviting her and two of her other friends rund. You stay up till quite late. Talking about a whole variety of things. Sadly things that didnt overly interest you. Boys you found cute. WHat lipstick shade was the best. Hair products. Although you found the conversation lacking in intellect you enjoyed the girls company so engaged in the talk with them.

You found one of the girls was also doing art. So you agreed to walk to class together. Her name was Hope. Sitting next to her in class, you found she had a lot higher intellegence then you initially thought when yo first met her. ACtually having a decent conversation with her until your professor walked in. Then every brain cell she seemed to have rotted away as she practicly stared at her. A young woman. Probably early thirties. Eyeliner perfect, hair styled in a way that looked both messy yet neat. You chuckle slightly. You were unaware that this new friend of yours swung that way, and this was certainly an interesting and entertaining way to find out.

"Please can you all call me Destiny. I would go about the formality of you using my doctorate name but we are here to make art. Not have a tea party with the queen. So-" she says. "I want everyone to pick up their pens. Pencils. Paints. Paper mache. WHatever you need to make a piece that says 'I am me'. You have the rest of the day. I will be judging them when you all go home to some sort of party Im sure"

You pick grab out your sketch book and pencils. Starting to trace your art piece. Noticing your friend still drooling over your teacher. You nudge her. Cuasing her to fall out of the trance. SHe looks at you. Her face turning a wonderful shade of tomato red.

"How much of that did you get?"

"Soemthing about her being our destiny"

"Ok then" you laugh. Explaing to your love stricken friend what she needs to do.

Once she listened she started her piece, as did you. You did a simple piece of work. A black and white picture of yourself. Behind it a mass of colour. Tryng to show that although you appeared dull on the outside, you had a lot of fun to show to those who got to know you.

Hope links an arm with you as you leave the lecture. "Are you coming to the party tonight?"

"You know that we're here for education right? ANd npt to drink ourselves to death"

"Oh come on"

"Ive got a very good book and a film to watch though"

"You can do that any day"

"I can have a party any day" she rolls her eyes.

"Come for like... an hour. If you dont like it then you can go back to your room"

"Fine..."

"Yay!" she exclaims. "I'll be round to take ypu and Lucky at 9. SPeak of the devil!" Lucky walks up to you both. Linking an arm with you on the other side. "I was just telling Luna about our party tonight"

"Youre coming?"

"I am" she squeals. Hugging you close to her. You gently pack her back. "You can borrow one of my dresses if youd like?"

"Oh no. Im not wearing a dress"

"Yes. Yes you are" you give her an uncomfortable look "At least wear a skirt".

"Skirt but a hoodie. ANd tights"

"Deal" she holds her hand out for you to shake. To which yo do.

If this was a movie. There would be a cheesy dress up montage. WHere the popluar girl takes off your glasses and straitens your hair and your suddenly beautiful. But this isnt a movie, so you settle with them doing their makeup in your room. Playing various pop music on their 'top of the charts' CD. Putting some mascara on your, as well as a deep blue skirt paired with a grey hoodie and black tights.

You get to the partry. You stand awkwardly in the corner. Watching men and woman get more and more drunk. With each drink they seem to strip too. Leaving a lot of half naked people around you.

Lucky stuck by your side for the first hour. Getting herself drinks. She had gone off to get drinks some more 20 minutes ago and hadnt returned. Hope stuck by your side though. Not drinking, joining you in a joint sober. You did start to enjoy yourself. You were planning on going for an hour but ended up staying for 2. Not a long time compafred to most people but for you, it was a lot of time to socialise.

So you bid your friend farewell. Telling her that you were grwing tired and would see her in class the following day. SHe agrees. Seeming happy that you had a good time. Sad to see you go but understood how introverted you are.

You head back to your dorm room. WHen you get there you see a tie firmly tied around the door handle. Now, you werent necersarily the most outgong person you knew. But you did know what that meant. So you turn tail. Annoyed that your friends had managed to convince you to not take your tote bag with you book in. You guess youd check the university library and see if they had anything in there to read.

Thankfully the library was run by book enthusiasts so was open 24/7. You go inside. Smiling at the lady at the desk as she smiles back to you. You idle down the rows of books. Seeing if any screamed out at you. You found one in the fantasy isle. Picking it up you turn it to read the blurb.

"Id recomoend this book instead" a voice says. Making you jump back at the suddeness of a male voice. You thought it was only you and the librarian (who was a female). "Sorry, didnt mean to startle you"

"No. No its fine. I just wasnt expecting anyine else to be here" you say. Now that you were over your initial scare you take a look at the man. Dark hair contrasting his vibrant blue eyes. Glasses sat comfortably on his nose as he wears a blazer over a vest shirt.

"I wasnt expectinh to see anyone else either. Normally its just me here reading up on studies". DUe to his youthful featrues yete his smart attire you couldnt tell if he meant in a professor or a student kind of study. He seemed to be able to tell your confusion as he continues speaking. "I work here". He outsteetches his hand towards you. "Professor Crane". Yiu take his hand.

"Luna. Like the moon. Ironic given that I often suffer from insomnia" he chuckles. "What do you study then professor?"

"Psychology"

"No way. My friend is studying that! Lucky... I dont know her last name"

"Yes. I know Lucky" he smiles. Obviously not overly impressed by the name drop. "WHat do you study then? Assuming you do come here and havnt just decided to sneak into a unis library"

"I stidy art. Not quite the level of psychology but still good fun".

"WHat made you come here rather then go out and party?"

"I was at a party but I decided to go back to my dorm". He looks around the library. "Oh no. There was a tie on my dorm door. I know how promiscous my roommate is so I just decided to leave her to it".

"Ahh. Well, if your wanting something to read whilst you wait then Id recomend this" he turns. Taking out a book from the shelf and handing it to you. You take it from him, turning it over to read the blurb. "Its a very good stroy line with some strong characters"

"Ive read this author before. Hes a good writer". You place it atop the oteer one youre still holding. "Ill add it to the pile"

"What book is that one?" he motions to the one your holding. "I saw you get it from the fantasy section"

"Its part of a series I read. Not read this one rhoufh. Its about an angel who solves crimes. Using his powers to force people to tell the truth"

"Sounds..."

"Utterly insane?"

"I was going to say interesting but yeah, that sums it uo better" he smiles. "I have taken up enough of your time. I imagine that you are wanting to get back to your reading. So I shall leave you to it Miss Luna. I hope you enjoy your books. And I hope tat your roommate lets you back into your dorm at some point tonight"

"If not then Im sure the librarian wont mind me camping out here" you joke. Causing him to let out a laugh. Adjusting his brief case before turning and walking out.

Next

[flymetosnarryland]

A little progress.

I'm working on "Infraction." My precious baby, uh. This art is part of it in a way. Eileen Prince and Tobias Snape. When people are falling in love everything seems easy, but then life happen.

(I'd like to talk about how things are going with Infraction.)

I'm back on it since couple of weeks and working on it is intense (my brain is literally boiling). I don't think I ever planned a story for that long. The first idea has born 6th January this year. I was writing down (like crazy) everything I wanted to be in this fic. During first months it was chaotic and messy, but brought me so much joy. When I've had everything that (I thought) I needed, I wrote first chapters, yeah. And then shared them, because was so excited about all of it and just couldn't wait. Gosh.

Now I... hm... well, maybe not "regret" it, but I think, I totally should have wait. Why is that? First thing first, this story is not ready yet for being written in, you know, final version. It's too fat, lol.

I may want too much from it. There is a lot, like, seriously, A LOT of things to cover. First notes took me around 80 pages and it had many gaps in it (too much if you ask me). Things I needed to figure out and fill in, in the same time making everything work together. Because this Snarry is not sprinkled with crime. It's filled with murder, political shenanigans, family shiteshow and tough, not always appropriate, love. There are secrets and lies, blackmails and history that matter. Backstory of many people, whose actions over the years supposed to bring us to the point where we are now. And, you know, all of it gives me the thrill. First time in my life I feel like a true Puppet Master.

So, couple weeks ago I started to write a proper outline, if I can call it like that. To put everything in order and, going from the very beginning, to fill all the gaps. To answer all the questions I was asking myself in notes. To figure out the missing clues, some details without I couldn't go further and with that - to find out how characters will change facing new situations. How they will grow (I really love this part). Sometimes I think, "why am I even doing it?" I could just write some cosy, little fic where Harry and Severus' silly problems would be the main goal of the story. Like, focusing on them should be enough, right? Why am I going for all the other things, if I just want them to shag and have their happy end after all? 😂

Well, if it's not for fun, I don't know the other reason. The level of excitement is just incredible. I don't know, if what I'm writing is good or bad. If it really has sense, because I've always seen myself rather as a potato, not as a great mastermind who can plot some good shite, you know. That said, "Infraction" feels even more challenging that I ever thought it will be. But I feel deep inside that I can do it. Going step by step where the main plan leads and... it just feels good.

I've started in October 1989. Now I'm in January 2011. It means that I managed to finish everything that happen before the fic starts, lol. And, actually, I almost covered the first part of the book. So, two more to go? Hehe. It'll take time, yes. It's crazy how much I want to continue writing the main chapters, not only swim in the plan-phase. Drawing the series of "Muggle London" art helped me a lot with easing this itch. However, it's still there. I know, though, that I have to finish it. The whole outline, I mean. Without it, things can go south.

That said, I can't tell how long it will take. Couple weeks? Maybe months. This is really... a lot of work and I want to be proud of it. Even more so, because this fic means a lot to me. I know it may not be, you know, mind blowing or something. But I hope that giving it all my love, it could be, you know, not that bad for reading, hehe.