#not proposing in the other sense until out of grad school

[caroloftheshells]

today i proposed! (as in: Successfully Defended A Diss Proposal)

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or of you. 

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

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

Not yet at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even when it was used against him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to give him. 

And he lets the water overtake him. 

~~~

“You forgot your lunch,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were. 

Right? 

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he did. 

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

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

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

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

It was enough, for now.  

~~~

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

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

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

But only if you let it. 

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

But now it couldn’t wait. 

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

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

But it doesn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

And so he was here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He furrows his brow, “I am slee—“ 

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—For now at least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another message comes through. 

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean it was expected?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You knit your brow together, “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Professor.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But when would it be? 

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

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

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

You shouldn’t have agreed to this. 

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

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

Literally. 

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

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

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

You purse your lips — Satoru? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not just—“

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

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

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

There was something wrong with him. 

But there always was — when it came to you. 

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

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

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

But he couldn’t. 

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

Something he wasn’t sure he could ever do. 

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

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

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

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

“Yes, come in,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he never would again. 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

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

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

For the rest of his days. 

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

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

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

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

He didn’t want to think about other possibilities. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, but he could ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it wasn’t him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you soon, baby.” 

For now. 

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

Of course. 

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

And still so hard. 

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

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

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

No, you didn’t need to see that. 

But you didn’t know why. 

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

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

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

But would you ever be done with him? 

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

Apparently you would never be. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me too,” 

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

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

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

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

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

What? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RING. RING. RING.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you say yes if it was Geto asking? 

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

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

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

He could only hope you wouldn’t drop it. 

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

Double fuck. 

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

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

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

And that wasn’t the right question to ask. 

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

His hand never leaves yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It wasn’t that. 

It wasn’t. Not if you let it be. 

“I’m sorry,”

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

There was only silence. 

Until you spoke first. 

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

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

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

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

But that wasn’t what you were apologizing for. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One you couldn’t stoke. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you were ready to go. 

You barely remembered what you said. 

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

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

Your eyes slide to him again — no one else. 

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

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

So you begin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he breaks it first. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?” And he shrugs. 

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

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

But he knew the words. 

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

And he would. He did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did it hurt so much? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuta, what? What’s—“ 

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

You don’t have words. 

No, you have one word. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yuta—“ 

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

“That’s not—“ 

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

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

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

“Of course—“ 

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

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

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

“Love doesn’t always have to—“ 

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

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

But you can’t. 

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

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

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

“I know. I love you too.” 

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

Not for either of you. 

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

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

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

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

“You’re still mine too.” 

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

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

You were still in love with Suguru. 

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

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, “Professor Yaga—“ 

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

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

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

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

Not that he was craving company. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullied into it was more like it,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart—“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

And he can’t hold back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, why did that thought also hurt? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always, for you.” 

Yuta knew it was for the best. 

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

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

It was for the best. 

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

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

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

His future. 

A few months later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? We can—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now he just needed to know yours.  

END. 

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

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

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

[mooseonahunt]

Cat’s Out of the Bag

Minecraft Streamer AU

Okay so I’ve had this thought brewing for a bit, but it’s about irl Serennedy vs their SMP characters. It’s about their relationship in and out of the Minecraft roleplay. It’s a lot so I’ll put it under the cut.

If they’re following the plot of the RE4 remake (with plenty of changes to make it fit Minecraft), then they’re clearly not together as a couple. But, for all the same reasons that we ship them, they’ve got those little moments interspersed in the roleplay and their fans pick up on them, too. It’s subtle enough not to out them, but it’s also subtle enough for it to be dismissed as being close friends (which they are; they’re dating but they’re also each other’s best friends).

So that kind of brought me to their shipping boundaries that I’ve posted elsewhere. Luis is chill with being shipped with other characters as long as the CC is also fine with it, but there’s kind of an exception with Leon. Luis is the captain of the Serennedy fanbase even though Leon has never outright stated his shipping boundaries. He never addresses it. Naturally there’s a divide in the fandom over whether or not it’s okay to ship Serennedy because, on the one hand, Luis is incredibly supportive of it, but on the other hand, Leon hasn’t ever said anything about it. It’s unclear what his thoughts are about it, but Luis is his best friend and encourages it, so it’s probably fine, right? There’s a lot of discourse over this.

It’s not like Luis and Leon are hiding their relationship on purpose though. It’s just nobody’s business. If they come out, they come out, but it’s not a huge deal. Besides, focusing on them as strangers developing a sort of friendship is ideal for the story they’re trying to tell. They reason it would make for a more compelling narrative if they’re not sure where they stand with each other because of their pasts instead of having them be together from the start. It makes for great storytelling getting to establish this sense of unease and distrust that develops into total trust after they open up to each other.

Then there’s also the fact that nobody knows they’re living together. They were roommates before they were together, so they each have their own rooms. They stream in their own spaces and don’t interrupt each other when they’re doing their own things, so nobody knows that they’re living together– which brings me to what I’ve been thinking about for a couple days now.

The news that Serennedy is, in fact, canon between the two actual streamers and that they live together doesn’t come out until well into the RE SMP’s story. It doesn’t happen until Luis’s character is killed off.

Luis is upset about his character dying, even if he did propose the idea himself. He wrote his way out of the SMP because he’s in grad school and his workload has started to pick up tremendously. He loved his time on the RE SMP, but he knew he couldn’t devote as much time as he wanted into it with his classwork piling up, so he made the decision to kill off his character. He didn’t realise how bummed out he would be about it until the day of. He finishes his stream, but he’s so sad over the end of his character, so he goes into Leon’s room while he’s still streaming. The chat goes wild. They realise Luis and Leon live together.

Luis walks over to him and asks to be comforted, so he sits on his lap and hugs him while Leon finishes up his stream. Again, the chat is going crazy. Serennedy is trending on Twitter. But that’s just a hug! It’s still totally friendly! Totally platonic! Leon pecks Luis on the lips because he knows he’s sad. That’s the end of the shipping discourse. People who thought they were queerbaiting are losing their shit. It’s like Nov 5th, 2020 for the Hellers except it’s actually clearly reciprocated. Leon ends stream like nothing’s happening. Ashley calls him to ask if everything’s okay because outing themselves like that was an insane move, but she’s happy for them and feels relieved that she doesn’t have to worry about slipping up and accidentally outing them herself.

The craze goes on for like a week and then everyone accepts it as the new normal. For a while nobody can get the Serennedy shippers to shut up about being right about them. Of course there are haters that drop the RE SMP, but they’re a minority and it’s not really noticeable when they leave.

This is subject to change as I continue to develop the AU, but I like this as the reveal. Sorry for rambling. I’m just really into this AU rn

[kyemeruthie]

Rents and wants

It's been a while, Tumblr.

There's a lot to talk about, to digest, to rant, to basically dump here. The year's about to end and I am not really sure if I’m moving forward or I’m stuck somewhere. Sometimes I feel like life’s really great and then there are times where doubt creeps in. Those days were frustrating, draining really. I feel like I’m going through the motions. I would have wanted to talk to a professional, just to check if the gears are still in place. Hehe. 

Those gloomy times challenge me but there’s always that glimmer of hope that we’d always see better days ahead. Prayers, that constant reminder that God holds you, it makes greater sense to me now. I remember I felt that when I was also struggling with professional growth in 2018. I was 25 then. Probably it’s age too, 32 this year and musing about the future can make you anxious. In the end, faith keeps me grounded. 

The past few months were quite testy. I’m rethinking this office work I agreed to. It’s taking precious time from me to do research and pursue other worthwhile things. It’s also taking some toll on my mental health. At some point, I felt so angry because an office colleague has been taking advantage of the leniency of our working relationship. They’re basically tampering on time records to show they’re not late to the office or that they’re present even when they’re not. Add to the injury was the poor quality of work. What really triggered me was the fact that they’re checking our work and the time we spend in the office, when they were the ones doing the damage. That person resigned, forgave them, but the “inis” stayed because I thought the whole thing’s resolved.

More recently, such issues resurfaced. This time alleged “chismis” as the culprit. It’s really the littlest of things. I don’t really like these kinds of tensions because it veers away from the work we should do. We’re also beginning a reorganization. There’s a lot to envision and hope for, but until these creases are resolved, I’m not sure how change can be managed. 

I like the work I do, but doing PhD is more important to me now. I want to study, to learn, to write. Abroad that is. The goal is lofty. Targeting a top uni in Europe and another in the US, but hey what stops us from dreaming this big. The push and pull comes from these priorities. I know I can do a good job with the reorg, I still have a lot to give. But I also know that I don’t work on my PhD now, I’d be resenting this decision and always going back to the what-ifs. 

It’s scary though. Write a proposal, get someone to recommend you for grad school, talk to a potential advisor. Living abroad is the least of my worries. The preparations are what scares me because I have to put myself out there again and pour heart and soul with 50-50 chance of making it vs not making it. The potential failure scares me. 

And then of course I have to think about the future for our family, for my parents in particular. Papa’s about to retire in a year or two and they would need a place to settle down. They want to travel while they’re strong. That we can work on. Buying a house for them is what fills my mind recently. Our rent here will go up next year and they won’t be selling the house to us because the next generation owners have future plans. In my mind, we have at least a year to look for a permanent house and put together enough money to make sure it’s ours. As the eldest, the responsibility falls on my shoulders. My brothers are getting married in the next two years, our youngest sister’s planning to work abroad and prepare for it, and my other sister would most likely be in between jobs next year given thesis work. So yeah, exciting times, mixed feelings too. I’m expected to step up.

Amid all these, I thank God’s perfect timing. I did not expect the promotion late this year and I kind of was annoyed at first because I don’t want to be beholden to someone. But then again, you always thank whatever’s on your way. It seems that the promotion’s for this bigger responsibilities next year. My return service ends this coming February so I am relatively free to pursue my PhD. I am entrusted with bigger stuff at the office, commended for good work, so yeah, the pressure is there, but we soldier on.

The memes had it right. I thought the 30s were more smooth-sailing. Being born in a middle class family with no intergenerational wealth, in a third world country, faced with inflation and less security, it could really get frustrating and lonely. Sometimes I just want to sit down and stare, maybe things would rewind and we’d be back at least to days where dreaming of buying a house would be much more achievable. 

You can’t blame us for enjoying an overpriced coffee and healing our inner child once in a while. The world’s in flames and rents continue to rise. Some luxury might just keep us going and help us survive.

[sunshineandaisies]

What’s in the Box, Peter?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader 

Words: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff, mentions of pregnancy

Note: Happy Mother’s Day to all the baby mommas, the fur mommas, the plant mommas, and all the momma’s in between! 

Ever since you started dating Peter during your freshman year of college, you always spent Mother’s Day with him and May. 

Of course, you always had the customary FaceTime call with your own mother but with the prices of plane tickets constantly increasing, going home to spend the day with your family just wasn’t possible when all your money went towards rent and school expenses. 

So spending the day with Peter and May became tradition, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

May Parker had practically inducted you into the family after only a few months of dating her nephew, and she was the very definition of what you thought motherhood was all about. She was understanding whenever Peter found himself in trouble - whether it be as Peter Parker or his masked superhero alter ego - and she was always willing to lend an ear whenever you or Peter needed to rant about something (even if it was about each other). She worried about Peter - of course she did - but she let him have his space to make his own mistakes and learn from them. 

She may not have been Peter’s actual mother, but damn did that woman deserve the best Mother’s Day that you and Peter could muster.

You’d stayed at May’s apartment the night before rather than at yours and Peter’s apartment on the other side of the city to save yourself the commute in the morning, and you were infinitely glad that you’d done so. An extra hour of sleep was definitely worth you and Peter squeezing into the small bed in his old bedroom. 

Peter still woke up early, though.

He always did, unable to really sleep in the days leading up to Mother’s Day. He grew restless and quiet, and you didn’t need to ask to know why. 

He pressed his lips to your cheek before he left for his visit to his mother’s grave that morning, his jacket tugged on to protect himself from the early morning chill and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He whispered a promise of coffee when he returned, and your appreciation for him doubled in an instant.

By the time he returned, you were busy making pancakes and humming along to the song on the radio while May tittered around the kitchen despite your insistence that she let you take care of making breakfast.

It was her day, after all.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, pressing a styrofoam cup into your hand. He pressed his lips to your temple before greeting May with a hug and wishing her a happy Mother’s Day. He set a small, wrapped box down on the counter, making you cock your head in curiosity.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the box in question with the spatula. You were sure that you had already gotten May a Mother’s Day gift. In fact, you had wrapped her gift yourself the night before. Had you forgotten something? 

“Just a Mother’s Day gift,” he replied vaguely, a smile curling his lips. “You’ll see after breakfast.”

Your gaze kept flitting back to that mysterious little box as you finished stacking pancakes onto a large plate, as you filled three glasses of juice and set the table, and as you and Peter caught May up on all of things that you had accomplished over the course of the last semester. You were just barely managing to contain your curiosity enough to actively keep up the conversation and not be rude, and Peter wasn’t helping any. 

The way that he seemed extra fidgety and the way that his gaze kept flitting to you more than usual while he talked to May about his plans once you were both finally done with grad school had you wondering if you did something wrong or even worse- if he was planning something that you didn’t know about.

Oh, God. Was he going to propose?

Outwardly, you were smiling brightly and nodding in agreement to what Peter was saying about your plans for the summer, but inwardly, you were panicking.

You loved Peter, you really did, and you’d be happy to marry him. Just not now. You’d had the discussion about marriage over a year ago, knowing that you both wanted it at some point, but you and he had both agreed that marriage was off the table until you were both done with school. You both had at least one year of grad school left, and that was only if you - ever the academic - decided to not continue your education with further certification. A proposal was at least a year away, so long as Peter adhered to the agreement you had made nearly two years ago.

You cleared the table with lightning speed once everyone had finished with their breakfast, wanting nothing more than to know what Peter was hiding. You retrieved May’s gift from Peter’s bedroom and placed it in front of her while Peter held onto the small mystery box, his fingers flexing and unflexing nervously. 

Jesus Christ, you were about to implode from impatience and anxiety and-

“This is so cute!” May exclaimed, holding up the small succulent in a pot shaped like a dinosaur. “Did you find this at that shop on 47th?”

“I think so?” Peter looked to you for confirmation, but you only shrugged in response. “Y/N picked out most of the stuff in there. She has a better eye for things than I do.”

“Peter did pick out the wine, though,” you pointed out, nodding towards the fancy bottle of white wine that had cost more than your electrical bill last month. “I will, however, take credit for the plant and the memory foam slippers.”

You shared a small smile with Peter as May looked over her gifts happily. “This is so sweet. Thank you.” She leaned across the table and pulled your both into as tight a hug as she could manage with a table in the way.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” Peter told her, and the few happy tears she swiftly brushed away with her thumbs didn’t escape your attention.

“Happy Mother’s Day, May,” you repeated, feeling so incredibly grateful to have May in your life. “You literally deserve the best Mother’s Day for putting up with this guy for most of his life.” You gently nudged Peter in the side with your elbow as you teased, chuckling as he rolled his eyes at you while struggling to fight back an amused smile.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, and it only made you and May laugh harder. “You both love me.”

And suddenly your laughter died as your attention was dragged back to that mysterious little box, now pushed in front of you by Peter. “What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” he answered as if it wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

“I get that, but why?” You observed the small gift nervously. “It’s Mother’s Day, Pete, and I’m very much not a mother. Not unless you count being a plant mother. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

“What?” His face twisted in confusion, brows knit together and lips slightly parted. “You don’t know? I thought you knew.”

What the hell? Your brows knit together as you looked from Peter to May, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Know what? I think I would know if I was a mom, Peter.” You let out a breath and started to pull at the wrapping paper. “I mean, thank you for the gift, but this was really unneces-” Your words died on the tip of your tongue as you saw what was tucked neatly into the small box.

You lifted the mug from the box, staring at the words written across the front in pretty pink script. 

‘Happy (Expectant) Mother’s Day’

You blinked, too confused to speak.

“I thought you said she knew,” you heard May whisper to Peter.

“I thought she did!” your boyfriend whispered in return. “I thought she was waiting for today to tell me!”

You finally snapped out of your trance, placing the mug down on the table and turning to Peter. “Can you please explain what’s happening?”

After a beat of silence, he answered, “You’re pregnant.”

You snorted in disbelief. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant, Peter.” You took a second to mentally count the days, and your heart began to beat erratically once you realized you had been so busy with final papers and projects to remember when your last period had been. Well, shit.

“You are,” he said confidently. He draped an arm around the back of your chair before taking your hand in his. “Some nights, when it’s really quiet, I can hear the baby’s heartbeat. Scared the hell out of me when I first heard it.” Instinctively, your hands dropped to your stomach, cradling it tenderly. Leave it to your boyfriend to find out you were pregnant before you did thanks to his hyper-senses. “I thought you knew and you were planning to tell me today, you know, because it’s Mother’s Day.” He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously, his gaze flitting to May before he met your eyes again. “I, uh, realize now that you didn’t know.”

“We’re gonna have a baby?” He nodded, lips curling into a smile. “I’m gonna be a mom?” Another nod. “I thought you were gonna propose! I was so nervous!”

“I mean, I can still do that if you want,” he offered, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

“No!” you exclaimed. “I think one big life change is enough for today.”

You shared a soft, sweet kiss with Peter before turning your attention back to the mug on the table. Your fingers curled around it, holding it gently in your hands as you stared at the words again and a smile tugged at your lips.

A gentle hand on yours called your attention away from the mug and to May. The older woman was smiling widely at you and her nephew, i she’d tears glittering in her eyes. “Happy Mother’s Day, Y/N.”

[tl-notes]

Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 9 Notes

...設立から大分地盤が固まってきており、少しずつだが、業態は改善されている。

One thing to note here is that Kobayashi(‘s narration) isn’t saying the company has already made solid improvements, it’s that the company has finally established itself somewhat (as it was only founded relatively recently, and typically new companies are especially busy while trying to get off the ground) and now is starting to make improvements.

Similarly in the second sentence, it’s not “was” slow going, it’s “is still” slow going, and the working conditions “are” improving, not “have improved.”

This is がんば ganba, short of course for がんばって ganbatte, which I’m sure most of you are familiar with: the (in)famous “do your best.”

I only mention it because I like this shortened version of it. Ganba!

This is a fun little idiom(?)/saying: 鼻で笑う hana de warau (conjugated as hana de warawareta), lit. to laugh using the nose. It’s used to describe laughing at someone you’re looking down on for whatever reason (not necessarily in a super serious way, could just be a friend being dumb etc.; in this case it’s Elma’s being naive).

Typically it refers to like a “heh-but-through-the-nose” kind of “laugh,” but as you can see in this scene (where clearly Kobayashi is laughing with the mouth, even starting with “pff” lips) it works idiomatically even if the laughing isn’t only through the nose.

You may have heard that Japan is/was a “lifetime employment” country, where typically people would get hired right out of school and stay at that company until retirement. While that’s much less true today than it was even a couple of decades ago (and has become kind of controversial in ways), it’s still much more common of a practice than in say the US.

One result of this is that there’s a much bigger distinction placed between hiring people in spring as part of the annual graduation rush (the Japanese school year ends in March), and mid-career hiring. Typically you can’t participate in the fresh grad hiring if you aren’t one, even if you’re new to the field in question. 

For larger employers (i.e. 5k+ employees), roughly two-thirds of all hirings come from fresh grads, and only small employers (<300 employees) hire more mid-careerists than people directly out of school.

Of course, this split tends to apply mostly to “standard” full time jobs, not so much part time, and is not necessarily a thing in every industry/at every company.

Just as a minor point of clarity, this “organized text” in Elma’s document refers to the phrase まとめられた文章 matomerareta bunshou. In a literal sense, matomerareta can mean organized/consolidated etc., and bunshou text/passages, but meaning-wise it’s more like “writing that gets its point across clearly/cleanly.” 

This is a pretty big compliment and a very useful skill to have in organizations like this, as writing such that people can quickly and easily understand exactly what you’re trying to say often saves a ton of time and frustration.

我々はエルマの気迫に押されるがままにその書類を読み始めた。

Another minor point, but where the English could imply that they were overwhelmed by Elma’s intensity through the act of reading her report, the Japanese implies more that they started reading it because of how intense Elma was being. 

It doesn’t really make much of a difference either way, but it stuck out a little for me. 

To justify mentioning it, I guess I’ll explain the grammar point Kobayashi uses: されるがままに sareru ga mama ni. Sareru is a generic verb/verb conjugation for having something done to you (technically here it’s 押される, to be “pushed/pressed/pressured”), and mama refers to a state, condition, or “way” (like “do it this way”).

Put together, the whole phrase is used to indicate “you” do/did something that someone else wants you to, without (meaningful) opposition. (Something similar in raw meaning but with a very different connotation would be “going with the flow.”)

If a friend says “hey let’s go do something,” and next thing you know you’re out bowling despite preferring to stay at home, this is you.

You can stick the mama ni to various other things as well to come up with a similar idea, but without the sareru the nuance may end up different. 

The word for clairvoyance here is 千里眼 senrigan, lit. “eye(s) [that can see] a thousand li”, li being a Chinese unit of measurement for length (shorter than a mile, but for general purposes “eyes that see a thousand miles” is basically the gist).

Despite the perhaps physical-sounding nature of the term, it does actually describe the same power as “clairvoyance” in English: being able to perceive things outside your actual range of vision, including potentially into people’s hearts and minds etc.

Hence why it’s a thousand screen display, when she updates it with tech knowledge:

“Tainted by work” here is 職業病 shokugyou-byou, lit. an occupational disease. The “proper” definition is a disease one gets from working in a particular job, such as black lung for coal miners or even posture-related health issues for desk workers. 

Additionally, it’s used colloquially to refer to noticeable habits or quirks that people in a certain profession pick up, like a baker always waking up super early or a programmer using programming lingo out of context in normal conversation. The latter being especially noticeable in Japanese, as a lot of such terms are English in origin.

“Shocking” here is a fun word: ドン引き don-biki. “Don” here is added just for emphasis; the main meaning revolves around 引き hiki/biki, from the verb 引く hiku, meaning to pull. 

The idea is that someone does/says something that you recoil from. Maybe it’s gross (“I only shower once a week”), maybe it’s mean (“They didn’t smile enough so I didn’t leave a tip.”), maybe it’s creepy (“I sent like 30 texts yesterday but still no reply.”), just anything that has you feeling like you might want to create some distance because... phew. 

It’s kind of similar to the current use of “cringe” as an adjective/noun, though with less of an internet-slang feel* to it, and generally used more as something the speaker is doing rather than describing whatever/whoever is being cringe. 

(*I think it started being used popularly in this way in the early-to-mid 90s, with the “don”biki variant specifically popping up around 2005.)

A “Premium Friday” is the last Friday of the month, where you get to leave work at 3 pm. It is largely theoretical. 

The idea was created by the Japanese government as a way to reduce working hours and encourage domestic spending (boost demand), but it has not been implemented by all that many employers, and especially not many smaller employers. There isn’t, after all, any mandate or government-provided incentive for doing so.

Evidence from the places that did implement it suggests it is actually good for the economy, but good luck convincing bosses to give extra paid time off.

“Last Friday of the month” was chosen because most people get paid on the 25th each month (Japan tends to pay monthly instead of every two weeks), so it would usually be right after payday, when people are more willing to get spendy.

Kobayashi saying eight hours here reminded me of a “fun” fact: the typical Japanese work day is eight hours plus a one hour break. Plus a one hour break, not with. So a typical work day is actually nine hours. Most commonly 8 to 5 or 9 to 6. Not many “nine-to-fives” here.

The characters for Joui are 上井, which usually read as Kamii or Uwai. It’s “Joui” because that means, when written as 上位, “superior.” As in “a superior life-form.” Like a dragon, say.

でも、ゆっくりやる事業改善案を見せてもらえたじゃない？

This one is actually kind of a critical mistake. In the English it sounds like she’s talking about the improvement proposal that Elma made and that the boss looked at. In the Japanese though, she’s talking about a different plan, one the boss showed them*, that is similar in idea but is going to take longer to be fully implemented**. So we’re being told that while Elma didn’t get what she wanted as fast as she wanted it, it is still basically going through at a slower pace.

*In ”見せてもらえた misete moraeta,” the misete vs mite means they were the ones who got shown something, rather than the ones who got someone to look at their stuff. 

**Which you can tell from the ゆっくりやる yukkuri yaru, where yaru is basically “do” and yukkuri means (in this case) at an unhurried pace.

(Re previous note: Hence why she says “immediately” here.)

“Black (ブラック)” and “white (ホワイト)” in the context of Japanese employers refers to how well employees are treated: a company with good benefits/pay, reasonable levels of overtime, and feels safe to work at is “white,” while a company that has excessive overtime, often pays poorly, breaks labor laws, and allows harassment to fester is “black.” 

While “white company” was created simply in contrast to the term “black company,” the latter finds its origins in front businesses for organized crime, which were called “black” in the sense of “illegal” (similar to “black market” or something being in a “grey area”). Given the international reputation of Japanese work life, you can imagine that “black company” as a term sees much more use.

There’s been some discussion about maybe replacing it due to the racial implications (especially since it uses the English word “black”), but while typically English translations drop the color for that reason (e.g. ブラック企業大賞, an “award” given to Japan’s worst employer each year, is officially “Most Evil Corporation of the Year Award” in English), it hasn’t really penetrated to the mainstream at this point.

The rice there is in a 飯盒 hangou, a metal container that looks… like that, and is the stereotypical item of choice for cooking rice while camping. It has its origins in the mess kits used by the military, but these days they’re primarily marketed as portable rice cookers for camping use. 

You can get round ones too, but the bean shape is very popular.

“Settings” here is 設定 settei, lit. exactly that, “setting(s).” E.g. if you open a computer program and look at the settings menu, it’ll be settei in the Japanese language settings (settei). 

I bring it up here because there’s a bit of a difference in how it gets used colloquially like this. In English, the “setting” for a story typically refers to where and when it’s set. In Japanese, “setting” in that sense is usually 舞台 butai. But settei is still used when talking about fiction, just in a different, more expansive way.

Often in these cases settei is used to refer to the various conceits that provide the context in which the story takes place. In this show, for example, one such “setting” is that dragons are real: another is that magic exists. It comes up especially often in fantasy/sci-fi type stuff where there are major distinctions between that universe and the real world—not that stories in a real-world setting don’t have settei of their own, but they often are lumped into descriptions of the plot in that case (”a dragon comes to live with an office worker in her apartment”).

It also refers to the “settings” of characters, like name or age, and things like “they run a bakery that’s going out of business and are trying to save it.” Basically all the details you’d have in a character profile.

It also gets used in conversation to refer to pretend things or (basically) lies: like here, where Saikawa thinks Shouta is playing pretend with his ley-lines talk, or e.g. if someone is trying to tell you some outlandish story (“my uncle works at Nintendo…” or someone asking for love life advice for “their friend”) and you’re just like “Okay so that’s the settei here, I see.”

Not really a big deal, but Elma’s line here in Japanese implies she won’t let Tohru call her that anymore (see her もう mou). Tohru’s response is also more of a “I haven’t been?”, since of course she wasn’t aware of Elma’s-mental-image-Tohru tormenting Elma in the previous scene:

The word for “full of” in the title here is ざんまい zanmai (a suffix form of 三昧 sanmai), usually meaning that there’s a whole lot of [whatever] to immerse oneself in. I mostly bring it up because there’s a famous restaurant chain called Sushi Zanmai that specializes in, obviously, sushi.

And you know, Elma is a water dragon that looks kinda like an eel… I’m just sayin’…

Not really a translation note, but wild that Elma didn’t even touch her parfait. (Not so wild that Fafnir finished his so quickly.) Serious business ahead...

“Genuinely” here is 素直に sunao ni, where the “ni” is used like “-ly” to make sunao work as an adverb. Sunao itself is an interesting word that falls into that category of “simple concept that is often hellish to translate.”

For some context, the first character, 素, is also used in the word 素顔 sugao, which is a face without makeup and 素材 sozai, basically raw ingredients/materials. The second, 直, is used in words like 直線 chokusen, a straight line, or 正直 shoujiki, honest.

Put them together, and you’ve got a word with connotations of directness and being unadorned. The original definition of the word tends toward “simple, natural” in the sense of e.g. life growing up on a rural farm. 

The more common use for it these days is to describe people and their actions. Positively, it can mean something similar to a person being happy to help, or kind of like the opposite of conniving; open, frank, genuine. Less positively, it can mean someone is too trusting and easy to trick into doing things OR someone who is “too honest” and says hurtful things. 

(If it helps: tsundere characters are often described as explicitly not sunao.)

In this case, the idea is that Tohru accepted the invitation easily as-is, without putting any conditions on it, or doing any “ugh, what a pain, do I have to, jeez” rigamarole—she just accepted. Another way you could put it in this case might be “It’s even more unusual for Tohru to accept an invitation like this without a fuss.”

Just to point out the hand on head thing again.

Also just to point out that this is another example of otsukare, as a reminder of how ubiquitous that word is.

And it makes a good place to end on: thanks for reading!

[cancerbiophd]

I've heard from my PI that he thinks I will be graduating next spring/summer, which is such a light at the end of the tunnel. That and reading about your post-PhD have been the only thing keeping me trudging along, especially with my PI asking everyone to start giving their 110%... Any tips for getting through the last year? I just feel like I've been running on fumes before, so idk how I'm going to be giving 110% until my thesis defense.

Hey K.T.! Omg, time flew! I can’t believe you’re already on your last year. Congrats on all your hard work and reaching the final year! I totally know how you’re feeling right now. The last year is the toughest in many ways, especially when dealing with not burning out. I’m glad my post-PhD tales are helping you, and hopefully I can offer some mores words of encouragement here! 

Take more breaks. You’re at a point akin to an old phone that is slowly getting battery-wear and needs to be charged more often throughout the day. You may find yourself working more and more, so to balance, take more and more mini breaks throughout the day. It also helps to plan enjoyable things during these breaks so you always have something to look forward to, and they can be as small as watching another episode of your current show or taking a nap. 

Prioritize your health and well-being. Whatever system is working for you--keep doing it. It’s easy for us to sacrifice the things that keep us healthy when we have a lot of work to do (eg. when our PI is demanding 110%), but it’s especially crucial to keep our health at top shape during these demanding times. 

Work with your PI to compromise, probably now more so than ever. You may find yourself needing to put your foot down and saying no to projects that are unrelated to your dissertation (and some PIs may not be doing this maliciously--sometimes they don’t realize everything you have going on). Related, I would advise not to take on any more new students to train, unless it’s guaranteed to help you with finishing your dissertation (eg. someone dedicated to doing time-consuming data analyses). 

Delegate more to other members of the lab (eg. junior and/or more permanent members). Not only will this free up your energy and time in the lab as you phase towards focusing on writing your dissertation, but it’s also part of passing down your knowledge for a smooth transition once you leave. 

Make a timeline of major tasks and proposed deadlines. This is something my PI had me do continuously throughout my last year--she recommended I print out a calendar of my remaining timeline and to work backwards from my expected defense date so I could get a sense of how much time I had for each task, when the last possible date would be to run any large time-consuming experiments, etc. And then as my experiments were planned out, I could work forward and adjust other deadlines (like my defense date) accordingly. The timeline was definitely not set in stone in any way though--I was constantly revising mine--but it did a) help me get a better sense of how my time could be best structured, b) make the big black tunnel of the unknown future less dark and stressful, and c) show me that “one year” may sound like a long time, but when broken down into experiments and deadlines, it’s not that long at all! Related, this timeline also gave me an answer during job interviews for a ballpark of when I might be able to start. 

But still remain flexible and take everything one day at a time. You can change your timeline--you can extend your defense by a few weeks--but you can’t change your priority to your own health and well-being, or just unexpected curve-balls for that matter. And when the weight of the future feels too overwhelming (which may happen more and more often during the last year), forget about it all and just focus on what you need to do right now, be it the next step in your protocol or the next line of your dissertation. Grad school is very much like climbing a mountain, and the best way to reach the summit is one step a time, and with plenty of breaks along the way. 

Have a buddy who’s going through the same exact process in your support system. There is so much comfort and power in knowing you’re not going through tough times alone. Sometimes there’s no better relief than hearing “omg same here”. It’ll also help during the dissertation process, as they can be a 2nd pair of eyes to help you edit, or someone to help figure miscellaneous things out like what format to use for your dissertation, etc. 

But don’t compare yourself to others. It’s inevitable that some of your colleagues in grad school will graduate before you, and some will graduate after you. I know the thought will always be there, but we have to remember that everyone is on their own uniquely tailored path, so it’s like comparing apples to oranges, and doing so can only lead to bad vibes. (And we don’t have time for bad vibes, do we!)

Consider any extra obligations very very carefully (including those outside of grad school). You may have to ask yourself: “Is this the best use of my time right now?”

Related, I do not recommend starting a full-time position before you’ve defended. Writing your dissertation and preparing for your final defense is already a demanding full-time job in itself, and there just simply isn’t enough hours in the day--or energy--to do that and start a new position at the same time. Two positions that I interviewed at (including the current one I’m at now) asked me if I would be willing to start while I was just working on writing my dissertation, and I’m sooo grateful my PI talked me out of it (as I probably would’ve had to push my defense back by like 2 months if that were the case!) I have more advice on writing a dissertation here. 

This too shall pass. I know it sucks right now. But time will always move forward, and effort will never betray you. You know that you have it in you to keep climbing this mountain, because look at how far you’ve come! 

Good luck! I’m super proud of you, and I can’t wait for the day I can call you Dr. K.T.! And I’m always here for you if you ever want to talk about anything ❤️ 

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

September 21st, 1996

Remy felt like he might vaguely get sick. His mother was nodding in satisfaction at the TV, but Remy couldn’t be more devastated. The Defense of Marriage Act had been passed. God, he hated Clinton right now. He was old enough to know he was gay, old enough to know what that meant for him.

Old enough to know that now, he couldn’t get married, even if he wanted to. And Mom was of the opinion that he shouldn’t even get that choice. Without ever knowing that she was doing that to her own son.

His stomach churned. He hated this. He hated this whole situation.

  November 18th, 2003

Remy had been grouchy for the first two weeks that Emile’s parents were there, making sure that he wasn’t getting into the office without Emile’s permission. But Remy begrudgingly admitted that August was killing it at the shop, and the books were being kept well under Emile’s supervised gaze.

Dad’s phone rang, and Remy glanced over from where he had been fiddling with the magnets Emile had gotten him to “keep him entertained” during the period he couldn’t watch TV, and now he used when the headaches from screens got to be too much. “Hello?” Dad asked. Remy didn’t miss Dad bolting upright. “Hey, Barry.”

Remy’s eyes widened and he shouted, “Emile!” up the stairs. Barry was Dad’s friend in Massachusetts, who had been keeping an eye on the proceedings for same-sex marriage.

“Sure, I’ll put you on speaker,” Dad said, pushing the button and saying, “It’s just me and Remy in the room right now.”

“Well, Remy, you might want to get your future husband down there,” Barry said, his grin audible. “The decision came back, four to three. You and your fiancé can get married in one hundred eighty days.”

“Holy SHIT!” Remy exclaimed, shooting to his feet. His eyes were flooded with tears. “ Emile, you little shit, get down here!”

Emile tore down the stairs, gasping, “I was washing my hands!”

Remy ran over and kissed Emile, tears falling freely. “We’re getting married!” he exclaimed. “It went through! It went through, Emile!”

Emile whooped in disbelief, kissing Remy back. They were both tearful when Emile pulled away. “Barry, I think it’s safe to say you made these boys’ day,” Dad said with a beaming grin.

“No surprise there,” Barry laughed. “And I want pictures of them in their Sunday best when they say ‘I do’!”

“Done!” Dad declared.

As Emile cried and Remy laughed, the two of them hugged again, and Remy was filled with elation like no other moment. The only thing that could possibly compare...well, was the actual marriage itself. Or maybe having kids. Remy wasn’t sure about that second one.

They kept hugging as Dad continued to talk to Barry and Mom walked in, asking what the commotion was about. When she heard, she squealed and hugged Emile and Remy tight. Dad hung up the phone and joined the hug. Remy was practically sobbing through his laughter, and Emile was keeping him upright just as much as Remy was keeping Emile from collapsing to the floor. He couldn’t believe it. They were getting married! They were getting married! A hell of a lot of things just became way more real, but he could put that on the backburner for a few minutes. Right now, he just wanted to hug his fiancé and their parents.

When the moment passed, Remy and Emile staggered their way to the couch, and the realization of what this meant seemed to hit them both at roughly the same time, because as Remy uttered, “I’m gonna have to invite my parents,” Emile asked himself, “How do I tell Grandpa?”

The two of them looked at each other in shock, before coming to a quick agreement. “Let’s figure that out when we figure out the wedding date,” Emile said.

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “Summer sounds nice. Summer wedding?”

“Outside reception, shoving cake in each other’s mouths for an hour or two, and dancing until the sun’s long set? Sounds fun,” Emile said. “After graduation, too. Less worrying about finals and more worrying about grad school admissions.”

Remy laughed. “If we wait until August then there’s no worrying about anything for school from you.”

“True,” Emile said with a nod. “So. August?”

“August,” Remy agreed. “What day?”

“Throw a dart board at the calendar?” Emile proposed.

“Meh. Should we plan it on a weekend?” Remy offered.

“To allow everyone to travel up there, probably. I want it in a church, if that’s okay.”

“Fine by me. Just means a Saturday, then. Uh...” Remy stood, walking over to a shelf where their calendar sat. “Fourteenth sound good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Emile said.

They both froze for a moment, before again asking, “How do we tell them?” at the exact same time.

“That was... the most ‘you two’ planning of a wedding I have ever seen,” Dad said, shaking his head fondly. “No arguing, just plain pragmatism and figuring out how to get the most bang for your buck.”

Mom laughed. “I’m afraid you both will have to tell your respective family members, whether you want to or not. Perhaps you should just...send the invitations out?”

Emile grimaced, but Remy shrugged. “You know what? My people aren’t owed an explanation. That’ll work.”

“I think I want to talk to Grandpa about it before sending off the invitation,” Emile said. “Or...well. He won’t accept my call, but...Mom? Could you warn him?”

Mom nodded with a sad smile. “I’ll let him know he’ll be getting a letter from you and Remy, and tell him it’s better to open it before throwing it away. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do right now.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Emile said with a nod.

Remy felt his grip tighten on the bookshelf as he thought about his parents. True, they didn’t exactly deserve a warning, not after the way they treated him, but he was still worried. He didn’t know how they would react. How they would respond to him marrying another man. He had to make his peace with that. And fast. Because he knew that if he sent out the invite, his parents would start asking questions. Did they deserve an explanation? No. Were they going to demand one anyway? Oh, hell yes. And there would be hell to pay if Remy didn’t give it to them.

Despite that, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t give them an explanation. There wasn’t one. He was just...like this. That was enough for him. Couldn’t it be enough for them, too?

The niggling voice in the back of his head made him doubt it, but he forced himself to not think about that. If they didn’t accept him, then they didn’t accept him. That was a problem for another day, when he wasn’t about to pass out just from seeing his fiancé’s dorky smile as Dad cracked a joke about marriage.

Mom came over to him and he forced his grip on the bookshelf to go lax. “You know we’ll always love you dear, no matter what.”

“Yeah, I know,” Remy said with a smile.

Mom frowned. “Most days, that’s enough. Is it not today?”

“I...” Remy stopped. He didn’t want to lie to Mom. He shook his head.

“That’s okay,” Mom said, patting him on the shoulder. “Today is a lot for you. And hopefully, one day, you’ll get what you need from them.”

“I doubt it,” Remy sighed.

Mom smiled softly, eyes betraying her empathic sorrow. “One can dream, can’t they? I won’t take that dream away from you.”

“That’s the problem with dreams, though,” Remy said, shaking his head slightly. “One day, you have to wake up.”

Mom kissed his cheek. “And sometimes, that dream becomes reality.”

“What are the odds of that?” Remy asked, voice growing thick.

Mom tutted and pulled him in for a hug, which he gratefully accepted. Emile walked over with a dorky grin on his face. “Rem, wanna go to the Hallmark store and get ideas for the invitations to send out?”

“Are you sure the fumes won’t mess with my concussion?” Remy teased lightly, sniffling only a bit.

“It’s been about three weeks, I think you’ll live,” Emile said with an eye-roll. “I think the sooner we send out invitations the better, don’t you?”

“For the most part,” Remy agreed. “There are some people...well, I’d rather wait. But it’s probably better to just rip the band-aid off.”

“True test of your parents’ will, doing this,” Emile said. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for deciding to be with whoever you want to be, and be whoever you want to be, despite their wishes.”

Remy smiled. “Thanks,” he said. That did make him feel a little bit better.

“Mom, Dad, do you want to come along? Or do you want some alone time?” Emile asked.

“We’ll stay here, sweetheart. We need to get packing soon, after all. Thanksgiving’s coming up and we’re still having it at ours,” Mom said.

Emile shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself.”

“Try not to break the bed,” Remy snickered.

Mom whacked him lightly with a grin. “Don’t worry, if we do, we’ll pay for the frame and the mattress.”

Dad rolled his eyes and ruffled Remy’s hair. “Your mother might. I make no promises.”

Emile gagged. “Great. Gross. Can we go now, Rem?”

Remy wore a shit-eating grin as they walked out of the house and Remy snatched the keys from Emile, sliding into the car’s driver seat. “You’re going to give yourself a headache before even entering the Hallmark store?” Emile asked him.

“Oh, like you’re so much better,” Remy scoffed.

Emile rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I can drive back if it gets to be too much.”

Remy nodded and idly said, “You know, at some point, we’re gonna need two cars.”

“I figure whenever we do I’ll pay Mom and Dad for their old junker and we can work up from there if we need to,” Emile said, scratching his jaw.

“Work up? As in, get a bigger car?” Remy asked. “Why would we ever need a minivan? Or a regular van?”

“You’re so eager to joke about my sperm donor kids, Rem,” Emile pointed out, before clarifying, “I meant getting a nicer car, though. Not a bigger car.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Remy said with a nod. “That makes more sense.”

“Almost like that was my point in the first place,” Emile teased.

Remy stuck his tongue out at Emile.

When they got to the store, they immediately made a beeline to the cards and the invitations in particular. They generally agreed that they didn’t want something necessarily covered in glitter, if only so their friends didn’t hate them and tease them mercilessly on their wedding day. Remy liked the ones with muted colors and Emile liked the florals, and together the two of them came up with a game plan for what they’d do when they made the custom invitations.

They left the store just as Remy was starting to feel a throbbing between his eyes. “God, those fumes are strong,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” Emile chuckled. “But you lasted longer than I thought you would. You’re recovering from the concussion nicely.”

“Glad to hear it,” Remy groaned, pinching his nose bridge. “I need a break. I need a nap. I need something that is non-stressful, non-wedding related, and not going to make me regret my life choices later.”

Emile gave Remy a look Remy wasn’t sure how to interpret. “You think you’d be up for some exercise?” he asked.

Remy tilted his head to the side. “I hate exercise, Emile,” he said flatly.

“No, no, not that kind of exercise. The other kind. The kind I banned you from immediately after your concussion.”

“Oh.” Remy frowned, trying to connect the dots. Everything came together with startling clarity ten seconds later. “Oh. With your parents in the house?!”

“Well. We can send them out for milk,” Emile said with a flirty grin.

“Oh my God, Emile,” Remy laughed. “You know what? If it works? Sure. If not, you’re going to be the one answering to them.”

“Relax, Rem. We’re engaged. We’re going to get married soon. I doubt a little bit of extracurricular activity will have either of my parents clutching at their pearls.”

“I hope not,” Remy laughed. “Because that would certainly be something I would not be looking forward to. A lecture from your parents on proper bedside manners? No, thank you.”

“Yeah. Worst came to worst, the conversation would be, ‘You boys using a condom?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Carry on, then,’” Emile said with a little laugh. “And I should know, because I brought my boyfriend home after prom night.”

Remy choked. “Wait. You what?!”

Emile just laughed.

“I’m going to need an explanation, Emile!”

[victoriareyloficlists]

Fake Relationship

Updated 20 October 2021 Rest of the Masterlist.

A Christmas When You Were Mine by TazWren (AO3 2018  Rated M Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey harbours a seemingly hopeless crush on her neighbour, until the day she lands him in the hospital and has to deal with what comes next.) A Fluff Piece by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is a late night TV producer. Ben is a zoologist who every once in a while is invited to bring his animals to the show. This week's theme is fur balls and he brings all his cutest babies. Rey doesn't know who is cuter: the animals or their handler.) All Bets Are Off by crossingwinter (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: “Fake girlfriend. What does that even mean?” Ben asks her. Rey rests a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles underneath his sleeve. “Babe,” she says, leaning close to him. “It means we pretend we’re madly in love. Think you can pull that off for your office pool?” Ben’s eyes flicker softly between each of hers and he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.) and all i need is to be struck by your electric love by radioactivesaltghoul (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey’s supposed to fake-break-up with her fake-boyfriend, but Ben’s been pissing her off more and more lately. What better way to irritate him by showering him in a public proposal that he has to say no to?) Anything You Need by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben knows women don’t come to him for his lacking social skills and awkward nature; they want to see if he's big all over. He figures why not finally use his assets to his advantage and (try to) flirt with and impress trainer Rey by working out in only biking shorts?) as luck would have it by prncesselene (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When a case of violent food poisoning ruins Rose and Hux’s honeymoon plans, who better to take their place at a pre-paid Hawaiian beach resort than the Maid of Honor and Best Man? Sure, it’ll take some maneuvering, but a free vacation is a free vacation. They just have to pretend to be devoted newlyweds for a bit to enjoy it. There’s only one glaring issue, really: they can’t stand each other.) Be My (Fake) Wife by paynesgrey (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo is in a bad predicament because of his father. He must produce a wife in order to impress the retiring President so he can take over his family's company. The problem is, he doesn't think he knows anyone who can help him...until Rey, his kendo student, offers to fake marry him for compensation. The only problem is... their marriage and feelings may not seem so fake as they get to know each other.) Christmas Eve Will Find Me (Where the Lovelight Gleams) by Love_andbalance (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Christmas Eve. Ben stares at the train that he and his now ex were supposed to be departing on. A noise behind him turns his head, a beautiful girl yelling at the SOLD OUT ticket booth. He looks at the 2 tickets in his hand and back at the girl. "Fuck it," he says, walking up to her.) Conscience and Unconsciousness by pontmercy44 (AO3 2017  Rated E Complete, 20 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey's in love with the man who comes to the diner, after he gets hurt and she follows him to the hospital. A While You Were Sleeping AU, what happens when Ben wakes up with amnesia and can't remember his "fiance" Rey. TW: Immigration Officer and threats of deportation.) Crisis: Girlfriend by perperuna (AO3 2018  Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben had been in love with Rey for over a year when he asked her to go with him to his ex’s wedding as his date and ‘girlfriend’.) dancing in a swirl of golden memories by hi_raeth (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A long time ago, in a desert far away, Rey and Ben met each other and fell in love. But that was years ago, before they went their separate ways and grew as people and ran into each other in college a while later. Now all they have is a close friendship, fond memories, and… oh, what’s this? An opportunity to fake date in order to appease Ben’s parents for the holiday season?) daylight by sparklylulz (sparklyulz) (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Coffee shop employee Rey has a run in with one of the difficult professors. Thus starts a very turbulent friendship until Ben needs a fake date to go with him to see his parents, the first time he's seen his parents in a while.) Deceit, Delusion, and Desire by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 16 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey realizes her student visa is about to expire, she struggles to find a way to stay in the country legally. Her roommate has a terrible idea, and it's just risky enough to work.) Dreaming of a December Wedding by greywilde (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 11 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A Reylo modern AU based on the Hallmark Christmas Movie, "A December Bride" Rey Jackson was supposed to marry Poe Dameron and have her dream December wedding - until he fell in love with her foster sister Kaydel. And it's all Ben Solo's fault. Now it's payback and he's her fake date to the wedding, but when Ben makes an impulsive announcement, it sets the stage for an elaborate holiday arrangement.) Fleeced by Blueyedgurl (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: AU where Rey is a mechanic and Ben is her grumpy client. Ben is car shopping and asks her to pretend to be his girlfriend so the dealer won't screw him over.) Force du Couer by Stargazer1116 (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, 24 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Kylo Ren is the CEO of a successful corporation in NYC. In a power play, his board, led by his uncle, demand that he marry to makeover his dismal public image. Rey is an art therapist working with foster kids in Harlem. When she contacts Kylo for possible support, he proposes a business deal that can benefit them both. He has no idea how much this woman with a fierce heart will turn his world upside down.) Get Rekt by Thelittlescrimshaw (AO3 2016  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: He was drunk, they all were, but slinging an arm around her shoulders and declaring Rey his wife was not how she imagined the first party of the semester going.) Happy to Help by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated E Incomplete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Sometimes you just need your neighbor to pretend to be in a relationship with you. Repeatedly.) heaven in hiding by blessedreylo (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: They say it's impossible for a guy and girl to be "just friends", but Rey and Ben had managed to discredit that throughout their decade long friendship. What they both have is special, that people would often arrive at the conclusion the two were made for each other. He's her safe haven, her rock. She gives him a sense of clarity and direction. Ben and Rey know each other more than anyone ever possibly could. Therefore on Valentine's Day, their friends decided to secretly set them up together on a blind dinner date.) Hey Sweetheart by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Anytime a guy flirts with Rey, her flatmate Ben swoops in and pretends to be her possessive boyfriend. She was never going to get laid. Six months since moving in with him, and he scared away all her potential ‘suitors’.) His New Girl by Hellyjellybean (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo has a problem...he is completely unprepared to run into his polished princess ex-girlfriend Bazine. Now he is standing in front of her without an answer to her question regarding if he is seeing anyone because of course he isn’t but he doesn’t want to tell her that. Then he hears a familiar voice. Rey. Would she be willing to help in his hour of need?) Home for the Holidays by LarirenShadow (AO3 2016  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Kylo Ren, in a moment of weakness, tells his mother he'll be home for Christmas and will bring his girlfriend. Problem is he doesn't have one. Enter Rey, his grad assistant. He makes a deal with her so she'll be his girlfriend for the trip home.) home is where the start is by sunshineflying (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben desperately needs a good grade on his philosophy exam in order to keep his GPA up enough to get into the master's program of his dreams. Thankfully, his friend Rose knows a girl who is a paid tutor on campus who can help him. But with Thanksgiving holiday just a few days away, and the exam looming on the following Monday, less than conventional tutoring methods must be taken.) How Much Can Kylo Ren Endure This Christmas by reylology (AO3 2017  Rated M Complete, 10 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: As the CEO of the number one commercial enterprise in New York City, Kylo Ren would think that bringing home a girl for his parents to meet should be the least of his concerns. But when a phone call with his mother takes an absurd, aggravating turn, he finds himself shoved headfirst into a lie. Desperate to prove his parents wrong, Kylo would do anything in order to see the shocked looks on their faces. Even if it means seeking help from the random girl that had just walked into his office for a job interview.) How to Keep Christmas by JaneNightwork (AO3 2018  Rated M Complete, 26 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey and Ben have had feelings for each other since she began teaching at Chandrila Elementary School earlier that year, but neither knows their affection is mutual. Rey plans to use the the Christmas season––her favorite time of year––as an excuse to spend more time with Ben, and to find a way to tell him how she feels. But can she convince the Grinch-ish Ben to enjoy Christmas with her? Equally important: will her friends Finn, Poe, and Rose be able to stop themselves from matchmaking and meddling and general mischief?) I don't want a lot for Christmas by Rebeccaseal (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: In which Rey helps Ben find presents for his mother and somehow ends up going to Christmas dinner with him as his fake girlfriend. Or at least, it's fake at first.) I don't want a lot for Christmas by Rebeccaseal (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: In which Rey helps Ben find presents for his mother and somehow ends up going to Christmas dinner with him as his fake girlfriend. Or at least, it's fake at first.) I Need You to Kiss Me by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: “My cheating arse of an ex has just walked in with my ex-roomie who he cheated on me with, so if you can pretend that we are happy, and that you are madly in love with me - that would be grand.” She paused taking a breath before giving him a light airy smile. “Any objections?”) In Sickness And In Health by Theyna_Shipper (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 8 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey knows it's not an ideal situation, but it's a situation thousands of people are in. It's not like there's much she can do about it right now, anyways. She can go a little while without health insurance. Until she gets breast cancer. The treatment will be simple if she can get it. But she's worried she can't, until her old co-worker Ben offers a solution: "We could get married.") In the Woods Somewhere by Verdantsolstice (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Hikers Ben & Rey meet on the trail when they’re both lost. Hours of walking lead them to a convent in the woods. The sisters are very friendly, but refuse to let them both stay unless they’re married. TW: Mentions of ICE and immigration.) Just Kiss Me by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: At a party in Poe's house, a guy won't stop asking Rey to go out with him. Rey decides to silence him by pulling Poe's roommate Ben into a kiss.) Laid Between Words by jeeno2 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 15 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is nearing the end of her temporary work Visa. Her friend Ben offers to marry her so she can stay in the U.S. She says yes.) Let me Dream, Let me Stay by Melusine11 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 12 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey has kept up a charade of a non-existant boyfriend for two years and now that Rose and Finn are getting married, she needs someone to pretend to be said boyfriend, enter her coworker Ben.) Look No Further by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 9 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is spending Thanksgiving alone but a late-night Craigslist ad ends up with her agreeing to crash some asshole's family dinner. At the very least, she's curious what kind of people name their son "Kylo Ren" anyway.) Love is Strange by SpaceWaffleHouseTM (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Or the one where Rey lies and tells her coworkers she has a loving husband and a son. Now the annual picnic is coming up and she needs a fake picture-perfect family. Fortunately, her friend Ben fits all the requirements.) Love's a Game by darthswift13 (AO3 2021  Rated E Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Complete strangers Rey and Ben enroll in couples therapy as an academic experiment. How long before the therapist realizes it’s all a ruse?) maybe the night (holds a little hope for us, dear) by notkellymarie (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The inhabitants of The Loft have been invited to a college friend's wedding and Rey's ex-boyfriend will be in attendance. Wanting to avoid an interaction with him due to a messy break-up, she hopes bringing along a plus one will do the trick. Luckily, her friend Ben Solo from 4C is a trooper.) Merry (Fuzzy) and Bright by JaneNightwork (AO3 2019  Rated M Complete, 25 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: One night Ben finds a dog abandoned on his doorstep. She's cold, scared, and pregnant. Ben takes her to a nearby vet clinic and meets the beautiful veterinarian Rey, who promises to help him be the best caregiver the dog and her puppies could ask for. Throughout the holiday season Ben and Rey fall in love with the puppies and, of course, each other.) More Than a One-Night Stand by Eskayrobot, Poaxath (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey's having a pretty shitty night, to be honest. From the creep at the bar to the...oh, this rescuer of hers is pretty nice. And very attractive. And maybe he smelled really good, too.) My Heart Like a Kick Drum by Zoa (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 8 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: In need of a date to his parents destination vow renewal but not interested in a real relationship, Ben Solo turns to an acting service specializing in fake relationships for a temporary girlfriend. But as he gets to know Rey Niima over the course of the vacation, Ben finds himself reconsidering his outlook on love...) My Whole Life by AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 13 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The "Without a Hitch" high school sweethearts, fake-dating rom-com AU.) Nevertheless, She Persisted by dawninthemtn (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 24 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Junior campaign staffer Rey works for US presidential candidate Leia Organa and ends up with the job of babysitting her aloof and entitled adult son Ben.) Only Make-Believe by Hartmannclan (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is in a car accident, so best friend Ben races to the hospital to be with her. What happens when she wakes up with amnesia and believes they are married?) Overboard by Biekewieke (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, 10 Chapters, Overboard AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Organa-Skywalker is a rich snob who hires her to clean his party barge, making her life difficult and fouls her mood. After a freak accident throws him overboard and Rey ends up saving his life. When he wakes up, it turns out he has amnesia. Rey sees it as the ultimate answer to all her prayers. She gets to take his arrogant ass down a peg or two AND she has someone to help around the house and with the kids for a while.) Overstimulated by adamsnackler (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben avoids going to parties because he doesn't like to get touched. Rey is intrigued by the mysterious man in the corner and swoops in to save him from a handsy flirt by pretending to be his date.) Peacock by AttackoftheDarkCurses (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 22 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Thanks to a series of misunderstandings, failed attempts at flirting, and loud Katy Perry music, Ben grows to hate his new neighbor. Proposing to her wasn't the best solution to his problems.) Plus Won by AmberDread, DarkMage13, Erulisse17, Trish47, venetum (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: After a drunken night of complaining at a bar, Rey and Ben agree to be each other's plus-ones for a variety of events. As friends and family continue to invite them to things, they discover that they really enjoy spending time together. And holding hands. And... kissing. What happens when their relationship starts to feel a lot more real than fake?) Practice Makes Perfect by violethoure666 (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 3 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Grumpy Ben Solo gets asked out by Jessica Pava, the hottest girl in the office. The only problem is that he's a 29 year old virgin who doesn't wanna make an ass of himself with the aforementioned hottest girl in the office. Rey offers to help him get all the awkward and embarrassing stuff out of the way before his big date. Everyone can definitely stay cool and not catch feelings. No big deal.) Rey is Tired by mcloveproductions (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 2 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey Niima is tired. Tired of college. Of her shitty interning job at Plutt's garage. Ben is also tired of the job he just quit. When he meets and pretends to be Rey's boyfriend, maybe that'll be the answer to their problems.) Solstice Songs by Erulisse17 (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis:  A version of A Christmas Carol, with Kylo being haunted with his own ghosts; Past, Present, and Future.) Strictly Business by WinglessOne (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 11 Chapters, The Proposal Film AU, Quick Synopsis: Working for a nationally recognizable magazine is a huge honor, one that Ben Solo doesn't take lightly. His boss, Rey Erso, would be the first to agree and is thoroughly comfortable with her status as editor-in-chief. When her visa status is denied, she'll do anything to stay in the United States and avoid being deported back to England. Even if that means forcing her assistant to marry her.) Sugar and Spice by Rebel_Scum1221 (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 6 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey bakes when she's stressed, but unfortunately never has enough room to finish all of her baked goods. Thus leading her to give her neighbor- who she may or may not have the hots for- her leftovers. Shenanigans ensue.) The Fake Boyfriend Problem by INTPSlytherin_reylove97 (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rose accidently tells her parents her roommate Rey was bringing her boyfriend for Christmas, instead of telling them she was bringing her own boyfriend Finn, the girls run into an interesting problem.) To Play Pretend by SuchaPrettyPoison (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Single dad Ben Solo is tired of being hit on by some of the mums from his daughter's kindergarten class. He asks his friend Rey to come with him to pick up his daughter as his pretend fiancée.) Trouble for Thanksgiving by Biekewieke (AO3 2019  Rated E Complete, 40 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey Kenobi's temporary work visa is about to expire. She needs her boss' signature on her renewal application to get the extension she desperately wants and needs. Only her boss, the infamous Ben Solo, is an asshole. He's notoriously difficult and she knows this firsthand. Nevertheless, she needs his signature on those papers if she wants to avoid being deported by the end of the year... So when Rey tells her about her looming deportation, he finds a way to bend the situation to suit his own needs. Except, for the first time in his adult life, things don't go exactly as planned when he takes her home for the holidays...) Unexpected by incognitajones (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 6 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey doesn’t want anything from her one-night stand Ben Solo, not even now that she’s broke, jobless, and pregnant. But he’s desperate to avoid a scandal that could derail his election campaign, so they agree to a cold-blooded business deal: she’ll marry him and be the perfect political wife—for a price, and a limited term.) Us or Them by MandyCandy (AO3 2020  Rated M Complete, 12 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey and Finn accidentally witness the Final Order clearing up a distribution issue at Plutt’s Automotive. To make matters worse, Finn is recognized, Rey got it on video, and Kylo Ren is out for blood. Now they have to go into witness protection. Separately. Thankfully, due to the high value of Rey’s testimony against the Final Order, a highly decorated FBI Agent, Ben Solo, is going to be taking care of her by playing house and pretending to be newly weds. Or is Kylo Ren going to *take care of her* first?) Variance by Stargazer1116 (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, 23 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey is heartbroken when she learns her temporary visa is expiring...and is mortified when her office crush. Kylo Ren, catches her crying about it. He is a partner in Skywalker & Associates law firm where she is an assistant. One thing leads to another...and what started as a simple solution for each of their problems turns into something much...much more. Together they wade through their deep scars to love.) We Stand Just a Little Too Close by walkingsaladshooter (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Benjamin Chewbacca Solo are you asking me to fake date you as revenge?) your name (twine it with mine) by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora) (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 5 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: "Alone at Christmas? Mad at your dad?  I’m a thirty-year old alpha with years of experience in dealing with difficult family dynamics. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Christmas, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m game." Beggars, Rey decided, grasping for any lifeline, can’t be choosers.)

[recurring-polynya]

🔆 — obviously they end up married and procreating, but in your headcanon, do you see them expanding their family? Having more kids? Being content with just Ichika? She seems like 2 kids in one kids body. Where do you see the Abarai family in the future?

🔆 do they see themselves together for the long run ? like , getting married , starting a family , and all that jazz ?

So, when I first found out the timing on Ichika, I was honestly pretty upset about it. Part of it is that I think it’s nice for people to be married for a while without kids. We don’t know when Rukia and Renji actually started seeing each other romantically, but my personal preference is that it happened late, possibly during or after the TYBWA. We do know from WDKALY that they had a pretty short engagement, and then conceived Ichika almost immediately following the wedding. It’s kinda depressing to me that they would have this huge separation, followed by two years of slow burn, followed by six months of dating -> engaged -> married and then BAM preggo. Dang.

Secondly, even though she’s been a lieutenant for a year, tops, Rukia is now acting captain of a squad that has just taken enormous losses, one of her top officers has just transferred to Squad 4, and the Soul Society is in ruins. This seems like... a terrible time to have a baby?

On top of all this, Rukia has never struck me as a person who has always dreamed of being a mom or would be particularly delighted to find herself pregnant. I’m not saying she wouldn’t want to be a mom, or that she wouldn’t be a good one (I am not a particularly maternal mom, and to be honest, I think we could use some better representation). I think Renji would both like to be a dad and would be an excellent and intuitive dad, but he loves Rukia for who she is. He would accept not having kids before he would try to talk her into doing something she didn’t want to.

I am a compulsive fix-it person, but within the confines of canon, so I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of all this. In my ongoing, low-burn, canon-spanning fanfic epic, I tried to put in a few earlier scenes where Rukia interacts with some Kuchiki family members who have babies, and starts to feel some stirrings that having babies doesn’t mean quitting your job and your personality. She’s always valued her independence, but she’s also been alone for a really long time, and at the same time she is trying to adjust to the idea of maybe she would like to have a romantic partner, she’s learning the trials and tribulations of having a sibling, and she’s really re-examining her entire concept of family.

I have never been particularly fond, either, of the idea that Ichika is somehow the Kuchiki heir (and I don’t think she is, especially since she has Renji’s name, but we really don’t know for sure and it’s a common enough idea in fanfic), because the entire Kuchiki family is kind of a drag and also they are problematic billionaires and I don’t like Rukia and Renji just blindly assimilating into that. As a compromise, I came up with the idea that maybe Byakuya named Rukia and Renji a branch family to the Kuchiki (his favorite branch family, don’t tell anyone), so they’re part of the family, but pretty far off from the actual succession and they have a lot of freedom to Start Shit and make the other nobles clutch their pearls constantly.

Bringing it all together, I can finally start to make some sense of this. Rukia and Renji get married with the sense that they would like a family, plus they are somewhat obligated to generate an Heir. It’s shitty timing for sure, but the timing is only going to get shittier. I have heard of women who get PhDs and have babies in grad school. On one hand, this is an absolutely bananas thing to do. On the other, if you know that’s what you want, it is entirely rational, because at least most grad students have a flexible schedule and it’s better than having toddlers when you’re trying to get tenure. If you can manage it, this is actually a really effective way to manage a scientific career. So, in other words, they had their (1) baby, and then Rukia got down to brass tacks, training her bankai and getting her squad in shape. I can definitely see Renji in a primary caregiver role (I think they have a nanny, but he scales back at work and takes care of a lot of stuff), and that also partially explains why he’s still a vice-captain. (If any of this is compelling to you, I did write a short story about it once)

Now, I am actually going to get to your question and the answer is: it depends on what happens in a theoretical continuation of Bleach.

Rukia has just been officially been named a captain in the Bleach epilogue. I think that if things continue to be peaceful, and she settles into her role, after a few years, I could definitely see them sitting down at dinner and saying “you wanna have a big family?” Maybe two or even three more. Ichika is practically an adult at this point, but given the longevity of souls in Soul Society, I feel like it’s not uncommon for kids to have even multiple decades between them. I don’t think she would have any bitter feelings about this, she has always appreciated as being an integrated part of their lives, even when it got a little hectic and also she really loves her baby sibs.

On the other hand, if there’s another big war or an extended period of low-level conflict, I don’t think they would have any regrets if Ichika turned out to be an only child. Rukia and Renji have had a tremendous number of awful things happen to them in their life, and I think they have a tendency to focus on what they have instead of what they don’t.

The primary thing that I think would put a crimp in further kid plans is if Renji had to take a captaincy. I don’t think Renji particularly wants to be a captain, although he would be an excellent one. The way the setup of captains is after the timeskip, I cannot imagine anyone retiring, so I can’t see this happening in the peaceful scenario. I have no idea whose place he would even take. In fact, even if some captains got killed in some future conflict, I would think that by that point, Kira or Hinamori, for example, would be more likely to step up and take over their squads than to bring in Renji. Renji certainly wouldn’t take 1, 2, 4, 12 or 13, and they already blew the storyline where Byakuya dies and he takes 6. I suppose he could take one of the other squads if they lost both captain and vice-captain. Renji becoming the new Kenpachi is the spiciest possible take and I would read the shit out of that.

The actually family development I would like to see would be for Byakuya to get married, dude it is your job. Are you guys ready for my dream Byakuya love story that I will never, ever write because I do not ship him with any existing characters and I would die if I had to tag something Byakuya x OC? TOO BAD, here it is anyway: I think Byakuya doesn’t think he could ever fall in love again, and up until the main Bleach storyline, the idea of being remarrying is abhorrent to him. After a few years of being an ancillary part of the Abarai family, though, I think he could finally bring himself to find some suitably noble wife to Bear Him an Heir. In Byakuya fashion, I imagine he would dig through a bunch of genealogy records and find some woman who is the dead end of some old lineage of Great Soul Society Generals or some shit and out-of-the-blue proposes to her. This woman is the Spinster to End All Spinsters. She is like, 400 years older than him. She is not conventionally attractive and wears a lot of sweaters she knits herself. She has a lot of special interests, including carnivorous plants, and is extremely hardcore about her hobbies. She is the Sybil fucking Ramkin of Soul Society. Her spiritual energy is bonkers. She and Byakuya do not get along at all, but that’s okay because they have big plans to ignore one another (aside from procreational intercourse). Rukia is losing her mind. Renji is trying to smooth things over. Nothing is smoothed. Hitsugaya rather likes her and keeps trying to give Byakuya pep talks. Finally, like, Byakuya’s prize orchid almost dies and she saves it and Byakuya goes full heart eyes for her, and he has to be romantic at her. He wears an ill-fitting sweater she makes.

So, to sum up: Rukia and Renji get married, have Ichika. Byakuya gets remarried, makes an heir or three. Twenty to thirty years later, Renji quits to go be the stay-at-home soccer dad he’s always wanted to be. Byakuya Jr. becomes Vice-Captain at the Sixth (or possibly Ichika? That would be fine, too). Rukia eventually becomes head captain. When the younger batch of Abarai kids get old enough, someone convinces Renji to run for office and he becomes the Leslie Knope of the Central 46. Bam. The best timeline.

[morningfears]

Television Romance [Chapter Two]

Rating: PG-13 (a little suggestive, a little swearing)

Summary: Luke and Natalia go on their first date and they’re surprised at how well they get along. Natalia is also surprised at how well she’s able to ruin a moment.

Word Count: 6.7k

Chapter One

The conference room was empty as Natalia settled into one of the oversized office chairs situated around the long wooden table. She still had twenty minutes until colloquium, a meeting that took place every other Friday and served as a way for students to get to know their professors’ and colleagues’ research interests, began but she had just gotten out of a meeting with her advisor and didn’t feel like walking the extra few steps to the grad office. She knew that it would be full of students, each of them expressing how pointless they found colloquium or how annoyed they were to be on campus on a Friday, and though she usually felt compelled to agree (colloquium was, for the most part, pointless and her Fridays suffered greatly for it), she was in too good a mood to complain.

Although her workload had felt overwhelming, she’d managed to finish it all in far less time than she anticipated. She’d worked harder than she had in months and her sleep schedule suffered dearly for it but her advisor had the first draft of her thesis proposal, her conference paper had been submitted with nearly twelve hours to spare, and her co-author had the revisions necessary to resubmit their journal article. Her students had their first grades of the semester and every unread email in her inbox was answered.

She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she’d managed to free her schedule completely so that she would have nothing to worry about when she went to dinner with Luke.

As if he could sense her thinking about him, Natalia’s phone vibrated in her hand and a message from Luke appeared on the screen. “Is it too cheesy to tell you that I’ve been looking forward to this all week?”

Natalia grinned at the message, a goofy smile that made her cheeks hurt, and bit back an uncharacteristic giggle as she replied, “Only if it’s cheesy to tell you that I’ve been looking forward to it, too.”

Though she had been somewhat excited when she met him - he was gorgeous - her excitement only grew the more they interacted. Throughout the week, she and Luke had exchanged dozens of messages. Most of them were superficial, wishes for good days and texts meant to plan their evening, but a few had been more fun and inquisitive. They’d wanted to save the traditional questions for the date itself - what do you do, where are you from, what brings you to LA? - so they’d had to get creative in getting to know one another.

Luke had taken to sending her cheesy jokes, stupid puns and ridiculous questions - her favorite of which was whether she would fight one horse sized duck or a dozen duck sized horses - in an effort to get to know her and it made her giddy with anticipation. She thought he was cute and he seemed charming. He was fun, silly, and sweet and she found herself starting to like him more than she thought she would. She wasn’t attached, not yet, but she could feel herself growing more comfortable with the idea of him becoming a part of her life and she only hoped that that would extend to their in-person meeting.

As she grinned at Luke’s latest joke, a cheese pun that made her groan in delight, she failed to notice the door of the conference room open or the bag drop onto the table beside her. She was too engrossed in typing out her reply, a string of emojis and a half-hearted plea for him to find a new hobby, to notice Nicole take a seat. Only when she spoke did Natalia look away from her phone.

“Okay, so, I was thinking about ordering pizza for tonight. We have some money in the grad association account and free food is the only thing I can think of that will convince people to spend their Friday night locked in the grad office. We can’t buy their alcohol but I promised everyone we would go out for drinks once the last person hit submit.”

Natalia blinked, confused as to what Nicole was talking about, before her eyes widened and her heart dropped in realization. “The writing party, fuck,” she groaned, her head falling back as she huffed a sigh of annoyance at her mistake. She wasn’t normally one to forget things - she was the first person anyone turned to when they needed to know a deadline - but it had completely slipped her mind. She’d been so caught up in wanting to see Luke that anything nonessential had completely fallen off her radar. “I’m so sorry, Ni. I totally forgot all about it.”

“It’s no big deal,” Nicole assured her as she watched Natalia spin in her chair to face her. “It really didn’t need any planning. I just sent out an email. I was hoping you could bring some of those method books of yours, though. I don’t have anything to submit so I wanted to work on my proposal. I’m having trouble wording the coding section.”

Natalia grimaced and shook her head. “No, Ni, I forgot and, uh, sort of made other plans?” 

She tried her hardest not to look guilty - it was an informal writing group that likely wouldn’t get much writing done, anyway - but Natalia felt bad. She knew that Nicole was struggling to get her proposal done and there weren’t many other people she could turn to for help. Their program was small, one of the smallest on campus, and of the current cohort, only she, Nicole, and one doctoral student had chosen the same methodology. They hadn’t had a formal class on the method yet - they’d been thrown to the wolves, not unlike the rest of their graduate career - and relied on one another to make the best of their situation.

This would have been an opportunity for them to sit down, uninterrupted by life, and work out the roadblocks she’d been hitting. However, Natalia had forgotten and committed to dinner with Luke.

“I can reschedule,” she offered, before Nicole could speak, “I feel like he wouldn’t mind.”

At the mention of a ‘he’, Nicole raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “No, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We can meet during office hours next week or something. But, that’s beside the point.” She dropped her cellphone onto the table and turned her full attention to Natalia as she asked, “He? Who is he?”

Natalia knew that Nicole was expecting her to say that the aforementioned he was her father, who she had dinner with once a week, or the new TA that followed her around like a lost puppy. But she wasn’t expecting her to say, “The guy from the coffee shop, Luke.”

“The one that destroyed your dress?” Nicole did look surprised, her eyebrows remained raised and her mouth dropped open, but she looked almost amused at the sheepish grin that graced Natalia’s face. “Let me guess, he asked you out as a way to make up for it?”

“…yes. He’s so cute, Ni, I couldn’t say no,” Natalia gushed with a grin as she shifted in her chair and reached for her phone. Nicole rolled her eyes good-naturedly and rolled her chair a little closer to lean over and take a look at the text thread Natalia pulled up. “Look, he’s been sending me stupid jokes all week and he’s excited about the date and so am I.”

“Wait, date? Holy shit, Nat, get laid!”

Natalia and Nicole glanced up from her phone and watched as Ali, the third member of their cohort - the only other master’s student that started the program at the same time as them - stepped into the conference room and took a seat across from them. “D’you finally agree to meet a Tinder match in person?” she asked as she grabbed a notebook and pen from her backpack.

“No, they met the old fashioned way; he destroyed her dress by spilling coffee on her,” Nicole answered for her as she grabbed her own notebook out of her backpack.

“Oh, retro vibes, cute. Is he hot?” Natalia rolled her eyes fondly as Ali leaned forward, her eyebrows raised as she waited for a response.

Although the three of them had grown as close as sisters and looked quite similar to one another, they couldn’t be more different. Nicole was the oldest - she’d taken two years off between undergrad and grad school - and acted like it. She was the voice of reason, the calming presence that kept Natalia from overreacting and Ali from under-reacting. She was the heart of the group, the one who provided a shoulder to cry on and a kind word of advice when things got tough, and neither Natalia nor Ali could imagine getting through grad school without her. Nicole was also married and had been for three years. She and her husband had been together since their freshman year of college - they met in a class - and she was very happy to be in a committed, long term relationship.

Ali was the wildcard of their group. She was a free spirit, only acting according to her own desires, and was unapologetic in how she lived her life. She was the group’s sense of courage, pushing Natalia out of her comfort zone by taking her out to bars and helping her fill her closet with clothes she never would’ve imagined herself wearing as well as helping Nicole get through the semester without bowing to the pressures of the administration. Like Natalia, Ali was technically single. Unlike Natalia, however, Ali dated around and kept her options open. She had a string of ‘boyfriends’ and decided that she would wait until after she received her doctorate to settle down.

Their biggest similarities were their looks. Each of them had long dark hair, though Ali’s was a shade lighter than Nicole and Natalia’s, and stood at a little over five feet. Nicole and Natalia stayed out of the sun, both of them burned quite easily and went red instead of tanning, while Ali remained a beautiful olive all year round. Nicole and Ali were both curvier, each with natural assets that Natalia longed for, while Natalia fell somewhere in an annoying gap between petite and average. 

Natalia loved the differences in her friends, she appreciated seeing the way they all complemented one another, but she couldn’t help but laugh at the almost predictable reactions she’d gotten from both of them upon learning that she had a date.

“He’s gorgeous,” she finally answered, grinning at Ali when she nodded in appreciation and gave her a thumbs up.

“That’s my girl! Have you got condoms? You can stop by my place and grab some after colloquium if you want. Oh, do you need help getting ready? I can do your makeup!” Ali looked to be almost more excited than Natalia was about the date. She was giddy, grinning at the possibilities, and Natalia hated to rain on her parade but she didn’t plan on sleeping with Luke on their first date.

“I appreciate the offer, Al, but I don’t think I’ll need the condoms just yet. I would love for you to do my makeup, though. We’re going to Oak and I know it’s kind of dark in there but it’s also a little nicer than the dives we go to so I should make an effort,” she reasoned as she watched the door swing open and a few of their classmates enter the room. She waved at them, as did Nicole and Ali, before she added, “We can talk about it after colloquium.”

Throughout the hour long meeting, Natalia’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Luke texted her, a photo of himself and his dog that made her heart melt, and joked that he had the best help in getting ready for their night. Nicole and Ali filled their group chat - appropriately titled ‘why are we here?’ - with suggestions for conversation topics (although Natalia sincerely hoped ‘do you have any hot, single friends?’ was a joke) as well as gentle teasing about how their baby was growing up.

Natalia took it all in stride, shaking her head at Nicole and Ali’s teasing and gushing over Luke’s dog, but she felt just as excited as they all seemed to. It was nice, having plans and feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long while, and she only grew more excited as colloquium ended and they all began to file out of the conference room.

“Send me a text when you guys choose where you’re going for drinks,” she told Nicole as the three of them stepped out of the building, her and Ali heading toward her car while Nicole was off to her own, “I might stop by and get a drink after my date.”

“If you do, let me know. I want all the details. If not, we can all get breakfast or something and you can tell us everything.” Ali wasn’t the type to turn down a drink or gossip so it came as no surprise that she wanted to be included in the conversation.

“Have fun, Nat,” Nicole bid, a genuinely happy smile on her face as she began walking down the sidewalk. “See you later!”

Natalia and Ali waved off Nicole before they began the trek to Natalia’s car. She and Luke planned to meet at eight and it was already four. She knew that she had time - she would likely only show up a few minutes early - but she was anxious to get ready. She had no idea what she wanted to wear, how she wanted her makeup done, or how to wear her hair. She hadn’t been on a date in years - she’d been too busy worrying about school to worry about much else - so this was new territory for her.

Natalia was glad that Ali was there to help her get ready. She was glad that she had a friend who was willing to pick through her closet and help her find something that was cute enough to make a good impression but comfortable enough to wear for a few hours. She was nervous, a good kind of anxious that filled her stomach with butterflies and had her pacing her bedroom as Ali pulled the final piece of clothing from her closet.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ali laughed as she watched Natalia glance in the mirror at her makeup once more. She’d gone simple, opted for a natural look that only enhanced Natalia’s looks, and reached out to slap her shoulder to keep her from touching her eyebrow. “You’re going to wipe off my hard work. Here, get dressed. Would you mind dropping me off at my place on your way?”

“No, of course not,” Natalia assured her as she grabbed the garments from Ali’s hand and stepped into her bathroom to change. “It’s on my way. That’ll keep me from being too early, too.”

“I was at least a little strategic in getting you ready,” Ali pointed out as she waited for Natalia to exit the bathroom. “Have you warned him that you’re a chronic overachiever who can’t be late and has, like, forty calendars to make sure you don’t miss any deadlines yet?”

“I only have three,” Natalia defended as she emerged from the bathroom, smoothing the top she wore. “I keep them in different places so I always know what I need to be doing. How does this look?”

Ali brought her hand to her chest and faked a sniffle as she caught sight of Natalia. She had gone for simple here, too, and pulled a high-waisted black, button down mini-skirt, a white short sleeve top, and a distressed denim jacket. She handed her a necklace, one of the few pieces of jewelry Natalia owned, as well as a bracelet before she glanced at the two options for shoes she’d pulled out of the closet.

“How tall is he?” Ali asked as she looked between the pair of ankle boots and flats on the floor in front of her.

“Uh, very.” Natalia tried not to sound too excited at that - she’d always been fond of taller men - and Ali nodded in appreciation.

“Boots it is, then. Okay, I think you’re ready. Do you have any pictures of this guy? I’m curious as fuck now,” Ali hummed as she watched Natalia slip her feet into the boots.

“Mm, yeah, he sent me a picture of him and his dog earlier.” She reached for her cellphone, unplugging it from the charger, and opened her text thread with Luke to show Ali the photo he’d sent her. He had the same unique smile he’d shown her the day they met and his clear blue eyes were on display as he’d pulled his hair away from his face. He was cute, far cuter than anyone she’d ever dated, and she felt a small amount of pride at the impressed look on Ali’s face.

“He looks familiar,” she mumbled, after agreeing that he was gorgeous, “I don’t know where I’d know him from, though.”

“Maybe you saw him on Tinder or something,” Natalia offered with a shrug as she locked her phone and dropped it into her bag. “Or maybe he’s friends with one of your boyfriends.”

“Maybe,” Ali shrugged as she grabbed her bag and led the way out of Natalia’s apartment. “I don’t even keep track anymore. Did I tell you about Jason? I would drop out and become a trophy wife for that man any day.”

Natalia listened to Ali share a story about her latest boyfriend - one she agreed was gorgeous and seemed sweeter and a little more put together than the guys Ali usually went for - as she drove her back to her apartment. She realized, as they waited at a red light, that she would get to join the conversation about dates the next time they interacted and felt a small thrill at the idea. She usually had very little to contribute when Ali and Nicole spoke about their partners - other than the occasional, “I’m glad I’m single,” when they discussed the follies of man - and couldn’t wait to tell them all about her date.

As Natalia pulled into the parking lot of Ali’s apartment complex, Ali reached into her bag and pulled a few foil squares from one of the pockets. She took Natalia’s hand off the steering wheel as soon as she’d put the car in park and placed the condoms in her hand before she patted it and grinned. “You never know what you’ll need, so, just in case.”

With that and a grin that made Natalia roll her eyes, Ali climbed out of the car and sent a wave in her direction before bounding up the stairs. Natalia remained in the parking spot for a second, pausing to collect her thoughts and take a deep breath, before she shoved the condoms into her bag, pulled out of the parking lot and made her way to Oak.

When Luke asked if she had any preferences for their date, her first thought was of Oak. It was a bar that couldn’t be considered a dive but was also a far cry from the swanky clubs in other parts of the city. It was nice but not too nice. Like Molly’s, the bar was Instagrammable - a key factor in its popularity with college students as the drinks were a little pricier than two dollar beer but not unreasonable for an every now and again sort of thing - and encouraged patrons to dress a little nicer than the go-to athleisure look. Everything about it read 1920s speakeasy, except the patio. Natalia loved the patio, hidden off to the side with little wooden benches and cool metal tables surrounded by walls covered in ivy, and she was glad the weather was nice enough that she could request they sit out there.

The interior was always a little dark but Natalia thought it was kind of romantic as the lighting was supplemented by tea candles on the tables. However, the music - an array of jazz - was usually a little too loud for conversation. Because of that, she hoped that Luke wouldn’t mind if they ordered their drinks and took them outside so they could talk.

When Natalia arrived (only five minutes early, a rare feat for her as she usually arrived with twenty minutes to spare), she was pleasantly surprised to see Luke waiting for her near the front steps. Although she’d found him attractive upon first meeting him, dressed in basketball shorts and looking like he’d just woken up, he looked even better dressed up.

He had also opted for simple and wore plain black jeans and a wine red button down. He left the first few buttons undone and Natalia imagined that if she were a cartoon character, her eyes would be hearts by now. She wanted to stare at him for a moment longer but she didn’t want to keep him waiting. She took another moment, another deep breath, before she climbed out of the car and crossed the parking lot to join him.

“Hi.”

Luke lifted his head, turning his attention away from his cellphone, and grinned at the sight of Natalia. He quickly locked the device and shoved it into his pocket as he returned her greeting. “Hi.” He paused, his eyes raking over her body and taking in the sight of her, before he added, “You look beautiful.”

Without thinking, with only a giddy nervousness filling her mind, Natalia grinned and returned, “So do you.”

She and Luke stood there, taking one another in with pink cheeks and silly smiles, for far too long. It wasn’t awkward, the silence was appreciative and punctuated by shy grins and quiet giggles, and Natalia would have been content to spend the evening sharing heart-eyed looks with Luke had another couple not walked by, breaking the spell.

“Do you want to head in?” Luke asked, glancing at the door a few feet to his left before returning his gaze to Natalia. “I’ve never been here before.”

Natalia glanced up at him - the height difference was still noticeable, even with her heeled boots - and smiled as they entered the main room. “It’s nice. I’ve been here a few times but, I’ll be honest, I usually go to this place called The Door.”

“The Door? Why here, then, and not there?” Luke asked as they approached the bar and and each reached for a drink menu.

“I didn’t want to run into every professor in my department.” When Luke raised an eyebrow at that, Natalia shook her head and quickly added, “Everyone in the department goes there for drinks and I didn’t think it would fun to have my advisor a few tables over as we tried to talk. I chose this place because I don’t really venture too far from campus. LA is… overwhelming.”

“That’s fair,” Luke acknowledged as they waited for the bartender to make his way to them. He turned to look at Natalia, an easy smile on his lips and blue eyes alight with intrigue, as he asked, “You’re not from here?”

“Is anyone?” Luke laughed at Natalia’s quip and she offered him a smile in return. “No, I grew up in Oakland. It was a different vibe. What about you? You’re not from LA.”

“I’m not,” he confirmed with a shake of his head as he moved to stand a little closer to her to let another couple access the bar, “I’m from Australia. I’ve been here for a really long time, though.”

Natalia could smell Luke’s cologne and bit back a sigh as he met her eyes once again. It was hard to keep her train of thought with him looking directly at her, the longer she stared at him, the more beautiful she found him, but she managed to ask, “Yeah? What brought you to LA?”

As Luke opened his mouth to answer, the bartender approached the pair of them to take their drink orders. Luke gestured for her to order first and she chose the only thing on the menu with vodka - the only liquor she didn’t really hate - while Luke opted for the drink with rum. They started a tab - on Luke’s card, despite Natalia’s resistance - before she gestured for him to follow her to the patio with their drinks.

“Okay, so, what brought you to LA?” Natalia repeated as they each took a seat at one of the small metal tables The lighting was better outside, a little brighter than the candlelit interior, and she had to remind herself not to stare as she waited for Luke’s answer.

“I’m in a band. We came out here to follow our dreams.” Natalia wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that Luke was a musician. He looked the part, with shaggy blonde curls and chipped nail polish on a few fingers as well as a sort of confidence about him that she’d only seen in the wannabe rockstars she knew from home, so she nodded.

“Would I know your music?”

Luke smiled at her, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, and shrugged. The look on his face suggested there was a joke that Natalia wasn’t in on and she scrunched her eyebrows in mild confusion as he asked, “I don’t know. What kind of music do you listen to?”

“A little punk - I’m from Oakland, we have a killer punk scene,” she defended when Luke blinked in surprise. He held his hands up in surrender,  a laugh falling from his lips, and gestured for her to continue. “Um, a lot of stuff that was released before I was born? My dad was in a punk band in high school and a grunge band in college and my mom was a riot grrrl. I grew up listening to whatever they were listening to and whatever their bands played and it’s still pretty prominent in my playlists. So, punk and grunge and a lot of classic rock.”

Luke looked mildly impressed by Natalia’s taste and nodded appreciatively. “Yeah, you probably wouldn’t know any of our stuff.” Luke laughed, again looking like he knew something she didn’t, before he took a sip of his drink. She shrugged, a playful smile of her own on her lips, and he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected that but that’s way cooler than me. I listen to a lot of pop punk, a little more alternative. And classic rock.”

“Nothing wrong with pop punk. I love blink. And I was super into All Time Low in high school.”

The conversation hit a short lull, both Luke and Natalia glancing at one another over the tops of their drinks, but it wasn’t truly awkward. They had yet to figure out how to interact with one another, which was to be expected, so Natalia offered a suggestion to break the ice. “Want to play twenty questions?”

Luke perked up, the full toothed grin returning, and nodded as he leaned on his elbows and met her gaze across the table. “That sounds like the perfect idea. You want to start?”

Natalia nodded and scrutinized Luke as she thought up her first question.  She knew that he was from Australia and that he was in a band she probably hadn’t heard of. She knew that he had a dog and that he liked pop punk. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Two brothers, Ben and Jack. You’re in school, what are you studying?” Luke had an adorable habit of tilting his head to show his engagement in the conversation and Natalia bit back a dreamy sigh as she watched him tap his glass to the beat of the song - the patio had a stream of top 40 hits playing and she didn’t recognize any of them but, judging by the way his eyes lit up when this one came on, he did.

“Health communication. Basically, my line of research is that everyone defines health differently and you can’t expect all people to react the same way to the same messages. There is no universal definition of health.” Again, Luke looked surprised and impressed. He nodded, thankful that she’d given a bit of clarification on what she meant by health communication, and waited for her to ask her question. “What’s the best thing about being in a band?”

Luke lit up at her question, his smile growing into the tongue-pressed-to-teeth grin she was growing to adore. “Is it a cop out if I say everything?” When she nodded, Luke made a show of groaning and pouted for a moment before laughing and shaking his head. “This is going to sound really cheesy but being able to spend my time with my best friends. I love the guys, they’re my brothers at this point, and getting to work with them is all I ever could’ve asked for.”

Natalia felt her heart melt at Luke’s answer. She cooed and when Luke’s cheeks went pink, she reassured him, “That’s the sweetest answer you could’ve given. That’s really awesome. I barely know you but I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Luke laughed, cheeks still flushed and eyes crinkling as he watched Natalia take another sip of her drink. “What are your friends like?” He was curious, as they were on the subject, and he wanted to know if the people Natalia surrounded herself with were as interesting as she was.

“Strange. I have my cohort, the two girls I started my master’s program with, and then I have a few friends from home but it’s a pretty small group of very different people and I don’t know where I would be without them.” It was Luke’s turn to coo, his smile soft and his cheeks still pink from a combination of the heat, the alcohol, and his affection, and Natalia dipped her head to get away from his gaze. “In your band, what’s your job? Guitarist, vocalist…?”

“Both of those, actually. I play guitar and sing. Ash, the guy that was with me in the coffee shop, is our drummer.”

“You know, I could’ve guessed that. You’ve got the lead singer look,” Natalia teased. She grinned at Luke’s raised eyebrows and shrugged. “I think it’s the hair, rockstar. But it looks good on you.”

Luke rolled his eyes, a playful gesture accompanied by laughter, and stuck his chin out indignantly. “Looks can be deceiving,” he reminded her, a playful glare on his face as he added, “You keep surprising me at every turn.” When she titled her head, curious as to what he meant, Luke smiled and gestured to Natalia’s empty glass. “That’s a good thing, I promise. And this isn’t my question,” he clarified, a playfully pointed look accompanying his statement, "but would you like another drink?”

“I’d love one. Using that time to think up another question?” Her accusation was playful, her grin gave her away, but Luke played along but giving her a pout.

“How can you think so little of me? I’m not,” Luke denied, his grin bright as he stood to grab another round of drinks. “But I’ll give you that time to think about your answer. Thoughts on social media? I’ll be back.”

Natalia watched Luke disappear through the side door, a bright grin on her lips. Luke was cute, sweet, and fun. The conversation was flowing better than she imagined it would.  She was glad that the hope she’d gleaned from her text conversations with him wasn’t misplaced and found herself itching to continue the conversation as she listened to a song she vaguely recognized as one of Dua Lipa’s filter through the patio area.

True to his word, Luke returned in a matter of minutes with fresh drinks in hand and an expectant look on his face. “So, thoughts?”

“I think it’s a useful tool in some cases and utterly useless and damaging in others. It’s helpful in emergencies, getting the word out quickly, but it’s creating a weird culture and I don’t like it. I don’t have any social media profiles aside from Facebook - my mom likes to video chat and doesn’t have an iPhone so, no FaceTime, I just use it for Messenger - and LinkedIn.” Natalia was used to the looks she got from others when she divulged her lack of social media and Luke was no different. He looked shocked but almost impressed.

“That’s really awesome. I don’t use mine much but I think it’d feel weird if I didn’t have them.”

“I mean, you’re a musician. It probably helps get the word out there, build a fanbase, all the marketing stuff. I’m an academic. The only thing I could post on Instagram is a bad selfie taken under florescent library lighting,” Natalia joked as she reached for her drink.

“No faking your life for the ‘Gram?” Luke asked, genuinely curious and interested in hearing her take on social media. It wasn’t often that he ran into people like her, not in his life, so he felt compelled to hear more.

“No, it doesn’t seem worth it. It seems like too much work and, honestly, I don’t want the attention. You have these kids that are, like, twelve blowing up online and that just seems so stressful. I don’t want the world watching my every move. I’m fine in the shadows.”

An odd look crossed Luke’s face at Natalia’s reluctance to be seen and she almost asked him about it. She didn’t understand what the issue was with her not wanting notoriety or her face to be plastered all over Instagram but the look was gone so quickly that she felt like she must have imagined it. So, instead of dwelling, she turned to her next question. “If you were stuck on an island, what three things would you bring with you?”

The conversation continued well past twenty questions. Luke was genuinely interested in her research, asking questions about her reasons for choosing such an emotionally taxing topic and what she planned to do with her research when she finished, and it was nice to just explain rather than defend her choices. She was interested in his music, curious about the songwriting process and the way he dealt with writer’s block from a creative standpoint, and it was nice to talk to someone who had no idea what his life was really like.

They found themselves talking until one of the staff members stuck their head out the door and informed them that it was last call. They’d each only had two drinks, the last was sipped over a matter of hours as they’d been talking too much to really pay attention to anything other than one another, and Natalia was slightly disappointed that it was time to say goodnight as they headed in to close out the tab.

Luke, like Natalia, dragged his feet as they left the bar and lingered near the front steps. He looked just as crestfallen as she did, not ready for their night to be over but not wanting to give her the wrong impression by asking her to come home with him. They liked one another, really and truly, and neither wanted to rush into things. It felt nice, just getting to know one another without the pressure of their lives closing in on them, and they wanted to keep it that way for as long as they could.

“I know this might be too soon,” Luke began, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he met Natalia’s gaze with a shy smile, “but would you want to go out again tomorrow? Maybe for dinner? I have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon but we could do something after that.”

Natalia grinned, a giddy smile that was contagious as Luke matched her grin with one of his own, and nodded. “Definitely. I need to spend the day writing but I’m totally free tomorrow night,” she agreed readily, not caring if she looked eager as Luke looked just as giddy as she did.

“Good, awesome. I, uh, I’ll let you know what time we’re supposed to finish tomorrow.” Luke paused, his grin softening as he realized that Natalia looked gorgeous even in the harsh glow of unflattering streetlights, before he added, “I had a really good time tonight. I’m still sorry for spilling coffee on you but I don’t regret it. Not if it gets me a date like this.”

“I really liked that dress,” Natalia teased, her cheeks flaring pink beneath the foundation she wore as she tried not to coo at Luke’s compliment, “but I’m kind of glad you spilled coffee on me. I think this date more than made up for it.”

Luke and Natalia stared at one another, grinning like lovesick fools and happy that the date had gone better than either of them hoped, before Luke stepped a little closer and asked, “Do you mind if I… can I…?”

Natalia didn’t have a rule against kissing on the first date, she didn’t have any first date rules as she decided she would just see where life took her, but if she did, she would’ve broken it for Luke. As his hand brushed her cheek, she melted into his embrace and breathed a quiet sigh as she nodded just enough for him to feel.

Luke placed a barely there peck to her lips, a soft kiss that felt more like something being taken from her than given, and she wanted to reach out and pull him back into her as he straightened up and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Natalia.”

“See you tomorrow.”

They both lingered for a second, staring at one another, before Natalia gave him a final shy smile and turned to head to her car. Her head was so far in the clouds that she didn’t notice the small dip in the ground and felt her knees hit pavement before she realized what had happened.

She wasn’t sure if she was glad that Luke was there or embarrassed he’d seen her fall as he rushed over and kneeled beside her. The contents of her bag had spilled across the parking lot and she dropped her head in embarrassment as she groaned. “Fun fact about me, I’m great at destroying the mood.”

“I tripped and dumped coffee on you during our first meeting, a little clumsiness isn’t going to destroy anything. Here, let me help you,” he assured her as he began reaching for the little things that had fallen out of her bag. Chapstick, hand sanitizer, gum, a pencil bag; all things she didn’t mind Luke seeing. However, when he grabbed the few condoms Ali left her with, Natalia groaned again.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t intend for anything to happen. My friend Ali just… threw them at me,” she explained as she shoved the items back into her bag and took Luke’s hand for him to help her back onto her feet. “Not that there’s anything wrong with sex on a first date, do whatever you want, I just… Don’t want?”

Luke bit back a laugh at Natalia’s defeated expression and shook his head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. Better to be safe than sorry. And, I get it. Tonight was nice. I enjoyed it as it was. And I’m still really looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow night.”

“I’m glad. And I am looking forward to seeing you again, too. Hopefully neither of us will trip and we’ll be leaving injury and coffee stain free,” she joked as she brushed some stray gravel from her knees. “I’ll see you then. Have fun at rehearsal.”

“I would say have fun writing but, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if that’s appropriate to wish you?”

“Probably not, no one enjoys writing for academia, but I appreciate the thought. Bye, Luke.”

Luke waved Natalia off and waited until she’d gotten safely into her car before heading for his own. She still felt a little embarrassed - she knew that her cheeks were neon red beneath her foundation - but his handling of the situation made her feel that much better about him. He was a good guy, solid and sweet, and Natalia couldn’t wait to see him again.

___________________________________________________________

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijustreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle, @p0laroidpictures , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss , @blueviiolence , @loveroflrh , @empathycth , @luckyduckydoo , @tobefalling , @bandsandbooksaremykink , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985 , @wokeupinaustralia , @lucidlrh , @canterburyfiction , @cal-is-not-on-branding , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o , @jaacknaano , @findingliam-o , @old-zeppelin-shirt , @idk-who-i-am-anymore1 , @sammyrenae68 , @flowerthug , @calumsphile , @caitdaniels, @drummerboy794 , @writingfortoomanyfandoms , @x-lover-of-mine-x , @miliefayy , @sunaaii , @canterburyfiction , @sebrox40 , @nati-nn , @opheliaaurora23 , @bitterbethany , @sunnysidesblog​ , @333-xx​

[my-autistic-things]

Guess who's making a "how to manage dealing with a massive list of edits" post instead of working on said edits! Me!

Ok so this has taken me FOREVER to really figure out and implement in my life so I thought I'd make a post about it. This is how I deal with getting edits back after sending in a paper (specifically my thesis proposals) to my mentor.

Step 1. Open the document.

This is the absolute hardest step. No seriously. It is. You get the email back, you see the attachment with their initials at the end of the doc name, you know there's edits in there, the email says "here you go! Good work!" That day, ASAP, download that attachment and open it briefly, to scan just how terrifying this task will be.

Step 2. Close it and cry. (Tears are optional but the soul crushing feeling of being on your 5th round of edits is not).

It's okay, deal with it tomorrow. Seriously, go work on something else while you emotionally recover.

Step 3. Mentally prepare yourself to do the edits.

Put it on your to do list for tomorrow. Then when you don't do it, put it on the next day. And the next day. Even when you know it's impossible to get to, put it on there because the stress will build and you'll eventually get to it and Not forget it exists (vvvvv important).

Step 4a. Actually start your edits by opening the doc.

Don't set out like you're going to do everything in one sitting. Open the document with the intention of Starting, not doing. This is a mental battle. Yes battle. Having a good strategy will trump any "smarts" or writing ability you have.

Step 4b. Get out a notebook to write down what you have to do.

If you have do a split screen and can write in a separate document, go ahead, but I found that the absolute only way I can make progress is if I fullscreen my doc and have a notebook and pencil to write stuff down. Now you have 1) doc open, 2) notebook in front of you. Yes these are considered a whole ass step bc they are.

Step 5. Go through and accept all the edits and write down things to do as they come up.

Skip that "read your edits first!" bullshit, you won't, you'll just get stressed, then you gotta reread it all over when you actually start editing. Dive right into dipping your toe in. DO NOT start fully editing. Look at each revision and decide if it's a Quick Fix (i.e. click "accept change" in Word) or a Task. If it's a Quick Fix, go ahead and do it. If it's a Task, even if it's just revising a singular sentence, write it in your notebook. Don't worry about an order/priority/anything, just write everything down. If you're doc is longer than a few pages (mine is 26 so...yeah) write down the page number along with the Task.

Step 6. Organize your Tasks.

Now you have gone through your whole doc and there's no little spelling errors, grammar mistakes, or simple edits to make. And most importantly, you have a list of bigger edits to do, start to group the Tasks. This is when it starts to get super individualized (to you, your paper, and your mood). I start with going through and marking with a line anything I am in the mood for, can do, or should do today (or first, and by first I mean "now" vs "ehhhh later").

Step 7a. Go through your marked Tasks and make more marks.

Only focusing on the initially marked Tasks, start to group them into stuff you can do together. For me, this is any simple info that needs to be inputted or sentences that need editing. My dash next to these Tasks gets turned into plus mark. Note this is the simplest edits I will need to make. You can also designate the initial dash to be its own grouping, but it should naturally end up like that at the end.

Step 7b. Go through marked Tasks again and do the same thing with a different grouping.

Relooking at my dashed Tasks, excluding my + Tasks, I make more groupings. Now it's more time consuming stuff like finding more resources, or rereading sources to be able to accurately edit the sentence. This new group now get more lines to be an asterisk!

Step 7c. Make even more marks!

Can your Tasks be further grouped??? Probably! If you have a short paper, maybe you only have like two groupings, but maybe you have like 5. Who knows! Get creative with your marks! The Tasks I'm designating as last/a lot of work and comprehension are an asterisk with a circle around them. If it's been a few weeks since you asked for edits, you probably will need to work A LOT harder on paragraph and key sentence revisions if you out those first than if you put them after you've been immersed in your topic for a couple hours.

Step 7d-z. Keep making groupings depending how many Tasks you have. I'd suggest keeping it to 2-5 Tasks per group so it's manageable but not excessive. For this particular round of edits, I have 5 groups and that's perfect.

Step 8. Find the easiest/quickest group and do all those Tasks.

My first grouping I made of sentence edits will be the easiest I think, so I'll do that first! If you're motivated and inspired to do a harder group, go for it! But again, do something that will allow you to start really working without being overwhelmed.

Step 9. Cross off all the First Group Tasks you've done!

Yes this is its own step! Cross them all off! You did a good job! Erase them! Get a Sharpie and black that line out of existence! Yay!

Step 10-?. Keep doing the Tasks in each group until you're out of groups and Tasks!

Step 11-?. Cross off the groups and Tasks! Seeing your progress visually makes a big difference! You got this!

Step 12. Read over any non-task comments your teacher/mentor has made and/or your entire paper. Make sure everything makes sense!

Step 13. Save the doc with the date you finished your edits (or fudge it and say sorry forgot to send it to you lol) and send it back to your teacher/mentor (if applicable; if you only get one round and it's not a proposal or something then you'd just submit it). In your email, briefly go over what you did. This is when grouping tasks really comes in handy because I can reference "oh yeah all these edits were x type of edits" and I can say "I accepted all your in-text edits and made the sentence changes you suggested. Additionally, I added abc sources and rearranged the order of the paragraphs specified." This also avoids your mentor re-reading everything and giving you MORE edits on everything (bc they will; this round my mentor is editing his own words from past sentence edits at various places lol) and just focusing on the key changes you made and need feedback on.

Step 14. Take a nap! Seriously! Reward yourself for doing such a Big Thing and take a break! Don't immediately go onto the next assignment, make sure your brain separates *chunk of edits* from *other simpler assignments* so it isn't mentally a whole block of *work*.

I hope this helps somewhat??? Or someone can reference this when coming up with a way to tackle feedback that works for them. I'm starting grad school next year (hopefully) which will actually be a reduction in long-term research projects lmao but I will be having more Giant papers that will receive feedback. Having a system, or knowing options is so incredibly helpful for me because when I read what other people do I can be like "nope not doing that" and it can help narrow down what would work for me. Most importantly, just break up your work into a lot of different sections! It helps with (poor) executive functioning, motivation, and brings it out visually so you can mentally tackle what you're doing instead of "ahhh ~lots of edits~"

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment Is All We Are (36/?)

AO3 link HERE

S1 OP2 HERE

“Wait,” I sputtered, looking from the paper to the bandaged brunette. “They said they weren’t going to be able to get this to me until—”

“Well,” Dazai drawled, “the nice lady on the phone said that it sounded like your case was pretty urgent. So she sent it over a little early as a thank you for helping them close the CORVID case from last time.”

“So, it’s not really a present from you,” I deadpanned, lowering the page and shooting him a look.

“I still thought it would make you happy,” Dazai replied, shrugging.

He grinned.

“Did it?”

“Yeah...” I begrudgingly admitted, “it did. But it still doesn’t count.”

“Okay.”

And as he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to go, I suddenly remembered there was something I needed to ask him.

“Dazai-san, wait.”

He stopped walking away immediately. However, as if sensing what I was about to ask, he didn’t turn around.

“I’m listening,” he said quietly.

I scrutinized him.

“About yesterday...” I started. “What did you and Kunikida-san talk about in the break room after I left?”

“Hmm, yesterday...” Dazai mused, rocking back a little on his heels. “Can’t recall.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head up so that he was looking at the ceiling instead of me. “And how would you know that? Were you listening in?”

I flinched.

“You’re not answering the question.”

“And neither are you.”

He began heading for the front door.

“Dazai-san—!”

“If you want to know what we talked about so badly,” he said at last, pausing with one half-bandaged hand on the door. “Then I would suggest speaking to Kunikida-kun himself about it. I did tell you yesterday, didn’t I?”

He opened the door and walked out.

“It was a private conversation.”

“Dazai—!” I called out.

But it was too late. The door had already closed.

It was no longer just Yosano. Now Dazai was pushing me to confess to Kunikida, too. Even though I wasn’t ready...

Frustrated and confused, I felt the note crumpling in my hand just a moment too late and I cursed under my breath as I stalked back to my desk to smooth it out again.

“To my dearest Shin-kun...”

I skimmed down the page until I got to the place where I’d left off reading yesterday.

“In several years time, you will be a history professor at your chosen university, lecturing starry-eyed students while your research papers make it into journals read all around the world. And not only that, but you’ll have Natsuki-chan, while I...”

I squinted at the page and smoothed out the creases one more time. This was where the note looked like it had been blurred with drops of water—Kei’s tears.

“I must complete the remainder of my journey in some other way.

You must know or have guessed by now that I was denied admission to the program in England. I knew it was going to be a long shot, but I still can’t describe to you the devastation I felt upon reading the rejection. It was foolish of me, I know, to have ignored your advice and refused to apply to other schools in Japan, but I felt I simply had to leave. My parents are no longer around and the remainder of my estranged relatives have long since moved abroad.

You are my only remaining family now and I cannot bear to taint your happiness any more than I already have. I feel as if I have been a burden to you for far too long already and now that your engagement to Natsuki has been formalized, I realize I have long since overstayed my welcome.

I have a confession to make, dear brother. A confession and an apology. I haven’t been able to look at you or Natsuki the same way again after the night you proposed to her. Sometimes, I wonder if you can see it, the regret, the range of emotions that I feel when I see you two together. I must confess that I have not been as happy for you as I said I was. I lied through my teeth when Natsuki asked me if I was alright and I have been lying to you both ever since.

I do not wish to harbor any more ill will towards the two of you. Not when neither of you have done anything wrong. Indeed, it was I who made mistakes—and far too many at this point to keep track of. I have no one but myself to blame for how things have turned out and it is all because I found myself too afraid to move forward with my life.

Shin, my brother, my friend...

Do not cry for me when I am gone.

Although I attended classes with you and stayed by your side as your roommate, I had been dying a little each day since the middle of the last semester. I have learned a most painful lesson—a lesson I hope you can learn through me and not have to experience for yourself.

Shin-kun...

In remembrance of our old days, I offer you one final piece of advice.

Do not let what has happened to me ever. EVER. happen to you.

I want you to understand that if you do not move with Life, it moves on without you. You become a shade of your former self, fading a little with each passing day until you are merely a breath in a body passing through the world.

Please, if you have any love left for your foolish elder brother, heed my advice and continue to live your life to the fullest. Leave me and my broken dreams behind and chase what is precious to you.

And now... now that there is only one thing left for me to do, I would like to make a request. One final, selfish request.”

I felt my lips moving along with my eyes as I read the last sentence aloud.

“Please... take good care of our beloved Natsuki.”

I lowered the page and let it rest on my desk.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Our beloved Natsuki?

I thought back to the elegant woman I’d spoken to on the tree-lined path. I reached for the folder with all the photos taken at Kei’s apartment the night he’d killed himself.

That’s right, she, Shin and Kei were all friends at some point in time. From what the professor had told me that day at the cemetery, it sounded like he, and probably Kei as well, had met Natsuki after getting into the university.

Shaking the contents of the folder out on the table, I moved all the photos aside one by one until I found the one I was looking for.

That photo in Professor Matsuyama’s office—the photo of the three friends—must have been taken while Shin and Kei were grad students. Natsuki seemed to be at least four years younger than her husband, so there’s no way they could’ve all met as undergrads. Which means...

I placed the photo depicting the couch, table and TV stand in the center of the table and placed a magnifying glass over the set of pictures in the TV stand.

That photo was first displayed in Kei and Shin’s shared graduate housing apartment.

And as I placed the photo showing the TV stand next to the photo of Kei’s body sitting on the couch, I began connecting the dots.

Kei had been looking at that photo the moment he pulled the trigger. And given the way he had talked in the suicide note, I was absolutely sure of the reason why...

I placed Kei’s suicide note on top of the two photos.

Kei had been in love with Natsuki.

I bit my lip.

A love triangle. Was this the reason the professor felt so guilty about Kei’s death even though it was clear that the man had killed himself? Had they been fighting over Natsuki before the engagement was formalized?

A sharp ringing pierced the air and I looked to my bag to see my phone vibrating inside.

I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Kusunoki-san?”

My eyes widened.

“Nomura-san...”

I glanced back down at the photos I’d just rearranged.

Good timing.

“Good morning. Are you calling to get an update about the case?”

“Ah, not quite...”

Nomura sounded hesitant. I could hear the sound of rustling leaves in the background.

“I’m sorry to call so early in the morning but I was hoping you could help with something.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Don’t tell me he’s going to ask me to tail the professor again?

“Uh, that depends...” I trailed off, my eyes momentarily flicking to the door. “Is it related to the case?”

“It is,” Nomura said, his voice momentarily cut off by static. “I was actually hoping you could...”

The rest of his words were lost in another burst of static.

I pulled the phone away from my ear for a moment and walked towards the nearest window.

“Hello? Nomura-san?” I half-shouted into the receiver, cringing a little as I caught the strange look from Tanizaki as he passed by in the background.

I smushed myself against the glass, pressing my phone as close to the window as I could.

“You’re breaking up. Can you say that again?”

“I was wondering if...!” Nomura’s voice returned, much clearer this time. I heard the crackling noises fade as the words finally burst from Nomura’s mouth:

“I was wondering if you could help me find the professor!”

I froze.

“What?”

“I said!” Nomura shouted, “Can you help me find the professor? He’s missing!!”

“Missing?” I stuttered. “What do you mean missing? Didn’t you just see him last night?”

“Well, yeah, but that was last night!” Nomura pressed. “I’m on campus right now. I went by his office to drop off some of his books but when I got there, it was locked. And when I peeked in the window, there was no one there—in fact, the whole room looked deserted!”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “Nomura-san, why did you go to his office to return his books? Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?” Nomura asked, now sounding a little on edge.

“That yesterday was the professor’s last day?”

I gripped the phone more tightly in my hands.

“Weren’t you out at dinner last night because you were celebrating?”

“W-what?! No!”

I heard Nomura fumbling with the phone a little as he spoke.

“He just said he wanted to take Natsuki-san and me out for dinner last night. A-and that he had some more books he wanted to give me.”

“Books?”

My eyes settled upon the globe Professor Matsuyama had sent me. It rotated slightly on its squeaking axis as a small breeze wafted in from one of the open windows.

“Y-yeah,” Nomura continued, his voice hushed. “He said these were some of his favorites and that he wanted me to have them.”

Giving away his treasured things...

I chewed on my lip.

“Go on...”

“So, I figured since I still have a bunch of his things over at my dorm, I should return his old books before I got everything mixed up,” Nomura said. “And that’s when I realized there was no one at the office. Then, when I tried calling him just now...”

A sinking feeling bloomed in the pit of my gut.

“He... he didn’t answer.”

I didn’t speak. I just kept on chewing my lip as Nomura continued talking.

“Then, when I called Natsuki-san to see if maybe she knew where he might be, she didn’t pick up either. Kusunoki-san...”

The sinking feeling turned into a familiar gnawing sensation and once again, I found myself visualizing the professor standing in the graveyard before Kei’s headstone.

“...should I be worried?”

“L-let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet,” I said, sounding far more confident than I felt. “Maybe they just went out to run errands somewhere and couldn’t pick up? Or maybe they just didn’t hear...”

I started heading back to my desk, my eyes glued to the photographs and documents strewn across its surface.

“Why don’t you head over to their house? See if they’re there.”

Grabbing my jacket off its hook, I threw it on and started stuffing every last paper pertaining to the case into my bag.

“If they’re not there, call me and we’ll figure out what to do then.”

I think I might know where he is...

“I’m going to see if I can find him on my own.”

It’s just a hunch...

“O-okay,” Nomura said, still sounding just a touch nervous. “But... what if you can’t find him?”

A small, but unsteady grin came to my face.

But even if I’m wrong...

“You hired a member of the Armed Detective Agency, Nomura-san,” I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Rest assured...”

I grabbed the doorknob and turned.

“I will do everything I can to find him.”

***

I closed the door to the taxi and turned towards the familiar set of gates up ahead.

The cemetery...

I gripped my bag a little tighter as I headed in, past the pair of marble angels flanking the entrance.

Honestly, I wasn’t all that confident that Professor Matsuyama was here; he could be out running errands or reading a book in a cafe.

But if he wanted to go somewhere quiet, somewhere no one else knew about so that he could have a private moment...

I paused in the middle of the grounds, shielding my eyes from the sun as I searched for the hilltop with the tree, the one on which S. Oda was buried.

Wouldn’t it make sense for him to come here?

Finding the hilltop at last, I stopped shielding my eyes and headed towards it.

Masaoka Kei... Matsuyama Shin’s best friend turned brother. Kei had met Shin in high school, lived with him as an adopted sibling and helped him with his studies. Thanks to that help, Shin had been able to attend a prestigious university for his undergraduate studies and eventually did so well in school that he actually surpassed Kei. Then, sometime during grad school, the two met and later fell in love with Natsuki.

I hiked my bag a little higher on my shoulder as I began ascending the hill.

By the end of grad school, Shin and Natsuki were engaged. Shin, having been accepted into his dream program, would go on to become Professor Matsuyama, while Kei, who was rejected from his, despaired that he no longer had any real place in the world and committed suicide.

I sighed.

Even without the added complication of a love triangle, it sounded like Kei had been dealing with a lot. It seemed unlikely to me that Kei had killed himself solely because he’d lost Natsuki to Shin, but if that was the case... why did it seem like Shin blamed himself for Kei’s death?

I frowned.

Actually, it seemed like both Kei and Shin blamed themselves for what happened.  But why? Why did each of them act so guilty when it came to Natsuki and why had she chosen Shin instead of Kei?

And as I made it to the top of the hill and paused for a moment to take in the view, I thought I saw a familiar figure standing among the headstones... a figure in pale, cream colored clothes with long, wavy sand-colored hair...

I let out a gasp.

“Matsuyama... Natsuki?”

I ran to her.

“Matsuyama-san!”

She looked up at the sound of my voice, her dark brown eyes going wide with recognition as I finally came to a stop before her.

“Oh!”

She brought her hand to her lips as I dropped my bag on the ground and tried to catch my breath.

“You’re the girl I met on campus,” she said, bowing slightly as I tried to do the same. “Nomura-kun’s friend. What was your name again?”

“It’s Kusunoki,” I gasped, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “Nice to see you again, ma’am.”

“Likewise,” Natsuki said, smiling. “Now, what brings you here so early in the morning?”

She looked around at the graves.

“Are you here to visit someone?”

“Oh, uh...”

My eyes darted back towards the hillside, where S. Oda was buried.

“Kind of.”

I smiled.

“What about you?” I asked, noting the bouquet of bright yellow flowers in her hand.

I’d thought for sure that Natsuki didn’t know about the cemetery, given that the professor had asked me to keep his visits to Kei’s grave a secret from her.

Is she here alone?

“Who are you here to see?”

“Ah.”

Smiling wistfully, Natsuki turned towards Kei’s grave.

“I believe I told you about my old friend Kei the last time we spoke?”

No honorifics...?

I studied her.

That’s right. She hadn’t used honorifics that first time either.

“Y-yeah, you did,” I mumbled, watching as Natsuki knelt and placed the flowers—Adonis blossoms—on the marker on the ground.

“Well...”

She paused and lifted one hand to the name on the headstone.

“This is his grave,” she said, tracing the characters carved on the gleaming white surface with the tips of her fingers. “I try to come and visit him at least once a year, usually on his birthday, if I can, but this year...”

Her fingers dropped away from the last number on the right—the day Kei had killed himself, almost exactly fifteen years ago.

“Something came up and I had to settle for coming today instead.”

Natsuki turned to look me, her smile growing sheepish.

“I try to keep my visits here a secret from my husband, you see. He doesn’t like to talk about Kei...”

She lowered her eyes.

“I know that makes him sound like a cold person, not wanting to talk about someone he was once so close to, but that really couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Her smile softened.

“My husband is a kind, sensitive man and I know how much it hurts him to think about what happened. I believe the kindest thing I can do for him is to try not to mention it, even if I understand that this won’t lessen the pain or help him forget. Not that either of us could, even if we wanted to...”

She trailed off, staring ahead at the grave as a light ocean breeze wafted through the cemetery. The bright yellow petals of the Adonis flowers waved back and forth on the right side of Kei’s grave marker and as I moved a little closer to Natsuki, a spot of dull beige and white caught my eye.

I stopped in my tracks.

It was the bouquet of white chrysanthemums that Professor Matsuyama had left the other day. Natsuki had placed her flowers right next to his.

“I know my husband has been coming here to visit Kei without me,” Natsuki said quietly, her eyes focused on the two bouquets. “And I understand why. Kei’s death was devastating to him and I’m sure it still haunts him to this very day.”

Her words brought back the memory of the professor, standing in her place, his voice pitched up into an agonized cry of pain...

“That’s why,” she continued, closing her eyes at last, “I don’t say anything and pretend I don’t know about his visits. And why I come here to visit Kei on my own instead.”

“So then, Professor Matsuyama...”

“He’s at home,” Natsuki said. “He said he wanted to be alone for a while and so, I decided to come here after running my errands.”

I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief.

“I... I see.”

Thank God. Then Nomura should be able to find him and stay with him. In that case, maybe he was going to be alright.

“I wish,” Natsuki murmured, “more than anything, that he and I could just talk about it, about the things that happened fifteen years ago. But I don’t think he’ll ever do it. I think talking to me about Kei just makes him feel unbearably guilty. Not to mention...”

Her smile grew smaller and disappeared.

“...insecure.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Matsuyama-san...”

I gripped my bag tightly as she continued to kneel there, silently gazing at Kei’s grave.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, as another soft breeze wafted through the graveyard.

“Because...”

The breeze picked up into a full gust of wind and as I wrapped my arms around my body, Natsuki looked up at last.

“You remind me of myself from fifteen years ago.”

I froze.

“What?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking with the barest traces of a laugh. “It sounds crazy. I don’t even understand it myself but there’s just something about you, something familiar.”

Taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, she dabbed at her reddened eyes and nose. Even with her mascara running and her face slightly blotchy from crying, she still looked so elegant...

I tucked a lock of choppy black hair behind my ear as the wind picked back up.

How could someone like me remind her of herself?

“For some reason,” Natsuki laughed, glancing up at me from her place before Kei’s grave, “I feel as if by talking to you, I’m talking to myself from fifteen years ago and if I can tell you what I wish I’d known back then—”

She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes as they fell.

“Then perhaps all of this could have been avoided. Perhaps if I’d decided to become Masaoka-san instead of Matsuyama-san, Kei would still be here.”

Her lower lip trembled.

“But then again,” she sobbed. “If I’d done that, what if that means I’d be kneeling here in front of Shin’s grave instead?”

My bag fell to the ground.

“Matsuyama-san...”

I dropped to my knees next to her.

“What are you saying?”

Natsuki sniffled again. I waited for a moment as she blew her nose and slowly calmed down.

“I think...” she said quietly, her voice so soft I could barely hear it above the rustling trees. “Rather than listening to any clumsy explanation of mine.”

Her hand went to the pocket of her dress, from which she carefully drew out a thin set of folded papers, which were slightly wrinkled and just a touch yellowed with age.

“It would be easiest to let Kei explain it to you himself.”

And as she slowly held it out to me, I realized that her hand was shaking.

“Matsuyama-san...”

My eyes flicked from the paper to the woman holding it.

“W-what is this?”

“A letter,” Natsuki said simply. “Written by Kei and addressed to me. I got it about a week after he died. My husband... Shin... doesn’t know about it. It was sent directly to me at my dorm. Not even the roommate I lived with knows it exists.”

The tears began to fall again.

“I think if you read it, you’ll understand.”

“Are... are you sure?” I asked, glancing from her to the paper and back. “It seems so personal.”

Natsuki nodded.

“Yes. It would feel like a relief for someone to finally know my secret at last.”

“I feel a bit better after talking to you...”

I could almost hear Professor Matsuyama’s voice floating back to me on the sea breeze.

“Knowing that Nomura-kun will at least know my shame after all these years... However...”

I watched as Natsuki dabbed at her eyes yet again, her eyelashes sparkling with tears.

“I’d like to remind you to please, please keep what I’ve said to you from my wife. If she were to find out how horribly I have wronged Kei...”

I sighed.

How ironic...

Lifting my hand, I reached for the letter.

If only the two of them—no, maybe the three of them—had been able to talk more openly with one another, all of this could’ve been avoided.

I took the letter from Natsuki and began to read.

“To Natsuki-san:

I hope this letter finds you well. If you are reading this, then that means I’ve followed through on my plans to end my life and have departed this world for the next.

I know this must seem like a great shock, getting a letter from a dead man, but I’m not sending this letter in order to scare you... I’m sending this because I feel I owe you an explanation.

I’m not sure how much Shin-kun has told you about my situation but as you can probably guess, it wasn’t good. Truth be told, I’d been planning to leave the country for ages and against Shin’s warnings, I’d stacked all my hopes and dreams on it. I was hoping to make a new life for myself in England, to start over and finally make something of myself but... I failed. I was foolish enough to not have any backup plans so that when the whole situation fell through, I didn’t have any idea what to do.

My first thought was to ask you and Shin-kun for help. I thought perhaps if the three of us could continue on in the way we had, then I could find a way through. But then... everything changed. And I realized I could not find it in me to impose upon you any longer.”

He must be referring to the engagement...

I glanced over the letter at Natsuki, to see if she was watching me but she just continued to sit there quietly with her eyes closed, her lips moving as if reciting the contents of the letter from memory.

I kept reading.

“That’s why I avoided you both for the next several days. It wasn’t that I was upset with either of you or that the two of you had done anything wrong.

No, more than anything... I was upset at myself.

I was so focused on trying to carve out a place for myself in a new country, in the far future that I completely failed to notice what was happening right in front of me. I could see that my feelings for you were slowly changing from those of friendship to something more but I couldn’t find it in me to admit it to myself. In a moment of confusion, I tried talking to Shin about it a short time ago. But I’m afraid that the conversation did not go the way I had planned. Rather than allowing him to advise me on what to do, the conversation we had only made him realize that he, too, had long since fallen head over heels for you.

And how could he not?

Shimomura Natsuki, you are... kind, intelligent, beautiful and generous. I understood the danger I was in from the first moment I laid eyes on you but I paid those feelings no mind. Getting to know you and spend time with you were among the greatest joys of my life. Even now, I would not trade those days away for anything.

But those days are now past.

You’ve chosen Shin, my best friend and brother, the man I love above all others and I couldn’t be more understanding of your choice. I’m so proud of him and how far he has come and after my rejection letter came, I understood that I could not give you the happy, comfortable life that he would be able to provide.

I thought... that it would be best for me to depart for the next life with no one but the gods knowing my secret. But then I realized that I couldn’t bear to hide the truth from you any longer.

Natsuki-san...

You must have guessed by now what my secret is. I fear Shin may have guessed it as well but I sincerely hope he hasn’t. It would tear him up inside to know that my feelings for you are the same as his and I fear he may blame himself if he knew.

I do not want that.

I do not want either of you to blame yourselves for what has happened to me. What I want... is for the two of you to have the longest and happiest of marriages and as many pets, children and grandchildren as you could possibly want. I want you to leave your old friend Kei behind in the past, where he belongs and continue on to a brighter future.

Take care of my brother for me.

I leave you with love,

Masaoka Kei.”

I lowered the pages.

“This is a goodbye letter...” I whispered, glancing over it at the woman kneeling beside me at the grave.

“And a confession.”

Natsuki nodded and blew her nose yet again. I felt my heart twinge at the sight of her blotchy face and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort her. But instead, I just held the letter back out and sat there silently as she took it and put it back into her pocket.

Poor Natsuki...

I bit my lip, watching as the silent tears continued to drip down Natsuki’s face.

Caught between two men who both loved her and that she loved in return...

I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d been in such a situation.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, staring at the cobblestones between us. “For sharing that with me.”

“No,” Natsuki said, shaking her head. “Thank you for sharing my secret. It’s been fifteen years... fifteen years and one week since Kei died. I know what he said in the letter but.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had chosen him instead. It’s not that I didn’t like him, you know.”

She cracked a small smile.

“He was so tall, and so handsome. I loved the way he laughed and more than once I wondered if I should pluck up the guts to ask him out.”

“Kusunoki...”

My hands twisted in my lap.

Something about the way she spoke suddenly made me think of Kunikida...

“But he and Shin were so close,” she continued. “I was afraid of making things awkward if my feelings were to become known. So, I kept them to myself. Then, during his last year of school, Kei began pulling away from me. He... He kept talking about moving away to England and starting over and I...”

She sighed.

“I was so upset that I cried for a week. I thought maybe he’d figured me out and wanted to reject me kindly. But then, I started spending more time with Shin. And I began to fall for him instead...”

She looked away. I thought I saw the traces of a blush coloring her cheeks.

“He was so kind to me. And so full of energy. I could see that he was the kind of man who knew what he wanted and where he wanted to be in life and before I knew it, we were engaged.”

Smiling a little, she lifted her left hand up to her face. The bright morning sun caught on her finger and I found myself looking at an absolutely breathtaking opal ring shining on her ring finger.

“Shin bought this for me with some money he borrowed from his parents,” she said, noticing my eyes on it. “He said opals represented love and hope in Ancient Rome and he wanted to get me something that could symbolize a bright future together.”

“That was very sweet,” I said, returning her smile. “I can see why you chose him.”

Natsuki nodded.

“You can, can’t you?”

The low notes of a ship’s horn sounded from far in the distance, across the bay and as I turned towards the water, the older woman stood.

“Thank you for listening to my story, Kusunoki-san,” Natsuki said, tucking a strand of long, sandy hair behind her ear. “I appreciate your being here to comfort a foolish woman in her moment of weakness.”

Her smile grew.

“I wonder if this may be part of why my husband spends so much time talking to Nomura-kun about history. Sometimes it’s nice to speak of the past to someone younger, someone who still has much to do and may perhaps benefit from the lessons of a bygone era. Perhaps...”

She turned slightly, facing the water as well, and I watched as the breeze lifted through her long hair and the sunlight brightened her face.

Natsuki’s smile softened as she glanced back at me.

“Perhaps it’s time to revisit the idea of adopting children with Shin...”

Having children... with the man you love...

Without warning, the image of tall, blonde Kunikida returned.

My face began to burn.

“Th-that sounds nice,” I mumbled, turning away.

Great, now I’m thinking about Kunikida again...

My heart sank at the thought of the man as I’d last seen him, sitting alone in the middle of the training room floor, his back to me and his face in his hands.

Was he still mad at me?

“It does, doesn’t it?” Natsuki said, beaming. “I hope that the two of you can find happiness someday too, whoever it is you’re thinking about.”

“Huh?!”

I spun and gawked at her as she brought a hand up to her mouth and giggled.

“Forgive me,” she laughed, her hand still covering her mouth. “It’s just... the look on your face. It’s clear you’re thinking about someone special to you the way Shin is special to me—”

“Ahh, let’s not talk about that,” I stammered, diving for my bag so I wouldn’t have to see the amused expression on Natsuki’s face any longer. “I should probably get going. I don’t even know what time it is—”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry!” Natsuki gasped, bowing quickly in apology. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your busy schedule.”

“N-no, it’s okay,” I insisted, finding my phone at last. “I was just going to meet up with Nomura-kun, see if he’d found—”

I stopped talking immediately, realizing what it was I’d almost said.

That’s right, the professor...!

I flipped open my phone.

I’d been here for almost forty minutes and there were no missed calls.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

If that was the case, then maybe Nomura had found Professor Matsuyama. I’d specifically told him to call me only if he couldn’t find the man...

“Nomura-kun?” Natsuki said, tapping her chin. “Ah, if you need to call him, you should probably go beyond that big tree on the hill.”

She took out her own phone and held it up so that I could see it.

“I’m afraid there’s really no signal once you’re out past that point,” she said apologetically.

“Ah...”

I felt a subtle tightening in my stomach as I nodded.

“Right, thanks for telling me.”

“No problem. I’m going to stay here for a little while longer but, please say hi to Nomura-kun for me.”

She bowed again and I did the same.

“I will, thank you for everything, Natsuki-san.”

“No...”

Natsuki turned back towards Kei’s grave.

“Thank you...”

***

So the mystery was solved...

I kept my eyes on my phone as I walked up the path and headed past the tree on the hill.

Professor Matsuyama had figured out that his best friend Kei was in love with Natsuki, same as him. And yet, because he’d asked Natsuki to marry him and she’d said yes, he thought he’d taken Natsuki away from Kei and in doing so, had inadvertently killed his friend. Sure, there was a lot going on in Kei’s mind and in his life, but in the professor’s mind, this must’ve been the final straw.

This was why he blamed himself for Kei’s death.

Hmm... I probably should’ve taken a picture of the letter but that would’ve looked a little too suspicious.

I sighed, watching the bars on my phone begin to go up as I continued up the stairs.

Lack of communication, huh? What if the three of them had been more honest with each other fifteen years ago? Would the result have been, as Natsuki wondered, her marrying Kei and then Shin killing himself instead of Kei? Did both brothers have suicidal tendencies even then?

Speaking of which...

I stopped at the top of the hill, near S. Oda’s grave as all five bars on my phone finally appeared.

I wonder if Nomura found the professor yet?

And just as the thought finished echoing in my head, the first notification appeared: a text message from Nomura.

“W-what?!”

I nearly dropped my phone as notification after notification rocked my phone, the tiny device beeping and buzzing as they kept coming, message after message, all from Nomura. I went to the message center and opened up the first one so I could read them in order.

“Kusunoki-san,” the first one read. “I made it to the professor’s house pretty quick but it doesn’t look like there’s anyone here. I’m going to try ringing the doorbell and waiting a little longer.”

The next one read: “While I was waiting, I suddenly remembered that the professor had told me where they kept a spare key, in case of emergencies. I’m going to look for it.”

I clicked “next.”

“I found it! I’m going in through the back.”

I’d just finished reading it when a flash of red caught my eye. I looked to my phone app and gasped.

“Ten missed calls?!”

I clicked “play” on my voicemail and held the phone to my ear, my stomach suddenly churning with nerves.

“Kusunoki-san!” Nomura’s voice came through, the patchiness of the static unable to hide the sheer panic in his voice. “I don’t know where you went but please, please pick up! I can’t find the professor but I found something else! He—he left a message on his kitchen table for his wife...! He—”

** A loud clattering went through the receiver and I realized with a start that Nomura had dropped the phone. The line clicked dead but the next message began to play almost instantly.

“Kusunoki-san, it’s me again, Nomura—”

He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears...!

“I—I read the letter! I need to bring it to you and show you but, oh, God—”

I had to strain to hear his next words through what sounded like a choked sob.

“It’s a suicide note...! He says—”

I sank to my knees and let the phone drop to the ground. It bounced along the cobblestones with a sharp clattering noise, Nomura’s panicked shouts echoing through the air.

“He says he’s going to kill himself!”

***

ED HERE

[thirsttrapholland]

The Proposal

Requested?    Yes  

By: anonymous

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Anonymous said to thirsttrapholland:

An imagine were a super nervous Tom proposes to the reader on the day of her college graduation??

Warning(s):  None.  Pure fluff.

Word count: 1538

Picture found on: Pinterest

Hope you like it, anon.  So sorry for how long this took me.

Feedback is always appreciated.

“Do you have the ring?”  Harrison asked for what must have been the tenth time in the last twenty minutes.

“Why do you keep asking me that?  As though I’m sort of div that’s always losing things.”

“You’re right,” Harrison said, a note of contriteness in his voice.  “By the way, have you seen your air pods lately?”

Tom turned around to look at Harrison.  “Why would you ask me that?  You know I lost those stupid things ages ago.”

“You don’t say.”

“I can assure you however that I’m a little more invested in keeping up with my engagement ring than I was some damn air pods.”

“You don’t have to be so touchy.  I just don’t want anything to go wrong today.”

“Thanks.  I’m sorry if I snapped at you.  I’m just really nervous.”

“No problem.  I get it; I’d be nervous too if I were you.  Y/N is graduating today and heading to grad school in the fall. You’ve got yourself an ambitious, highly educated woman.  This might be your last opportunity to lock it down before she realizes she can do better.”

“I hope you know you just talked yourself out of a best man position.  It’ll have to be Jacob or Harry now.”

“As if they wouldn’t be saying the same things if they were here.”

“You’ve probably got a point.  You know what?  I’m going straight to Sam.  He’s always been the nice one; he’d never talk about me this way.”

“Not to your face anyway.”

Tom took a deep breath and turned back to the full-length mirror.  He smoothed the lapels on his navy-blue suit and adjusted the collar of his light blue dress shirt.  “I don’t know about this suit.  Do you think I should change?”

“Do I think you should change?” Harrison asked, struggling to keep the exasperation out of his tone.   “Change out of the suit that you had tailor made for this specific occasion just because Y/N likes the color blue on you? Are you hearing yourself right now, Tom?  No, I don’t think you should change.”

“So, I look alright then?”

“You look gorgeous, wonderful.  Like a real life Disney prince.  Swoon worthy.  I am literally swooning.”

“Alright, alright.  That’s enough.”  Tom caught Harrison’s eyes in the mirror.  “Do you think she might say no?”  All of Tom’s usual bravado had disappeared from his voice.

“Given the almost literal hearts in her eyes every time she looks at you, I don’t think that’s a real concern.”

“Yeah, I know she loves me.  But what if—?”

“Tom.”  Harrison stood behind Tom and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Stop. This is a huge step and I can’t imagine how nerve wracking this must be for you but you’re just psyching yourself out for no reason.  Get a grip, mate.”

“You’re right; you’re right.” Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When’s the last time you spoke to Harry?”

“About an hour ago.  Everything will be set by the time we get there.  You know he wouldn’t let you down with something this important.”

“The lights and everything.”  

“Yes, Tom.”

“And the gazebo’s been reserved?”

“Over a month ago. You made the reservation yourself and I’ve had to stop you from calling them every other week to confirm that it’s still reserved.”

“Right.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Tom.  I promise.”

 Y/N’s POV

You didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or embarrassed about the amount of noise that had risen from the audience when your name was called and you had walked across the stage to accept your degree.  Between Tom’s family and yours, the applause, cheers and whistling had been absolutely deafening.

After the ceremony, everyone had headed to the park where your family was throwing your graduation party.  Tom held your hand tightly but had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over.   After you had arrived at your destination, he had given you a few minutes to mingle with family and friends before insisting that you take a walk with him.

“Where are we going?  My dad was just about to cut the cake.”

“The cake will still be there, I just need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Between your brothers and mine, they will attack that cake like a pack of hyenas.  If it’s all gone when we get back, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“You’re the guest of honor, they’re not going to eat all your cake.”

“That’s what you said at my birthday.”

Tom put his hand on your chin and tilted your face up towards his until your eyes met.  “Darling, I assure you that the cake will be fine.”  He took your hand and led you down a path lit on either side by paper lanterns.  You stopped walking when you reached a clearing.  What you saw there literally took your breath away.  

There was a gazebo illuminated by what seemed like hundreds of candles and fairy lights; their brightness a stark contrast to the darkness created by the densely populated surrounding woods.  

Your favorite flowers, white and yellow lilies were draped all about; their sweet fragrance sent your way by the light summer breeze. There was a wooden bench in the center of the gazebo; as you got closer you could see that there was also a table bearing a chilled bottle of champagne and two champagne flutes.

You turned to Tom and put your arms around him.  “This is so beautiful, Tom.  Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”  He took a step back from you and ran his fingertips up and down your arms before clasping your hands in his.  “Have I told you how proud I am of you today?”

“Only about a million times, but I don’t mind if you want to tell me again.”

“I’m so proud of you and I love you so much.”  You couldn’t help but notice a hint of tremor in Tom’s voice.

“I love you too.”  The tremor in his voice was soon joined by a slight shakiness in his hands. You squeezed his fingers with your own, hoping to calm him down a bit.  “Are you alright, Tom?”

“Yeah.”  He smiled in that way that always made your heart melt.  “Yeah.  I am.” He took a deep breath and gestured to the bench.  “Sit with me for a minute?”

“Okay.”

Tom sat beside you and turned sideways so he could look at you as he spoke.  “So, I need to say something and I’m a little nervous, so I want to apologize in advance if I start rambling or if some of it doesn’t make sense.  Just bear with me okay?”

“Of course.”  

Tom took your hands in his and started to speak.  “You know that I love you, but I don’t know if I’ve ever explained to you exactly why I love you.  I love how smart you are; your mind amazes me on almost a daily basis. I love your kindness, your sympathy for others.  You really care about people.  You always support me but never hesitate to let me know if I’m being an idiot.  And I know in my heart that you love me for me. I know that it would make no difference to you if I was Tom Holland, the actor or Tom Holland, the carpenter, you just love me.”

As the realization of what was happening slowly started to sink in, it felt like an entire garden’s worth of butterflies had been set free in your stomach.  

“Since the moment that we met, it seemed like we fit into each other’s lives so seamlessly.  It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been right; meant to be.   It was almost like I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t have you by my side and what I’ve come to realize is that I don’t ever want to be without you by my side.”

You had imagined in the back of your mind that this might happen one day but some far off day in the future; you had not in your wildest dreams been expecting that this would be that day.

You felt like your heart was trying to escape your chest as Tom slid off the bench and knelt in front of you.  You gasped, clasping your hands over your mouth; your voice slightly muffled as you spoke.  “What are you doing?”

Tom chuckled, a bit of playful cockiness resurfacing in his demeanor.  “You know exactly what I’m doing.”  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.  He popped the box open to reveal the ring inside.  “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You felt lightheaded; your breath stopped in your chest. You opened your mouth but at first no sound came out.

“I’m starting to get a bit worried, love.”  Tom laughed nervously.  “Please say something.”

“Yes,” you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“Yes,” you said again, loudly. with tears streaming down your face.  You looked at Tom, unshed tears glistening in his soft brown eyes and you had never seen anyone more beautiful in your life.  You couldn’t begin to imagine not spending the rest of your life with the kind and loving man in front of you.

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

 permanent taglist: @thewinchesterchronicles @pxterbpxrker

[optimiist]

𝚒’𝚍  𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙  𝚊𝚗  𝚎𝚢𝚎  𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖  ;   that  there  is  LIONEL  MILLER  ,  notorious  for  being  (  resentful  )  and  (  tense  )  ,  but  there  are  times  when  he  can  be  (  considerate  )  and  (  self-effacing  )  .   i've  heard  that  he  could  pass  as  a  YUSUF GATEWOOD  doppelganger  ,  but  i  don't  see  it  .   the  (  thirty-eight  )  year - old  cis man has  been  in  town  for  (  his entire life  )  and  they  are  an  (  english professor  )  by  day  and  murder  suspect  by  night  .   they  tend  to  spark  images  of  an endless collection of the romantics - from the john donnes of the world to the carson mccullers’ ,  the perfect leather-on-tweed stereotype , being a willing human doormat to those with bright eyes and a kind smile , rehearsing the humphrey bogart but ending up the victor laszlo , a secret even worse than murder: …your favorite movie is the abomination of 2019  .   you’ll  know  when  they  walk  by  because  they  always  seem  to  be  blasting  as  time  goes  by  by  DOOLEY WILSON  .   it  truly  explains  why  they're  known  as  THE  SECRET  ADMIRER  .

TO KNOW:

born to a single mother, lionel was lucky in never joining the daddy issues™ club. nonetheless, his mother’s status still deeply affected him. with all of the men he watched go in and out of her life, none staying around long enough for him to call his true role model, he found a very thin line - but it was still a line and he knew exactly which side he wanted to be on. the line? separated the good men from the toxic men. and, of course, he wanted to be a good man!

it should be noted that his mother worked in the local library ( he was unaware of why it was named what it was named for quite a while - he thought it was just named after abraham lincoln and some other guy ). naturally, he spent most of his youth reading authors all the way from shel silverstein to lewis carroll to… most importantly… t.s. eliot. why is this the most important? you may ask yourself.

he unironically likes cats. the book it was based on… the musical… even the 2019 movie… there are very few people he’d ever admit it to, but… his favorite movie is cats (2019).

ANYWAY, as he grew, he matured into the catalogs of writers such as john donne, william shakespeare, tennessee williams, carson mccullers…

he was fucked!!

the authors and the poets and the playwrights all gave him a sense of what love is, what love must be. he began writing poetry, attempting to mimic donne’s subtle style. this both helped and harmed him when he met the girl he was totally sure would be the love of his life: chastity. she was gorgeous and kind and had bright eyes… 

he prepared a speech asking her out and rehearsed it every morning. just in case he forgot, he even wrote it down on notecards. but, when the time came, he was always just too… frozen. 

he didn’t shoot his shot on time - before he knew it, ethan kim was dating the girl he’d psyched himself out of asking out one too many times. 

although it was difficult for him to try to see chastity as just a friend ( perhaps friendly acquaintance at most on her part ), he did his best… especially when ethan enlisted him to help him get the girl™.lionel had plenty of moral qualms about it, but… ultimately, money was money. libraries didn’t make much. even the smallest amount would help. 

not to mention, it was an excellent way to see if he… would’ve been successful in asking her out. in words, at least.

he’d give ethan poems he’d already written, soliloquies he’d been inspired to write, and just… ultimately give him the advice that all of the romantics had given him throughout the years.

when chastity was murdered, his heart :( shattered :( died along with her but more poetically :( while his alibi checked out - he had been in the library writing a poem in donne’s style, the subject inspired by mccullers’s ‘the lover v. the beloved’ tangent in the ballad of the sad café, and he won! there were some areas in which they could poke holes: his mother, who clearly wouldn’t want her son to go to jail, was the only eye witness, they had no way of proving the date he submitted the poem, etc., etc. but, for the most part, his alibi was pretty solid.

this idiot didn’t profess his love until she was dead. WAYYYYY too late to shoot ur shot buddy!!

anyway, he’d already gotten accepted into college - thank god because he, otherwise, would not have been in the state to write a worthy application. he chose local for his undergrad. 

along the way, he found some new people to love. or try to love. it wasn’t exactly the actual relationship that made it hard for him to ‘get over’ chastity, what considering they’d never had one, rather the literal death and lack of closure.

but, come grad school, he met the woman he would be able to call his wife!! she was lovely and kind and beautiful and had such bright eyes. after only two years of dating, he proposed (granted, he’d been prepping… for an entire year... ) and!! she said yes!!

with an english professor slot (yes, slot) opening up at the university, they returned to taunwick. it was absolutely perfect, if you were to ask him. he could help his mom as libraries went the way of the dodo, he could potentially start a family (they were considering adoptive), he had a job he loved!!

but... then there’s that whole problem of the reunion… and, while he’s been doing well in taunwick, what in spite of the reminders of chastity… this could be yikes central for his marriage!! which is why it’s gonna be submitted to the main in .5 seconds!! 

and that’s what you missed on glee!

TL;DR:

hopeless romantic who will never admit that he unironically likes all forms of cats.

CONNECTION IDEAS:

** (open to any gender unless otherwise specified)

his wife (f): WILL BE BEING SENT INTO THE MAIN.

people he tried to love: as was previously mentioned, when he entered undergrad, he desperately tried to find people he could love just as much as he figured he’d loved chastity. only real requirement would be that they would’ve both gone to the local university at the same time!!

opposites attract: he’s meek, easy to unnerve… give me this. give me 13 going on 30’s main friendship.

neighbor: pretty self-explanatory!! they live in the suburbs next door to he and his wife… both of whom are disgustingly domestic!! 

couple friends: pls this idea just makes me laugh. we love the failed version of this connection where… it’s their last resort… they’re desperate… everyone else is trying to induct them into having a foursome… they just want a wholesome friendship… this is the closest they’re getting!!

students: let’s hear it for all the younger characters out there!!

more to come!!

FURTHER:

for a bit of a better idea:

pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/idkimnewwastaken/lionel-not-richie/

playlist (the final song is a lil treat): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vYatuuQmEWxcKvs2CBjCa?si=_XQCKYGsRz2jujfMT7V1BQ

musing tag: https://optimiist.tumblr.com/tagged/lionel-%7C-musings.

mini stats (to be later extended): optimiist.tumblr.com/ls (the font is strangely huge rn but… don’t feel like fixing it at this moment in time :\ )

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

Freshmen 15 (or 50 lol)

heh heh heh YES

Simon/Baz: ok I thought of this at like 3am last night and I’m so glad it stuck around BUT: Baz is the one who begins university, but Simon is the one who gains the freshman fifteen (plus some more). Baz and Penny aren’t around = less structure = less impulse control = way more snacks and little meals just because and way more accidentally finishing a family-size bag of crisps by accident because he lost track of how much he was eating while watching the Great British Bake-Off. Simon wearing Baz’s uni t-shirts and stretching them out, his belly starting to pooch out beneath the hem. Baz doing homework and Simon curled around him with snacks in case he gets peckish, Baz running a hand through Simon’s curls and over his soft, round belly as he studies. 

Poe/Rey/Finn: not the freshman 15, but I also want to propose: grad school weight. Poe going back to school when he’s a little older, a little surer of himself, his metabolism a little slower than it used to be. Grabbing fast-food meals on campus and staying up late enough studying/working on projects to warrant a fourth meal. maybe he’s working while doing school and the stress of trying to balance both things has him snacking more to soothe himself. it all comes to a head when he needs to put something nice on for a Work Thing, maybe a holiday party, instead of the t-shirts and old jeans he’s been running around in all semester. no matter how he tugs and squirms and lies on his back to try to do up his dress pants, they won’t budge. he can’t get both sides of his fly to meet, like, at all. and his nice button-downs -- aka not the flannels he’s been wearing open all autumn -- barely button up. when he sits up in front of his mirror, he can see the curves of his sides, the little rolls starting to form, through the fabric of his shirt. he can see how his belly sits in his lap and pushes his pants open. he sheepishly enlists Rey and Finn to take a quick shopping detour before the party. they are more than a little bit late.

Quentin/Eliot: magical grad school is VERY STRESSFUL and I love the idea of Q spinning out trying to adjust and grabbing onto food to ground himself. And Eliot lives to provide! I mean, mostly alcohol and party drugs, but I feel like he could jive with some gourmet. Q has, like, one beer too many (aka two beers) at a party and Eliot sits him down and feeds him pizza until the room stops spinning and Quentin latches onto the way food fixed that sense of unsteadiness. Also Eliot acts like indulgence is a good thing and like it’s cool and sophisticated to take as much as you want and more than you need and enjoy it. Q who cautiously decides to tell himself that it’s okay that he’s getting chunky because Eliot is chunky too, and Eliot is the definition of cool. It’s okay that he can’t button his jeans anymore because Eliot’s eyes crinkle in that stupid entrancing way whenever it happens. And when Q even more cautiously calls attention to his first-year gain in front of Eliot, just in passing, you know, trying to be Cool And Casual even though those are two things Q is historically very bad at being, Eliot seems .... proud of him???

thank you!! i’m having so much fun with this!! gonna take a quick break to do real school stuff and then i’ll be back to knock out the last two tropes i received!!

(I’d also like to link you to my Raven Cycle college AU series Here’s to New Mornings, to New Evenings, and my other Raven Cycle canon-compliant series, ‘Til There Was No More Coast to Wander, for variations on the freshman (and sophomore, junior, senior, etc.) fifteen!!)