#should i post it and should i add smut
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what if i've written a 2000 word declan o'hara x reader fic
what then
#id forgotten how bad my crush on ross poldark is#that's a GOOD LOOKING MAN#should i post it and should i add smut#comments on the back of a postcard
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might drop this fic next week! i’m like 75% done which is surprising for me who hasn’t been writing new fics for bts in a long time 😫 I AM PUMPED AND SCARED BUT YEAH THIS IS A LITTLE SNEAK PEEK I GUESS????
UPDATE: already uploaded the fic here !
#should i add a taglist for this one#idk#im high key scared to post this fic eventually bc i feel like no one will read it???#not sure but im chanting the saying “write for yourself and not for others” as i finish this story lmao#also... rating might change if i chicken out last minute and avoid writing smut bc that’s a new thing again for me too 😬✌🏼#OH AND IS THIS MY DEBUT OF USING JUNGKOOK INSTEAD OF JEONGGUK IN FICS??? yeah lmao
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because i am both a menace and a gift to society i've started doing kinktober (shhh it's not two days late this was all part of the plan (procrastinating)) <3 it's probably gonna be all svu (alex/olivia/casey or any combination of those characters) bc i'm so damn hyperfixated but !! link here
touch me baby, put your lips on mine
my prompt list below (really i just took a bunch of prompt lists and mixed them up into whatever i wanted to write <3 some of them have multiple prompts bc i already came up with ideas to combine them LMAO)
day one : first time
day two : wet dream
day three : phone sex
day four : biting / marks
day five : blindfolds + forced orgasm
day six : reunion sex + discipline
day seven : praise kink + spanking
day eight : bratting
day nine : threesome + aftercare
day ten : mirror sex + orgasm denial
day eleven : choking
day twelve : role reversal
day thirteen : formal wear
day fourteen : make-up sex
day fifteen : overstimulation + begging
day sixteen : oral sex + jealousy
day seventeen : fingering
day eighteen : face fucking
day nineteen : hate sex
day twenty : semi-public
day twenty one : thigh riding + bondage
day twenty two : balcony sex
day twenty three : sleepy sex
day twenty four : dom / sub
day twenty five : against a wall
day twenty six : masturbation
day twenty seven : humiliation / degradation
day twenty eight : exhibitionism
day twenty nine : edging
day thirty : teasing
day thirty one : free choice babey
#law and order svu#kinktober#i'm actually insane bc i'm horrified just posting this . as if i haven't written a bunch of this shit already LMAOOO .#forcing myself to become comfortable posting smut bc my insane ramblings are a gift that should not be hidden away in google docs#anyway . i might add amanda into some of these if i get a better grasp on her character . im only on s15 so idrk her that well yet#minors dni#calex#cabenson#benovak
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streamer!gojo is returning...
#sabs posts!#should i add smut#yes or no quick !!!#i don't really have a preference#edit: oops ignore that one typo
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Yknow that post that's like. "[sits down to write some smut] the plot of this fic is this character feels abandoned by god". That's how I'm feeling right now
#hm i should make an original post tag#i am. adding a healthy dose of pretending this is a normal non smut story.#very tempted to add a 'preface' in the style of the tcw narrator. like.#''darth maul‚ captured! anakin skywalker manages to track down and capture the scheming sith‚ but cannot get him to talk.#master obi-wan kenobi comes to help‚ in hopes of getting the sith to spill his secrets...''#<- it's a pretty good summary. if i do post it that's gonna be it#and very funny to me to have all this canon style 'intro' when the whole idea is just. have them fuck nasty.
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at home fashion show
·······•✦ description: Sylus finds your online shopping cart of costume ideas for Tara's Halloween party, what else was he supposed to do except buy it all and have you come over for a fashion show? He had to help you pick your costume out...
·······•✦ pairing: virgin!sylus x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: 8.6k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······•✦ general tags: First Time, Halloween Costumes, Cunnilingus, Pussy Eating, Fashion Show, Inexperienced/Virgin Sylus, Breast Play, Guidance Reader-Insert, No use of Y/N, Oral Sex, Vanilla Sex, Penis in Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Romantic, Soft Smut, Use of the nickname 'kitten', Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Loss of Virginity, Extablished Relationship
·······•✦ posted on: ao3
A fire burned in the hearth, warmth radiating from the middle of the common room. It spread to nearly every corner of the large house, the flicker of flames creating a glow across the dark leather couch Sylus found himself sitting on. Comfortable sweatpants hung on his hips, a plain black shirt stretching across his shoulders as he sat back, eyes fixated on the door to his room.
He was patient. The things he had gotten in life were born from patience. These deals took weeks or sometimes months to complete, and his journey to even get to the position he was in now took a lot of waiting. He could wait a bit more.
Except this was different; he knew what was on the other side of the door, his fingers tapping against the back of the couch as he thought about it. He scrolled through your costume ideas and the online cart you had built from the local Linkon store. All it took was one click before they were delivered to your house, and Sylus called you as soon as he got the notification that it was received.
“So, what do you think?” All you could do was chuckle in surprise, not knowing how to take in the giant box that had arrived. His mind whirled as he listened to the silence on the other end, wishing he could catch a glimpse of your expression. Seeing the label on the box, you shook your head before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Did you buy the whole store?” “Hm…” He feigned innocence as he smiled at his phone. “I just came across everything you had in your cart and decided you could come over and show me your ideas for your costume. Try everything on, if that’s okay with you, sweetie?”
There he was, his head spinning as he recalled a few costumes that had caught his eye. Even the previews of the models online wouldn’t come close to seeing it on your body. His leg began to bounce slightly, and his patience started to dwindle just a bit. Anticipation bubbled in his throat as the door opened enough for you to poke your head out.
Your eyes trailed over his position, legs slightly spread as if inviting you to sit down. His chest and torso filled his shirt perfectly as he leaned back against the couch. The black leather reflected the orange and yellow hue of the fire. Biting your lip, you smiled at the man before you, your hand playing with the hem of your shorts behind the door.
“You know Tara sent me some of these ideas, right? I wasn’t actually serious about wearing some of them.” Laughing, you recalled your endless conversations with your friend about what you should wear to her Halloween party. She even took it upon herself to send you links and add things to your cart herself.
“Well, we can be the judge of that ourselves.” Sylus countered, his eyebrow raised slightly as he beckoned you from behind your hiding spot. “Come out and let me see, kitten.”
His eyes desperately tried to stay focused on your face, your nose scrunched and lips pressed in a tight line as you walked out. The shorts could barely even be called shorts, the bottoms coming to just below your ass. In your eyes, they may as well be called underwear. The shirt wasn’t much better, the bottom stopping at your belt, meaning that any little movement of your arms upwards would show a flash of your stomach. Not to mention how tight it hugged your torso, any slight movement threatening to pop the buttons at the top that covered your cleavage.
“This is a very inaccurate representation of our Hunter uniforms.” Pulling at the bottom of your shorts, you switch from one foot to the other. The boots that came with the costume came up to just below your knee, and if it weren’t part of this wildly scandalous outfit, they were something you would probably have in your closet. The heel on the back boosted you up a few inches, and the feeling of looking down at your boyfriend brought a rush of excitement through you.
Sylus hummed again, tilting his head as his eyes drifted down your outfit. Typically, he would admire your beauty when you weren’t looking, letting his thoughts wander to dark places in the confines of his own home. However, as soon as you caught his gaze, he would retreat, a hint of apprehension behind his smile.
“It is quite inaccurate.” He commented, the corner of his lip turned up as he let his hands fall to his lap. “I think you look stunning as usual, but I’m sure many others will wear this costume. We wouldn’t want everyone else to see how inferior they are to your beauty, sweetie.”
His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, his chest tightening as he imagined what you could do to him in that outfit. Thoughts that didn’t sprout until late at night when he was alone and in need of you floated to the forefront of his mind. He did not indulge in those acts; his mind was always wandering elsewhere. That was until you two began dating.
Your face flushed as you looked around, avoiding his gaze that finally settled back on your expression. The outfit's fabric brushed against your inner thighs, and imagining a long night of it rubbing against your skin made you cringe.
“It’s also a bit uncomfortable. I couldn’t endure a few hours with these seams rubbing me raw. Plus I know of some sleezy coworkers that wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off me.” Your hands smoothed down the inside of the shorts, palms surprisingly sweaty. Shrugging, you turned around to the door, looking back at Sylus and seeing his eyes immediately falling to your ass. “I’m going to try the next outfit on.”
Sylus was speechless as he watched you walk back into his room, the door shutting softly behind you. His leg twitched as the image of your hips and ass, hugged perfectly by the extremely tiny shorts, came back into his view. The comment about your coworkers didn’t bother him, he knew you were strong and could handle yourself. Besides, it wasn’t the smartest idea for him to accompany you to the party, that would only stir up more trouble.
It hadn’t been long since you started dating - about a month - your trips to the N109 zone becoming more frequent as your relationship progressed. Hell, just last weekend was the first time you slept in the same bed. It was a slow progression due to how little you saw each other sometimes.
It also had little to do with the fact that Sylus had never grown accustomed to intimacy in general. Though he seemed extremely confident and put together when it came to you, inside, he was afraid. With each touch he placed on your body, the relationship you formed became even more real. Fear etched into his entire being since he finally had someone to protect.
His safety wasn’t ever a critical thing to him. Dangerous situations seemed drawn to him and sought him out specifically. And he was used to it, used to the monotony of battle after battle and eventually a successful deal going through.
But now, his head threatened to beat out of his chest if he ever dared to think about anything happening to you. His precious angel that had come into his life unconventionally. He was determined to keep you safe, and he became more afraid with each milestone you hit together as a couple.
The thoughts that fluttered through his mind stopped as he heard the door opening, his jaw nearly dropping as he took in the sight before him. Your toes wiggled in the new boots, the size a bit too small, as you struggled to shuffle your feet forward. Each step strangled your smallest toe, and you flinched.
“You alright, sweetie? Are you uncomfortable?” He tensed his forehead, his attention stripped from your sleek black dress to land on your feet. Your ankles flexed, and before you could reach down to try to relieve the pain, Sylus was already kneeling in front of you. “Hold onto my shoulder.”
Doing as you were asked, your hand steadied yourself on his shoulder, fingers digging into his muscle as you struggled to balance on one foot. Sylus’ fingers gently undid the buckles of your small black boots, sliding them off your foot. The feeling of your hand on his shoulder clouded his mind, hands working on their own accord to help rid you of the pain.
“Thank you.” Even after removing your boots, Sylus stayed on the ground, looking up at you through his lashes. Unsure of what to do with his hands, they sat on his thighs, fingers painfully still. The fabric of his sweatpants only soaked up the sweat that began to form.
“Of course, sweetie.” His confident aura edged back into his expression, his eyes moving from your feet to your face again. “You’re even more beautiful from down here.”
Rolling your eyes, you step back, your hands pulling the dress slightly lower. It was a simple outfit, a tight black dress that resembled a stereotypical witch hung over your frame. The sleeves flared out at your wrists, and a broomstick waited back in his room to be dragged around for hours.
“Oh, stop it.” Laughing, you do a small twirl, hands folding across your chest as you think about the fashion choice momentarily. “I would like this costume if it had something else; it feels like I’m missing something.”
Sylus stayed silent, standing up from his position on the floor to sit back in his previous spot. His head tilts once more as he takes in your appearance. With a shrug, he thinks about his words carefully. “It looks good, but I’m sure there are others that would fit you even better.”
You returned to his room with an appreciative nod, where another costume awaited you. The fashion show started just like all the previous times you visited him, with a few small kisses and an invitation to a meal before you began sorting and laying out all the costumes. Your nerves stood on edge as you thought about each outfit. Excitement and wonder if something will happen with Sylus that night spread through you. Surely, he would get turned on over something and make a move. If not, you would have to take matters into your own hands.
Okay, your thoughts raced as you slipped on the next outfit, the hat accompanying it and really tying the whole look together. Another set of boots stared at you from the floor, yet you slipped them on, a sigh of relief falling from your lips when they actually fit pretty well.
“Alright, I really like this one.” Your voice traveled from behind the door, and Sylus could hear the smile that crossed your lips.
“Then let me see, sweetie.” Tingles spread across your skin as he speaks, his patience running even tinner as the seconds tick by. He needs to see you in one way or another - or perhaps in every imaginable way.
When you entered the common room, his breath nearly left his body. Words couldn’t form no matter how hard he tried, his tongue sinking in his mouth, never to return. The hands that once sat on the back of the couch moved to his lap, muscles contracting as he clinched his fingers. His composure was dwindling, and his reaction to the costume threatened to become very obvious.
“So?” You stuffed your hands in the jeans pockets, suddenly shy under his piercing gaze. Once upon a time, that gaze was full of a villainous rage you didn’t think you could control. The journey to the N109 zone for the first time - a critical mission given to you by the Academy - flipped your life upside down. Your pull towards Sylus surprised you, yet you let yourself fall for him just as he found himself falling for you.
Laughter echoed through the empty house, your hands moving to hold your exposed stomach as you bent over slightly. The flannel shirt tied tight in the back gave some resistance as you bent over.
“Sylus? You okay?” You began to walk closer, and a smirk stretched across his lips as he nodded, something happening to his inner monologue that was unknown to you.
“I’m wonderful, kitten.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he let his gaze move across your body. A deep, unsatiated need grew in him each time you walked out of his room. The room that he sleeps in and feels the most comfortable in, you stand there, naked and vulnerable. “I think we found your costume.”
With an excited nod, you gesture down to the outfit, hands flattening the jeans so they lay flat on your skin. It felt nice, and the fabric was smooth and plush. It was just the right amount of sexy, but you would be comfortable spending a few hours in it at the party. You twirled around for him, showing him the bedazzled back pockets and fake spurs on the back of your cowboy boots.
“I think so, too!” You couldn’t help how your voice raised slightly, feeling hotter under his gaze. Silence fell between you for a moment, your eyes connecting. Eye contact was significant for Sylus, his red irises piercing your soul. At first, it was intimidating when you encountered the feared leader. However, the eyes that looked at you recently became just a bit softer. He was still the feared leader, a man who has done and will continue to do morally grey to borderline evil things, but he would do whatever it takes to keep you by his side.
“Isn’t there one more costume?” His mind drifted back to the list, remembering the total amount he had paid and the number on the little shopping cart in the corner. One more… What was it? He tried to recall, but the way you flaunted the current outfit, he was lucky to remember his name.
“Oh, yeah!” The outfit sat on his bed, laid out and waiting for you to try it on. In truth, you had already decided on your outfit, but the idea of the last outfit. It was perfect ammunition to push Sylus’ buttons. “I’ll be right back.”
Sylus began humming a tune you couldn’t recognize as you changed into the last outfit. The tight spandex leggings and even tighter long-sleeve shirt hug your body even more than the previous three costumes. Every movement had the fabric rubbing against your skin, the seams being the most insufferable part. They scratched and poked at your inner thighs and collarbone, the sensations feeling like ants crawling on your skin.
However, all those feelings flew out the window when you stepped out in front of your boyfriend. This time, his eyes flew straight to the sleek leather boots that adorned your feet, his eyebrows raised and a smirk curling at his lips. Slowly, he dragged his gaze up your body, and the fire in the hearth burned brighter. Heat licked up your ankles and shot straight to your core, your need growing with each second he admired your costume.
“What do you think?” Your voice came out as a whisper, and if it weren’t just the two of you, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. The headband threatened to fall as you looked down, turning to the side slightly to show him the fluffy tail that connected to the leggings. “I even have a tail.”
Something akin to a growl and hum vibrated through his chest, his body flexing as his cock reacted instinctively. He had already felt blood descending, but with that outfit. The ears that sat perfectly atop your head and the tail that just begged to be tugged, he needed a moment to compose himself before he spoke.
“I think…” A soft pause filled the air, tension stretching like a rubber band between you. The distance was too much, the heat too much. Sylus had to sit back against the couch again, and his excitement was finally visible to you. “I think your nickname fits you perfectly, kitten.” The word falls from his tongue, almost like a purr.
“You think so? Want a closer look?” Your invitation hung in the air briefly before Sylus’ hand was extended. Words weren’t needed, his desperation palpable and patience at the end of its rope.
“Of course I want a closer look at my kitten.” The moment your hand met his, he tugged you into his lap. Your ass sat gently on his thighs, not wanting to overstep any boundaries even though he was very clearly aroused. He flexed his muscles underneath you, hands sitting gently on your hips. It was as if you were glass, not wanting to press too hard, fearing you would shatter.
As you settled into his grasp, your hands fell flat onto your thighs. The urge to touch him, card your fingers through his hair, drag your lips from his collarbone to just below his ear. It was overwhelming, the gravitational pull he had towards you.
Sylus roamed his eyes over your body, the stretch of the fabric over your plush skin drifting up to the black choker and tiny bell that adorned the front. Up to the black cat ears on top of your head. The physical manifestations of his nickname for you, all coming to the surface and showing him what a beautiful kitten you make, all shot straight to his cock.
“Wow.” The man below you breathed out, his thumbs pressing and massaging your hip bones. The smile on his lips was genuine, a smile that was born out of his true feelings for you. It wasn’t often that a smile like that lit up his face; his smiles usually came at the expense of one of his enemies or when a deal finally went through. You brought out a light in him that he wasn’t sure existed until he met you.
“Like it?” You gauged his reaction. Even though you already knew the answer, you pressed him, liking when he spoke his feelings out loud. “I think it looks good, but it’s so tight.”
There it is. His thoughts raced as he gathered his emotions in one bouquet, ready to extend it to you. This was his chance.
“Do you want to take it off?” His usually confident tone held a hesitation in it, the question leaving space for you to back off. If it was something you didn’t want, all you had to do was say so, and Sylus was fine. His inexperience caused his stomach to flip, wanting you to say yes and no simultaneously. Of course, he wanted to see every inch of skin you had tucked away, perusing every blemish and mark like you were a work of art. His work of art. Except he wasn’t so confident in what came after.
“Are you sure?” Your hands played with the hem of your shirt, eyes searching his for apprehension just as his gaze did to you. Both of you were locked in a battle; who would pull away first? Would one of you pull away first?
Nodding his head, his right hand trailed up your body, fingertips pulling your shirt away from your body and letting it fall back in place. “There’s nothing I would want more, kitten.”
With confirmation, your fingers pulled harder, the fabric clinging to your body as you wrestled with the long sleeves. A giggle fell from your lips when you finally threw the shirt to the side. The noise was short-lived, though, Sylus’ grip flexing as he took in your breasts. Still covered by your bra, he fought the urge to grab a knife from underneath the cushion to cut the strap, patience flying out the window. He needed to see you, all of you.
Sylus guided his hands up your body, cupping your breasts over your bra. His thumbs brushed against your clothed nipples, hardening them and causing them to show through the fabric. Thoughts jumbled together as his need clouded his judgment. He wanted to do everything, anything but wasn’t sure where to start.
His breath came out labored as he looked up at you, pupils dilated as all sense of pride flew out the window. Vulnerability crossed his features for just a moment before he leaned forward, lips pressing against yours.
The kisses started gentle, and pecks turned into him tilting his head, which led to his tongue poking your bottom lip. When you invited him in, a sigh left his mouth, his lips slotting perfectly against yours. Tongues explored each others’ mouths, and sure, you had made out with Sylus before… But this was different. You could sense the desperation behind his touch, his kisses becoming manic and rushed as his hand massaged your breast.
Your own need flooded your senses, your hips inching up his thighs until you could feel your core against his throbbing cock. Heat radiated off him, one of his hands moving back to your hip to hold you in place. When you moved your hands to the back of his neck, fingers playing with the hair, the hand on your hip squeezed.
“Fuck, kitten.” Sylus was the first to break the kiss, his head tipping to lay against the back of the couch. The feeling of you sitting on him, your entire body weight pressing on the one spot he needs you the most. It was almost too much, his heart beating faster and faster. Was it possible for him to die of a heart attack? He wasn’t sure. He had healed many of his injuries from battles himself, but a heart attack? Maybe it was possible.
It was okay, though. He would gladly die by your hand. You were the only reason his heart beat, and if you will it, it would stop beating right then and there.
Seeing the opportunity, your lips moved to his neck, kisses littering the expanse of his beautiful skin. The scars that outlined his past, memories that were long forgotten, were disappearing under dark marks that you sucked into his skin. His past no longer mattered since his future was on his lap, making her own memories on his skin.
Both of his hands sat on your hips, fingertips threatening to dip under the waistband of your leggings. He wanted to take it further, and he was sure he could find the right words, but would he actually be able to perform to your satisfaction? Pleasure coursed through his veins as your teeth teased the skin of his collarbone, and all thoughts flew out the window as he sat up, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.
Your name hung in the air as the man underneath you groaned. Sylus couldn’t believe how desperate he sounded, his throat contracting as he swallowed. Pride was a word unknown to him at that specific moment in time, the only thought being your beautiful face and eyes that looked at him like he was every star in the galaxy. In fact, he would typically akin himself to a black hole, swallowing everything in his path and stopping at nothing to achieve what he wanted.
Right now, all he wanted was you.
“Hm?” You inquired, lips aching to be back on his body. Your fingers danced under the shirt collar on his back, tracing the muscles that stretched taut.
“If you would allow me,” He hesitated for a moment, thoughts in his head jumbling up before the image of you sprawled underneath him came to the surface. He had to see it firsthand. “I need you, kitten. Now.”
Your core throbbed, your heart pounding against your chest, as his offer was met with a momentary silence. He was always so chivalrous, asking for permission and treating you as if you were a precious artifact. During business meetings, he was never afraid to show his position and made it clear to everyone in the room who the boss was. Yet here he was, showing a vulnerability he didn’t know he had to you and allowing you to see another side of him.
“Okay,” You agreed, your own pussy pulsing at the thought of finally being with Sylus. It was futile to hide your excitement, hips rotating in circles on his lap. Rubbing yourself against him, you leaned forward, kissing him with even more fervor than before. “I would love nothing more. I need you too, Sylus.”
That was all the confirmation he needed. His legs moved on his own accord, lifting you off the couch and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He would never let you fall, his hands moving from your hips to your ass, holding you close to him as he walked to his bedroom. Your lips hovered over his skin, breath hot against him, and he had to take a deep breath to regain some composure.
“There is one thing you need to know, kitten.” As soon as you were laid on his bed, the remnants of the other costumes fell to the floor as the comforter shifted. He spoke against your lips, his fingers wrapping around your back to unclasp your bra. “I’ve never been interested in sexual relationships until you came along.”
You knew what he was implying, your hand cupping his jaw momentarily. Silence hovered in the air as you waited for him to speak again. However, when he didn’t, you kissed him slower and more gently than the intense need from before.
“Do you still want to do this?” Your question hung in the air for barely a second before Sylus ground his hips against your pelvis, his erection pressing against layers of clothing that he hoped would be gone soon.
“Does feeling me rock hard for you answer your question?” His voice became playful for a moment, hand discarding your bra and tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “I’m not one to beg, kitten. I just need a little… Guidance.” He leaned down, lips wrapping around your nipple and looking up to gauge your reaction.
A gasp fell from your lips, your hands in his hair gripping tighter, holding him against you so hard that you thought perhaps your souls would meld into one. While his mouth tended to one of your breasts, his hand took care of the other, thumb flicking and teasing your bud. Your underwear became stuck to you, the fabric causing you to squirm in his grasp.
“I- I think you’re- doing well with- without my help.” Your voice stuttered as pleasure overwhelmed your senses. Sylus’s upper lip curled, and his mouth disconnected from you for a split second.
“What can I say…” His breath across your damp skin caused a shiver to rack your body. “I’m a fast learner.”
Upon hearing a moan slip past your lips, Sylus concluded that he would spend eternity dragging every last noise from that pretty mouth of yours. It was his favorite melody, his own body responding to the siren call as his cock twitched in his sweatpants.
“Sylus,” Your moan morphed into an echo of his name, and fuck, you always sounded beautiful, but when you moaned his name? The man bit back the urge to rip your leggings and underwear off. A primal urge inside of him roared to life, needing so desperately to be buried in your pussy - whether it be his mouth or his cock was irrelevant at that point.
“Can I take these off?” Sitting up on his heels, he ran his finger underneath the waistband of your leggings. He couldn’t wait any longer; his skin tingled with energy, and he stared at you, urging you to allow him access to the one thing he wanted the most.
Sylus watched you nod, but it wasn’t enough for him. His eyebrows lifted slightly, head visibly shaking back and forth as he clicked his tongue. “No, no. I need your words, kitten. Tell me what you want me to do, how you want me to do it.”
You bit back a whine, the ears on your headband rubbing against the pillow as you arched your back. His fingernail tickled you, pressing hard enough that you felt it but not enough to cause you pain. With a huff, you opened your mouth; thighs spread wide to accommodate his large frame.
“Yes, you can take them off.” A pause, your hands clutching the sheets below you. “I want you to take them off, Sylus.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh. All he wanted in the world was to fulfill your needs and satisfy you so no other person could compare to what he could do. All he needed to know was how to do it. Once he found out, he would never forget it.
“Take my underwear off too.” His gentle hands unbuckled your boots, tossing them to the side of the bed. Your words shot straight to his cock, and he sat for a split second, his hands gripping your calves. Sitting back, Sylus hooked his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down your legs very slowly. Maybe he was a sloth in his past life.
As much as he yearned to be inside you, he wanted to take his time savoring each and every reveal of your body and the noise that fell from your lips. Of course, his favorite would always and forever be when you said his name. You had already bared your soul to him, risking everything to travel here, to be with him, and now he could indulge in the only thing left—your body.
“Patience, kitten.” His voice was smooth as he spoke, hands kneading the flesh of your thigh. Your dark red underwear outlined your pussy perfectly. He preached patience to you, yet he could feel his own begin to disintegrate when faced with you, all spread out and ready for him. “I want to take my time savoring you.”
His experiences were few and far between, but what he did know was that you loved when he kissed your neck, leaving minor marks that had to be covered up in the morning. So he did the same to your thighs. Except he could leave as many marks as he wanted; no one else got to see you like this. He could dance his lips across your skin, planting seeds that would blossom later and eventually sprout the next time he undressed you. No one else would see them except you and him. You would be reminded of how amazing his lips felt, and he would remember the pleasure that rushed through him as he marked you for himself.
Sylus nipped at your skin, your fingers immediately carding through his hair. Sparks exploded in each spot that he bit, only to be soothed by his tongue, your taste intoxicating to him. You had quickly become his favorite meal, and he hadn’t even gotten to your pussy yet.
Maybe Sylus would never admit it, his pride too high and ego a bit too large to actually say it out loud, but he hesitated with taking your underwear off. He took pride in learning quickly, confident he could make you feel good after some guidance. But until he learned, he was unsure. He didn’t know what to do, how to touch you, and deep in his heart, he was afraid you would laugh at him or… Even worse, he would hurt you.
“Sylus.” Your voice calling his name snapped him back to reality. His eyes found yours as he looked up at the expanse of your body. The fingers in his hair massaged his scalp, and goosebumps rose on his arms as he gripped your thighs. “Please, take them off.”
Your plea didn’t fall on deaf ears, his hands moving on their own accord and playing with the band of your underwear. Slowly, even slower than your leggings, he slid them down your legs, letting them fall onto the sheets. His eyes trailed up to your core, glistening and waiting for anything he wanted to give you.
The man in front of you wanted to give you everything. The whole world served up on a platter… Any piece of jewelry or clothing you desired... You wanted someone dead? Don’t say another word; he’s already got their address on file. For the moment, however, he could settle on his mouth and fingers and, eventually, his cock.
“Can I touch you?” His hands ghosted up your thighs, thumbs dipping to press against your hip bones.
Another nod started, but you caught yourself, your pussy clenching upon seeing the leader of the N109 zone’s most notorious group in such a vulnerable position. All for you. His face inched closer, his eyes looking up at you like you were a god, and he was but a mere mortal, asking for grace to be able to lay his hands on your ethereal form. Sylus always seemed so hard, his brow set in a line and eyes distant, but this Sylus… He was affectionate and willing to put his position aside just to be beneath you.
“Yes…” You nodded, one of your hands falling to the pillow beside your head. The soft silk caressed your skin, but nothing would compare to Sylus’ calloused fingers tracing their way to your pussy. “You can touch me. Please touch me.”
His thumb dipped to your folds, collecting some of your arousal. It fascinated him, seeing you dripping onto the sheets. He did that. Sylus bit his lip, bringing his thumb up to his mouth and wrapping his lips around it. Your taste exploded on his tongue. It was a very unfamiliar taste, but he could find himself becoming drunk on it.
“Delicious.” He commented, looking up at you. “How and where do you touch yourself?”
This time, he didn’t sound teasing, his question genuine as he paused, taking in your open mouth and heavily lidded eyes. He was curious, his breath hitting your slick and making you shudder.
As if you weren’t already spread out naked in front of him, you could feel a bit of embarrassment and timidness creep into your movements. The hand that was in his hair moved to your lower stomach, your fingers teasing slowly towards your pussy. You had done it before - touched yourself. Sometimes, it was to fantasies you had with Sylus, dreams you would wake up from soaked and throbbing for release.
Thinking about those times, you dipped your index finger down, finding your clit. With one touch, you were gasping, sensitivity at an all-time high from all the teasing. Rotating in circles, your moans picked up, your other hand moving to brush against your nipple. The added stimulation had you clenching around nothing, your hole leaking even more onto the sheets.
Sylus watched in wonder, eyes tracing every movement and noise. His cock throbbed, and he sat up, pulling his shirt off as he watched you pleasure yourself. The knot in your lower stomach tightened, and with Sylus looking at you like a wolf looking at his prey, you weren’t sure you could last.
“Sylus.” Your lips formed his name, eyes locking with his. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. His bare torso shone in the light, a layer of sweat forming as heat settled in the room.
“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” He looked back at your fingers, his hands itching to touch you. Each image was cataloged into his brain, memories he would keep close to him. No one held a candle to how perfect you looked, your chest heaving as you played with yourself, your fingers teasing your clit just enough to keep the knot tight but not enough to release it.
“Yes, I have before.” You manage to speak. It felt like you were shoved into the fire in the common room, your skin burning under his gaze.
“Good,” Sylus smirked, his bare shoulders fitting perfectly under your thighs, parting them enough so he could see your throbbing hole and the small bud beneath your fingers. His hands sat on the inside of your thighs, fingers gripping the skin as he spoke again. “Can I try?”
“Please,” A whine fell from your lips, fingers removing themselves from your breast and clit. The invitation sat in the air for a moment before Sylus crept his hand up your stomach, grabbing your breast. His rough hands differed from yours, the callouses making the friction extra delicious on top of your sensitivity.
Sylus rolled your nipple between his thumb and index finger, his other hand wrapping around your thigh to settle close to your pussy. His thumb pressed down on your folds, searching for just a moment before he felt your body tense. A loud moan echoed through the room, and he smirked. Applying a bit of pressure, Sylus drew circles around your clit, just as he saw you do with your own fingers.
Maybe it was because his fingers were bigger than your own, or perhaps the scars and marks along his hands created even more surface area, but it felt infinitely better than anything you could have done yourself. His name was chanted repeatedly, your fingers returning to his hair and pulling.
He listened to your moans, growing louder and higher as he continued his ministrations. Licking his lips, he inched closer to your heat, wanting to taste you. “May I have a taste of my kitten?” His voice was nearly silent, nose mere inches from brushing against your folds.
“Yes, fuck.” You cursed, arching your back into his hand that still played with your nipples. “Please.”
Your confirmation was all Sylus needed, his tongue licking a long stripe from your hole up to where his thumb lazily played with your clit. His mouth was filled with your arousal, and a low growl rumbled through his chest. Instinctively he closed his eyes, savoring the taste of you before diving back in. How had he gone so long without knowing your intoxicating taste?
A soft whine you let out traveled straight to Sylus’ cock, forcing him to pull away. He needed a moment to pull himself together. The warmth of his tongue and the sudden disappearance of his thumb on your clit had you wiggling your hips, desperate for something, anything.
The reprieve came in the form of his nose, the tip lightly brushing your clit as he dipped his tongue into your hole. Testing the waters, he teased around your entrance a few times before pushing in again. It was a cat-and-mouse game, the way he prodded just a bit deeper each time. His nose pressed against your clit, moving every time Sylus turned his head. Your fingers gripped his scalp, trying to get him closer to you.
Your legs tried to close around his head, and the man below you had to strengthen his hold to keep you spread for him. Sylus wasn’t sure if he could die by suffocation, but it seemed like a pretty good way to go if it meant he could die between your thighs.
As he continued, you felt the knot in your lower stomach growing tighter and tighter. When you ground against his face, his eyes were the only thing you could see as he looked up at you. Squelching and sloppy noises came from Sylus as he became a man starved. Deprived of you for so long, he would eat as much as he could.
“Sylus, please. Fu- fuck. I’m-.” Your sentence became broken up as his middle finger pressed against your entrance. His tongue glided up to your clit, flicking the sensitive nub as he eased in. It felt weird momentarily, his finger exploring your walls and not hitting anything. But fuck, as soon as he touched a spot that felt different from the rest of your squishy walls, Sylus noticed the way you clenched around his finger, mouth falling open, yet no sound coming out.
“Feel good, kitten?” His lips barely left your pussy before diving back in. As he continued to stroke that spot, he suctioned his mouth around your clit, watching with amusement and a little bit of pain as your legs tried to close around his head once again. Your fingernails scratched at his scalp, a few hairs probably coming out, but he couldn’t care less as he watched pleasure overtake you.
Your orgasm came barreling down on you like a wall of bricks, your chest heaving as you ground down onto Sylus’ face to chase the aftershocks of the high. His finger inside you still played with that spot, tongue lightly licking at your clit as your nerves exploded. The way you clenched around his finger had him wondering, how good would that feel wrapped around his cock?
“There you go, kitten.” His voice surrounded you, coaxing you through your high until your hips twitched and your hand pressed against his forehead. Overstimulation caused your nerves to stand on end, your clit sensitive even as he breathed out a sigh against you. “You look so beautiful when you cum.”
When he sat up on his knees, you could see the prominent tent on his sweatpants, eyes wide as he brought his finger to his lips. The rest of your orgasm was cleaned from his finger, yet his chin still glistened with your juices.
“Can you take one more?” His hand was dipped under the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapping around his length. Oh, how he wished it was your pussy, or your hand, perhaps even your mouth, but that could wait. He needed to be inside you. “I want to see you come undone around my cock, kitten.”
As you caught your breath, you watched him gently stroke himself. If he was feeling any pleasure, he didn’t let it show, his lips set in a fine line as he awaited your answer. Precum leaked from his tip, staining the front of his pants as you nodded, swallowing the saliva in your throat before speaking.
“Please, I need you, Sylus.” Your eyes locked with his, legs spreading further and fingers threatening to tear his sheets. “I need you to fuck me.”
A low chuckle vibrated his chest as he stepped off the bed, hands already pushing down his sweatpants. Sylus bit back a hiss as the cold air settled on his throbbing cock, standing at attention and leaking precum all for you. “Your wish is my command, kitten.”
His body towered over yours, mind reeling as you took in his size. He was huge, and while you had experimented with dildos before, nothing could compare to the sight of him. The thought of the stretch was both intimidating and arousing; your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as he settled back between your legs.
“I can assure you I’m clean.” He started, stroking himself as his nose brushed yours. “As long as your okay with it, I’d like to fuck you raw, feel all of you around me so that I know what every inch of you feels like.” His words make you clench your empty hole, wanting so badly to be filled by him. The way he spoke had goosebumps blossoming across your arms, his breath fanning your face as his tip rubbed against your folds. “I’ll fetch condoms for next time. Just allow me this pleasure, kitten.”
The hand that wasn’t on his cock sat on your hip, thumb gently caressing your side. The feeling of his tip pressing against your clit had you gasping, a low hum coming from your chest as you nodded your head. “I’m on birth control.” Your eyes met his, and you leaned forward to kiss him. “I want to feel every inch of your cock.”
Your hand trailed down to wrap around him, a vein pulsing under your skin. Sylus’ lips met yours, a slow, languid kiss pausing the atmosphere for just a moment. The feeling of your hand on him, your thumb passing over his tip, and the way you lined him up with your entrance… Sylus wasn’t sure just how long he could last.
The kiss was broken when Sylus opened his mouth, a low groan erupting from his throat as pleasure spiked through him. His imagination couldn’t hold a flame to how your hand felt around him. Slowly, he pushed himself in, the stretch causing you to hiss.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Sylus gritted his teeth, slowing down even further despite feeling your velvet walls begging him to go deeper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
His grip on your hips tightened as he pressed into you more; half of his length now passed through your entrance. You could already feel him against your sensitive spot, your mouth open in a perpetual scream as you tried not to clench around him. With each inch, you felt your stomach flip, and it wasn’t until his pelvis was pressed against yours that you let out a breath.
A small tuft of hair tickled your clit as you wiggled your hips, relaxing around his length and getting used to him filling every part of you. As he adjusted himself, his hips tilted, his tip pressing right against a spot that had stars appearing behind your eyelids. One of his hands moved to where yours rested on the pillow, palm up. Gently, he filled the spaces between your fingers, holding onto your hand. Kisses were pressed against your face, his own breathing labored as he kept his composure.
“Fuck, you’re so big.” You breathed against his neck, your hand squeezing his. Seconds seemed to tick on forever as you laid still, your breaths becoming synced. Eventually, you felt your hips relax, your legs opening just a bit more to help accommodate him. With a deep breath, you looked up at the man above you, a small smile gracing your lips. “You can move, Sylus.”
It took him a few seconds to respond, his hips moving slowly back. Emptiness filled you as his tip rested against your entrance. His nose brushed against yours, and he leaned down to kiss you. As you were in a liplock, he thrust forward, listening to the gasp from your mouth and the soft clap of his balls on your ass. He pulled out again, your moans swallowed by his mouth as he began to pick up the pace.
Sylus groaned, pulling away from your lips. As much as he hated not feeling your lips on his, he had no choice. He had to hear you. Your sweet moans greeted his ears as he looked down, watching where he disappeared in you. Each pullback showed his cock shining with your juices, and each thrust forward had his abs flexing as you sucked him back in.
The pleasure you brought him was unimaginable, and there wasn’t anything he could do to get enough of you. He had been yearning for you for centuries; it was overwhelming now that he finally had you.
“Kitten.” His pants turned to groans of your name as he squeezed your hand hard. The loud squelching and slap of his balls on your ass rang through the room. His thrusts slowed as he sat up, eyes trailing across your body. The marks on your neck and thighs, the heaving of your chest as pleasure coursed through you, everything was his.
Your hips circled his pelvis, feeling him hit new depths within you. A pang of pain and pleasure shocked you as you felt his tip hit your cervix. He was so deep, the throbbing of his cock now causing everything in your own body to throb. It felt like every atom of your bodies were connected, and no matter how evil he seemed, your soul could never give him up.
“Sylus,” You moaned, the hand that wasn’t grasped in his resting on his abdomen. Your nails lightly scratched his skin, and he nearly doubled over. He really liked it.
With your noises spurring him on, he ground his pelvis into yours, hand moving down and thumb rubbing circles on your clit. He needed you to finish because he knew he was very close himself. You had to come first.
“Come for me, kitten.” He whispered your name against your lips, hips stuttering and grinding against you. The thumb on your clit pressed harder, and you felt your muscles freeze; a loud - louder than all the previous ones - moan that bordered on a scream echoed through his empty house as you came. Maybe it was because he was buried so deep inside you that you felt so full and satisfied, but this orgasm felt different.
Your entrance clenched around him, your release surrounding his cock as he paused, buried inside you. With a low growl, you felt warmth - borderline hot - as his seed filled the minimal space that remained. Your lips tingled, clit pulsing as you felt his cock twitch, each time sending another spurt of cum right against your cervix.
“Fuck, sweetie.” Sylus cursed, pulling out of you slowly and watching with satisfaction and curiosity as your mixed releases trailed out of your used hole. Something like an animalistic urge came over him; he collected the leaking cum, pressing it gently back into you. Your hips twitched, and you tried to close your legs, but overstimulation and exhaustion crept into your muscles.
“You’re so beautiful, look so perfect, stuffed with my cum.” Sylus lays down on the bed, his cock softening as he pulls you into his arms. His hands smoothed down your back, massaging a few of the tight muscles he finds on his exploration.
When you lay your head on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that, no matter how much danger he was in, was completely calm. That time, you noticed the slight uptick in speed, his breaths coming quicker. The pleasure overwhelmed him, everything about you smothering him and causing his chest to tighten. His heart - which always stayed at the same steady beat - quickened as you wrapped your arms around his torso.
Your bare chests pressed against each other as silence fell across the house. The feeling of Sylus’ and your come leaking from you caused you to lift your head, a somewhat disgusted look on your face. “Sylus.”
He raised his eyebrows at you, awaiting whatever you were going to say. His own head was a bit cloudy, the aftermath still settling like dust on old books. “Yes, kitten?” The rough hands that held you like a piece of glass halted their movements.
“Can we take a shower?” You tried to close your legs, your juices starting to pool on Sylus’ abdomen. “The feeling of your cum leaking out of me is uncomfortable.”
Sylus chuckled, storing that little tidbit of information for the future. He sat up, wrapping his arms around your thighs and standing. Slowly walking towards the bathroom, he nuzzled his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent and feeling himself start to get hard again.
“Does that mean we can have round two and get clean at the same time?” He mused, his thumb brushing close to your core as he turned the water on.
“I’ll think about it.” Although he had just heard you screaming his name, you laughed, and Sylus determined that your laugh was his new favorite sound. Stepping into the shower, you reached out to your boyfriend. “Maybe you can help me wash my hair?”
Nodding, Sylus stepped in, joining you as steam clouded the mirror. The cat ears you had on earlier sat on the pillowcase, a reminder of Sylus’ nickname for you and its effect on him. Maybe you should wear it more often…
© starsforxavi
#bri.writing#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#lnds sylus#lads sylus x reader#l&ds sylus x reader#sylus x y/n#sylus x reader#sylus x you#sylus x mc#love and deepspace fic#love and deepspace x reader#sylus qin#qin che#sylus fluff#sylus#sylus smut#love and deepspace#love and deepspace smut#lnds smut#sylus lnd#sylus love and deepspace#l&ds sylus#love and deep space#lnds#love and deep space smut#lads smut
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I've basically not been on my laptop for a week and now I'm absolutely lost trying to look through my files trying to figure out where things are saved and screaming at past me for how bad my filing (or rather, naming) system is-
Though admittedly taking a break from things like writing has kinda helped with rebooting my brain a bit, I'm feeling more motivated to do things now such as writing.
I also know I've been tagged for WIP Wednesday during the week! I'll get to that some point this weekend and will look at what I've been tagged in too! 😊
#meg is rambling#i have a very dumb naming system for files. if writing is based around a ship i'll use that ship as name#ie 'balgruuf elyse' or 'balgruuf dragonborn' for stuff to do with the perfect storm. sometimes names will be the other way around#if it's anything like smut i'm writing i'll literally just add the letter s to the end#except i also like to add version numbers but only if word dicks about and won't let me save the original file when writing on my phone#but when i get annoyed and re-write stuff i'll add the word 'actual'#except i've got a load of files which are like that#so in my folder for my balgruuf and elyse stuff i've got 'balgruuf elyse v1' 'balgruuf elyse v1 actual' 'balgruuf elyse actual'#and about four other very similar iterations#i mean i've finally figured out that the ACTUAL version which is what is posted on AO3 is 'elyse balgruuf actual'#but it was a mess of going through about seven different iterations before finding the right one. i've pinned it in word so i don't forget#i should really make an archive folder or something
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Ghost of Your Dreams



Pairing: bf!scoups x f!reader
Genre: smut (MDNI), size kink, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy), dom!scoups, spanking, choking, spitting, degradation(slight), praise, cosplay! ghost
Description: all it took was one comment of your and here he was, embarrassed and shy but ready to commit to the fullest in order for him to fulfil your fantasy
Note: everyone went berserk last year when i posted on my tiktok as what characters id like to see svt as for halloween and put coups as ghost from cod so naturally i had to bring even more chaos and write a whole fanfic about it…enjoy hehe (post writing edit of the notes: i passionately hate this my bad guys i suck so bad. and again, not proof read so…yeah lmao)
you knew what you were getting into the very minute you first stepped a foot into your boyfriend’s s home and saw a whole professional pc set-up, with headphones and the kind of keyboard that lights up in rainbow light every time you press any key on it. you knew what to expect from him-late night gaming sessions between him and his friends, him yelling whenever he got annoyed, and a whole lot of cursing.
these are just some of the things you knew to expect.
cheol, on the other hand, never even thought what kind of an effect his hobby could have on you. he knew you would be supportive, and that you would probably use his gaming time to do and practice your own hobbies.
but now, several years into the relationship, he never even expected for you to take any special interest in his hobby, never mind for you to make such an…out-of-character comment like you did two weeks ago.
he was just starting a new game, concentrating on the plot and character dialogue so he knew what to do, when he felt you approach him from behind, carefully watching the screen right beside him.
after a few seconds, cheol sees your pretty pointer finger point at one of the characters from the screen and hears your sweet voice ask “who is that?”
cheol looks up at you with his pretty and big boba eyes, a bit of confusion visible in the way his eyebrows furrow.
“his name is simon riley, but they call him ‘ghost’.”
you only hum in response, tilting your head to the side as you carefully watch the character move around the screen. after a few seconds, you deliver a comment that will forever change seungcheol and who he is as a person.
“he’s hot.”
cheol looks at you, both in confusion and in offence, totally blindsided by the two words that have just left your mouth.
“what- why? how? you can’t even see his face because of the mask. plus, you have a boyfriend, miss. how dare you find another man other than me attractive?”
you finally look at the boyfriend in question, only to see his big cherry lips set in pout, making you smile in amusement. you bend down to hug him around his neck, softly kissing his cheek to comfort him. after you see the corner of his mouth twitch in weakness, you answer his questions.
“i don’t know, something about him is attractive, maybe the way he carries himself and the mysteriousness because of the whole mask thing.”, you muse as you go back to watching ghost on the screen.
cheol does the same, the pout still present as he looks at his favourite character, now with a bit of disdain due to your newfound attraction to him.
after a few seconds of silence, you chuckle before you add another comment that will play a big part in both your futures.
“plus, he kind of reminds me of you, baby. with all the dominance, confidence and that deep voice.”, letting another chuckle, you look him directly in the eyes, you faces only inches apart so he can see your eyes clearly as you add “who knows, maybe you should cosplay him sometime. i know i would love to see that.”
you smile at him before you let a brief kiss land on his lips before you part your body away from his and go back to laying on the bed.
you may have said it in the joking manner, but cheol knew. he saw that look in your eyes, the way your pupils were dilated, the way your smile hid something a bit darker, a bit more sinister in the corners of your lips.
he knew that you weren’t joking.
so here he is, two weeks later, on a saturday night, in the full cosplay, waiting for you to get back from work, his blushing and red face hidden behind the balaclava and mask.
he fondles with all the little belts around his body, namely his waist, chest and thighs. a bit uncomfortable, but nothing cheol couldn’t handle.
hey, anything for love, right?
cheol looks around the apartment as if it will give him an answer as to what he should do, what the plan to surprising you is, but to no avail. the nervousness and sort of excitement is getting more and more unbearable the closer your arrival is getting.
finally, he settles on hiding in the bathroom, knowing that your first move will be to check your shared bedroom to see if he’s there, making the bathroom the perfect place to hide, as it is directly across the bedroom and he can then quietly sneak up behind you.
just like he planned, cheol skilfully hides behind the bathroom door, leaving the light off and the door slightly open as to make you think he isn’t inside. he stills his movements the moment he hears the keys jingling behind the entrance door before the door click open.
you drop your keys into the little dish beside the door before hanging your bag and coat on the hanger right beside it. he hears you sigh deeply, probably meaning that you have had a long day and that you need some relaxation.
perfect.
after you take your shoes off, he hears you still for a moment, carefully listening to the sounds in your own home. after a second, he hears you call out “cheol? are you there? i’m home!”
but to no avail. because he doesn’t answer.
right in that moment, cheol's belief that he knows you better than anyone else was solidified.
because just like he predicted, he hears you take a few steps before you lightly open the door of your bedroom, peaking inside to see if your boyfriend is inside.
showtime.
ever so quietly, cheol moves until he’s standing right behind you, his eyes looking at the top of your head. he just had to smirk at your cluelessness, how you are so cutely looking for him while he’s standing directly behind you.
not being able to resist the temptation, cheol leans in until his covered lips are right by your ear before he utters in his deepest voice possible.
“looking for something, m’love?”
you gasp in shock, eyes wide as you quickly turn towards him, stumbling back so much that if it weren’t for his hand catching your arm, you would’ve fallen right onto your ass.
you gape at his tall and darkly clothed silhouette, being somewhere between shocked and in awe of your beautiful muscle-y boyfriend standing in front of you in a costume you never could’ve imagined seeing him in.
the shock lasts all but 5 seconds before the widest smile he has ever seen on you takes over your features, your pupils blown out, so much so that they appear almost completely black.
with excitement you start word-vomiting “oh my god, i can’t believe you really did this. i think this is the best day of my life. oh my god, are you gonna spank me and say that i’ve been a bad girl? or maybe-“
something about the way you look little too excited, like a kid on a christmas morning that can’t wait to open their presents, the way you smiled so wide, maybe even too widely. like cheol just walked right into your trap.
it rubbed him the wrong way, blood boiling slightly.
although that just might be the multiple layers of clothes that he’s wearing.
oh well.
wasting no time, seungcheol suddenly grabs you by your neck and pulls you towards him, making whatever words you wanted to say die on your tongue and a gasp slip out instead.
the moment your body collides with his, he uses his big and broad body to push you against the wall by your bedroom door, harshly.
your body slams against the cold white wall, and cheol has the oh shit- thought for all of half second that he might’ve pushed you too hard and that he might’ve hurt you.
that is before he hears you moan loudly at the action, throwing your head back.
little masochist.
cheol then immediately comes closer to you, crowding your space so much, until the only thing left to focus on is the mask that covers his face. his chest pushes into yours, making it that harder to breathe, and his knee finds its home right between your legs, pushing upwards until he can feel the warmth between your legs on his thigh.
your beautiful and cute eyes are already teary as you look upwards at him, desperation forming on your waterline in the form of tears.
you don’t have to see it to know that cheol is smirking at the effect he has on you, smugness dripping in his voice as he says.
“what do we have here, hm? your pussy already desperate for me, baby? but we haven’t even started.” he pauses for a second to press his covered forehead against yours before he continues “is this all it took to reduce you to what you really are? a desperate, cock-hungry little bitch? so hungry for my cock hm? can’t even wait for it to enter that little pussy of yours, already rubbing yourself on me.”
it is only when his glove-clothed hand suddenly runs over your front, right where your pussy is desperately rubbing on his thigh, that you even notice what you’ve unconsciously started doing, his fingertips digging until he finds the slit of your pussy lips, pressing hard until he reaches your clit, despite two layers of clothes being in his way.
you moan at the contact, hands grabbing at his wrist, somewhere between pushing his hand away and closer to where you need him the most.
seungcheol won’t let you have any control tonight, he wants you to completely surrender to him, to let him use you and move you however he wants, to just accept whatever he gives you with a fucked out smile on your face.
hence why he grabs both your hands into his before slamming them onto the wall above your head, quickly switching his hold onto your wrists.
with a purposefully made angry face, he looks into your teary eyes. something dark and far more sinister than he thought he could ever feel awakens inside of him, the feeling of giddiness overcoming him as he watches your eyelashes get wet by the tears gathering in your eyes, neediness and desperation swimming in them.
with a deep voice overflowing with warning, he says “no touching tonight, are we clear pretty girl? you are at my mercy tonight. everything i want to give you…”, he pause for a few seconds so he can remove the skull mask from his face and reveal the identical balaclava beneath it, before he pushes his face closer until his cloth-covered nose meets your own and continues “…you will take like a good girl i know you are. understood?”
you watch his dark eyes, purposefully covered in black paint, as you process his words. your mouth are agape, shaky breaths leaving the opening until the sound hits cheol’s ears. his free hand that isn’t holding your wrists comes to hold your cheek gently, a touch of love to show you that this isn’t real, that this is just a bit of a fun game to both of you, that he still loves you despite his harsh words.
with wide eyes, you slowly nod your head to his demand, showing him that you understand.
contrary to his tone just a few seconds ago, cheol gently whispers in the little space between you two “use your words baby, i need to hear you say ‘yes’ before we continue.”
you heart squeezes in love that you have for this man. the fact that he basically interrupted his own fantasy in the name of having you consent to him with your own words makes you love him that much more. sure, it may be the bare minimum to the rest of the world, but to you, who never experienced such gentle love by the previous partners? it means the whole world.
with hoarse voice, you whisper “yes. i understand.”
cheol looks at your eyes for a second, looking for doubt and fear, only to find excitement and trust instead. nodding his head, he pushes his balaclava until his lips are freed, and using the newfound freedom to lay a gentle and light kiss to your mouth, letting them linger just for a second before he pushes the balaclava back in place, now fully ready to push you to the point of tears of pleasure.
within a second, that old flame of desire returns to his eyes. for a second you could’ve sworn that his eyes had a tinge of redness in them, almost like they were literally set on fire.
his hand slowly but firmly wraps around your neck, the leather material making the squeaky sound as he repositions his hand so his fingers are only squeezing the sides of your slender neck. the last bit of air leaves your lungs as cheol squeezes your neck, making you feel lightheaded within seconds.
your boyfriend uses your distraction and hazy mind to just observe you-the way your eyes flutter shut and how tears gather at your water line, how your hands try to grasp onto something to no avail because he’s holding the hostage above your head, how your mouth can’t decide if you want to bite your lip and keep the gasps and moans from escaping or opening them as wide as possible and letting all those pretty sounds flow like a river straight out.
he watches how your hair is already messy, a complete opposite to how you usually style it for work. then to how your pretty neck bobs in an effort to take in more air. the way his black leather glove wraps prettily around it.
his eyes fall onto your chest, and the way your button up shirt gives him a peak of your cleavage, as well as the necklace with his initials engraved on the back of the pendant hanging from the chain. the way your chest raise and fall at rapid speed, the way your tits move with every exhale.
his pupils follow the curvature of your waist, and the way your pants hug your hips-the hips he loves to hold, grab, squeeze and use as his anchor while he’s fucking you from behind.
lastly, cheol observes the movement of your hips, how you slowly roll your hips in slow and small circles on his leg that is pushed between your legs in an effort to relieve the uncomfortable tingle on your clit, the warmth from between your legs making his mouth water in need to taste you, in need to have your tight pussy wrap around his cock.
fuck, he needs to fuck you. right now.
his head drops beside yours, a groan hitting the shell of your ear before he demands “take your pants off, need to have that needy pussy around my cock right now.”
no sooner than when his hand lets go of your hands that were hanging above your head that you immediately got to work, unzipping your pants and missing the zipper a few times. the minute it was unzipped enough, you pulled your pants down, along with your panties, before you kicked them to the side.
while you were preoccupied by taking your pants off, cheol did the same to his. well, he couldn’t really take them off due to insane amount of tiny belts hugging his big thighs. instead, he just unzipped them and pulled them down just enough to free his aching cock from his boxers, precum leaking from the tip the moment it bounces upon being taken out.
your eyes immediately get drawn to the sight, how big he looks, the tip the slight pinkish colour due to lack of stimulation.
but it’s not just his dick-cheol as a whole, right at this moment, looks like something straight out of your wet dreams, like a desire or a kink you can’t talk about, keeping it locked inside a box instead, hidden deeply inside your closet.
the black balaclava with the skull printed on it hugging his head and currently hiding his beautiful face, the black turtleneck that is covered with the fake black military vest, with tons of tiny pockets. the way his big biceps bulge out, protruding even with the longs sleeves trying to keep them hidden.
the black leather gloves that are trying to keep his pants below his cock, kind of frustratedly fumbling with the material because it’s not obeying to his orders. the black pants that hug his legs, the black boots-simply everything.
it makes your whole body feel hot, so hot like somebody poured hot lava all over it.
fuck, i need to suck him off dry right. now.
just as cheol was about to grab you, you let your knees drop, kind of painfully hitting the floor, and as gently as possible due to the hunger grabbing his dick.
cheol confusedly looks down at you, mouth open to say “wha-“ but gets cut off with a moan the moment your warm mouth wraps around his cock.
normally, you would go slow, paying attention to his tip for a minute or so before trying to swallow his whole length.
normally. but not now.
the moment you open your mouth and lean in towards his dick, you start bobbing your head up and down his cock, you hand working on the base that you can’t reach with your mouth just yet. you other hand pulls on his pants, trying to keep them in place while you suck his length.
feeling overwhelmed by your sudden actions, cheol gasps a moan and slams a hand onto the wall to keep him balanced, knees buckling due to the sheer force of your movements.
your mouth haven’t even been around his dick for a minute and he can already feel his balls ready to burst, breathing deep and looking towards to the ceiling (or the heavens, whichever way you want to interpret it), praying that he doesn’t cum so quickly.
you continue with your movements, tongue wrapping around and licking his cock as you drag your mouth back before you suck his length back in, his tip hitting the back of your throat.
cheol watches you in awe and fascination, the way your eyebrows furrow not in concentration, but due to the neediness to have yourself choking on his big cock, moaning every few seconds in pure enjoyment.
never thought sucking a dick could be so good and so…sexually full filling.
you look up through your eyelashes at your boyfriend. even with the balaclava you can tell that his mouth is opened, letting those beautiful and loud moans flow freely out of them, that his eyebrows are furrowed because he’s trying to contain himself and not fuck your face.
which is exactly what you want.
you pull away, both to let yourself and himself breathe, though you keep the eye contact going.
and cheol sees it. that look in your eyes that is begging him to fuck your mouth.
how could he ever deny his baby anything?
just as you were about to go back to sucking his dick, cheol grabs your hair and pulls you away, and keeps pulling on it, making you move your body with it. he only stops once your whole body is back to leaning against the wall, legs kind of awkwardly bent before you readjust them.
your glossy eyes look up at him, needy and demanding for him to fuck your mouth, now.
tapping your cheek with two fingers, he's only able to rasp out "open your mouth."
your lips fall open without a second thought, poking your tongue out as you wait for him to give it to you hard and fast, just like how you like it.
cheol wishes that he could take a mental picture of you like this-eyes glossy, face littered with sweat and mouth calling his name. this right here, how you like right now.
this is everything cheol has ever dreamt about.
ever so slowly, cheol pushes his pelvis foward, his cock held tightly in his hand as he guides it straight to your mouth. he smears the head a bit on your tongue, letting you taste him yet again, but immediately pulling away once you try closing your mouth around it, a sound of disapprovement escaping his lips. once you look at him confusedly, eyebrows furrowed, he's adds "don't move. let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours like i know you want me to, like a good slut i know you are. just relax and enjoy, hm?"
you nod your head quickly before opening your mouth again, an amused chuckle echoing in cheol’s mouth.
very carefully, cheol pushes his cock back into your mouth. his eyes are fully trained to follow your every move, eyes cloudy with desire as he watches you close your mouth around his girth, pretty eyes looking right back into his. he continues pushing his pelvis until he feels the back of your throat close against the head, pearly precum falling down your throat, before he pulls back.
he continues repeatedly doing this a few times, getting you used to the motion and pace, before he speeds up slightly.
your fists are clenched against your thighs, desperate to touch him but resisting the urge to touch him, to pull him closer until you feel yourself choking on his thick cock. instead, you focus that energy to let all the little sounds that you know cheol definitely loves, your humming and moaning creating vibrations on his length.
cheol moans right back, throwing his head back every so often because it just feels so good. the warmth of your mouth as he rocks his hips, the way you try swirling your tongue around the head, the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only man ever for you.
it all messes with his head.
naturally, he loses himself in the pleasure, unconsciously speeding up his movement until his cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, choking sounds hitting the shell of his ear every time he pushes his cock back in.
after another few minutes of him fucking your pretty mouth, of him letting little comments like “fuck, just like that pretty girl” and “yeah chock on my cock, just like that”, cheol feels himself being so so close, almost a second away from cumming. and although he would like nothing more to paint your pretty face with his cum, to smear it around, almost like he’s marking his territory, to see tears spill from your eyes and mix with his fluids, he would much rather cum inside of you. now.
harshly, he pulls all the way out, hissing once the cold air meets his wet length, before grabbing your jaw harshly with one hand. using that hold, he quickly picks you up, dragging you up to meet him.
you gasp at the action and the way it cuts your airway off, hands quickly grabbing his forearm as he drags you to your feet.
the moment you are close enough, he pulls his balaclava all the way off and clashes your mouths together, tongue swirling around your own, stealing yet another breath away from you.
just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls away, lips swollen from both the kiss and biting on his lips while fucking your mouth, eyes dark and cloudy like a stormy night.
you’re still gasping because he still has a hold on your cheeks with one hand, nails digging into your skin in a painful yet delicious way, your own hand squeezing his wrist in indecisiveness, unsure if you want him to squeeze it even more or to let you breathe.
pushing his forehead against your own, you can clearly see him struggling to control himself by the way he’s harshly breathing. in a dangerously low and warning tone, he just says “i’m gonna fuck you so hard, just like you want me to. gonna fuck you like a slut i know you are. gonna make you beg me to let you cum. now jump.” before he bends down and grabs you by your legs, picking you up like you weigh nothing and wrapping your legs around his waist.
your heart jumps to your throat in excitement, everything about this so new and so unfamiliar-the face fucking, the cosplay, the degradation. you previously told him it was something you’d like to try, just to see if you would like it more than when he praises you and worships you, and although you like how every time he called you ‘slut’ a shiver went down your back, his praise and calling you his love and baby while he’s fucking you will always be number one place.
cheol quickly grabs his dick and slaps it a few times against your clit before he pushes it inside of you, gliding much easier due to your arousal. you both moan loudly at the contact, cheols eyebrows furrowing almost like he’s in pain. his eyes focused entirely on how your pussy is swallowing his big cock.
you feel heat on your cheeks at the sound your cunt makes every time cheol pushes back inside you and pulls back, it’s all wet and loud, and it makes you want to hide your face in embarrassment. you can’t remember the last you were this aroused, so much so that the slick was staining cheol’s pants that were still just pushed right under his dick.
in the matter of seconds, cheol starts fucking you hard and fast, your loud moans echoing in the hallway, probably making it a show for the neighbours to hear. head thrown back against the wall, you focus on gripping cheol’s shoulders like your life depends on it.
his hands are harshly gripping your thighs, both to hold you up and keep you in place so you don’t slip due to sheer force of his movements, but also because he adores your thighs-if it were up to him, his face would be permanently squished between them while eating you out, all day, every day.
you can quickly tell that neither of you will last much longer, the long foreplay already getting you close to the finish line. for yourself you can tell by that funny feeling in your tummy and in the quiver of your legs that are wrapped around cheol’s hips. for cheol, you can tell by how his movements have lost the rhythm, only focusing on fucking you as fast as possible, desperate to cum inside of you and make you cum on his dick.
cheol presses his sweaty forehead against your own, his glassy eyes looking directly into your own. despite how dirty this all feels, you can still feel love pouring from his eyes into your own. you feel his adoration for you, you feel that his heart is beating for you and for you only. al of that is enough to make the knot inside of your tummy slowly start to unravel, your pussy squeezing around cheol’s dick stronger than ever before.
at the feeling of you milking him dry, he moans loudly, his movements sloppier than ever, holding out his orgasm and stopping himself from cumming just so you can cum together with him.
“that’s it, baby, cum around me. take it, take what’s yours. lemme feel that pussy-“
the rest of his words don’t register in your brain because cheol lets go one of your thighs so he can rub your clit, thumb pressing harshly into it as he moves it side to side in quick movements, and in a few seconds you are cumming.
cheol moans as he feels you cumming around him, his own finish following your own immediately. he tries to ride your orgasms as long as possible, but then he feels liquid drench his pants, only to see you squirting on him, his brain short-circuiting at the sensation.
he successful holds you up through your orgasms despite his legs shaking like crazy from how hard he has come. using the fact that you are leaning on the wall, cheol pushes you further into it in the name of getting closer to you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he feels the last of your orgasm drenching him, his own dick pulsating almost painfully inside of you.
for a minute or so, you two just stand there, hugging each other as you breathe heavily, trying desperately to regain your vision. you pat his hair slowly, just like how he likes it. cheol, in return, hugs you impossibly close to himself, whispering beautiful nothings into your ear like “good girl” and “i love you so much baby”, just how you like it.
after another moment or so, he finally pulls back, his big brown eyes looking you over to see if everything is good, only to be met with your spent but satisfied expression, eyes unfocused as you try to look back into him.
he uses one hand to slowly move your hair away from your face, grimacing a little at the feeling of sweat that sticks to his hand as he wipes your forehead.
he watches you for a few seconds, eyes so gentle and full of love, he can’t resist kissing you slowly, his lips a bit chapped from continuously biting it, but still somehow so soft.
you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of his love, arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders, fingers twirling his hair at the back of his head.
he slowly pulls away, eyes searching your own. once he sees you finally being able to focus on him, the first thing he says to you is
“i love you so much baby.”
and for some reason, probably due to all the adrenaline and because of how gentle he is being, you feel your eyes prickling with tears, quickly hiding your face in his shoulder and hugging him closer than ever, seeking out his comfort.
cheol tries prying a bit worriedly, gently asking things like ‘what’s wrong baby? hm? tell me so i can make it better’ but all you have strength for is to whisper quietly to him “i love you too. so much…bedroom, please.”
cheol gets the hint, quickly pulling out of you so he can carry you to your bedroom so he can cuddle you and take care of you, lips kissing your temple as he kicks the door open and walks to your bed.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
you stir awake, eyes blurry as you try to find your boyfriend.
only to see his side of the bed empty.
you quickly get up in panic, still a bit needy and in need of his touch, looking around with furrowed eyebrows.
only to see the bathroom door open, cheol standing in front of the mirror as he’s trying to take off the black paint from his eye area, softly and quietly cursing at how stubborn the paint is, only smudging around instead of getting off his face.
you immediately stop panicking, observing his half naked form, his soft muscles and little tummy getting all of your attention.
he’s so effortlessly beautiful, it makes you wonder how he is even yours. he’s just standing there, only in his black towel, yet he looks like a god, wet hair falling into his eyes as he’s still trying to take the makeup off, pouting at how unsuccessful he is at getting it off.
slowly, you get out of the bed and walk towards him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist from behind the moment you are close enough to him, nuzzling your face into the soft skin of his back.
he smells fresh, like his body gel. luckily your boyfriend isn’t one of those people who uses 36 in 1 shower gels, instead of opting for the regular one, this time having grabbed the one that smells like…cucumbers maybe? nevertheless, he’s clean and smells great, and you enjoy every second of it.
cheol drops one hand across your own that are rubbing his tummy, still trying to take the paint off.
you watch him across his shoulder, smiling in amusement for a few second before you use your hands to slowly turn him around so he’s facing you.
he immediately starts pouting at you, hands quickly finding your waist under his shirt that is hanging from your frame.
in whiny voice, he starts complaining “it won’t come off baby. what am i supposed to do? i have an important meeting tomorrow morning.”
you smile as you take the cotton pad from his hand and take your own micellar water, dabbing the pad a bit with it before you gently start rubbing his eyes.
you feel his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hip bones in comfort, enjoying the sensation and his touch to the fullest.
“you need to use a micellar water that has some oil in it as well, so the oil can break off the paint particles. your micellar water isn’t strong enough for it apparently.”
cheol just hums in response, fully taking advantage of you taking care of him, eyes closed in enjoyment.
after a minute or so, you pull your hands away to see if everything has come off successfully, nodding your head as you see his open eyes clear of paint. you tell him that he can wash his face now, but before you can pull away and let him get back to it, cheol uses his hold on your hips to pull you into a hug. his lips immediately find yours, tongue slowly entering your mouth so he can deepen the kiss. you kiss him right back, melting in his arms because of how gently he’s kissing you.
your hands rub his chest as he’s kissing you, his own hands travelling up your back, pulling your (his) shirt with it, cold air greeting your ass that is only in a pair of panties.
slowly pulling away, cheol again looks at you with those eyes, making you feel something catch in your throat at the look he’s giving you.
smiling gently, he bends down a little so he can kiss your forehead, the whole action performed slowly and gently.
pulling away yet again, he smiles again as he uses one hand to cup your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing your skin as he looks at you.
seconds go buy as he just watches you before he lightly says in the little space between you “i am so in love with you. you don’t even know it but you own my whole being. i want to give you the world. i want to spend eternity with you, if you would let me.” he pauses so he can push his forehead against your own. almost inaudibly, he adds “in this world, it’s just you and me, love. i don’t need anybody else as long as i have you.”
and as you kiss him to shut him up before he says something else and makes you cry yet again, you think to yourself.
if only you knew, choi seungcheol. if only you knew.
#seventeen#svt#svt x reader#fypシ#tumblr fyp#fypage#fluff#scoups#smut#choi seungcheol#choi seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#scoups x y/n#scoups x you#choi seungcheol the man that you are
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SIMS ANATOMY - JAKE SIM

SYNOPSIS: you, a top cardiac surgeon, find yourself increasingly frustrated by the distraction over the hospital’s new head of neurosurgery, Dr. Jake Sim. Despite your initial annoyance, you can't help but notice Jake's charm and undeniable skills. As you keep running into each other, Jake’s persistent yet respectful flirtations begin to break through your professional exterior.
PAIRING: neurosurgeon! jake x cardio surgeon! reader
GENRE: workplace romance, situationship
WARNINGS: explicit smut, unprotected sex (don’t), oral (m and f receiving), angst, language, MDNI!!
wc: 12k
You step out of the OR, still riding the adrenaline high from the successful triple bypass surgery you just completed. The intricate dance of sutures and clamps still echoes in your mind as you head towards the nurses' station to update your patient's chart. You’ve always prided yourself on your precision and dedication, and today was no exception.
As you settle into the chair, logging into the system, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the nearby nurses. Their voices are hushed but excited, and despite yourself, your ears prick up at the mention of a new doctor.
"Oh my god, have you seen Dr. Sim yet?" one nurse gushes, her voice practically dripping with admiration. "He's the new head of neuro. I can't believe he's not married with kids."
"Seriously, he's so handsome," another chimes in. "I thought doctors like him only existed in movies."
You roll your eyes internally, feeling a twinge of annoyance. These nurses should be focusing on their patients, not swooning over some new doctor. You know the type—charming, overconfident, used to turning heads wherever he goes. You’ve seen it a hundred times. It’s frustrating to think that professional women, who you’ve seen handle the toughest of medical crises with unflinching composure, could be so easily distracted by a pretty face.
"He smiled at me in the break room," another voice adds, dreamy and far away. "I nearly melted."
You resist the urge to scoff out loud. Instead, you channel your irritation into the chart in front of you, updating the post-op notes with meticulous detail. Your patient, Mr. Harrison, came through the surgery well, and you want to ensure there are no loose ends in his care plan. His vitals are stable, and the grafts look good. You make a note to check on him in an hour.
The chatter continues unabated. "I heard he’s a genius in the OR," someone says. "Apparently, he’s revolutionized some new technique in neurosurgery."
"Brains and looks? Not fair," another nurse quips, and they all dissolve into giggles.
You finish charting, your irritation only growing. It’s not that you begrudge the nurses their moment of levity—being a nurse is hard, often thankless work, and they deserve a bit of fun. But the object of their admiration rubs you the wrong way. You’ve had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously in a male-dominated field, and the idea of a doctor coasting on his looks and charm irks you.
Shaking your head slightly, you stand up and grab the chart. There’s still a lot to do, and you don’t have time to dwell on some pretty boy neurosurgeon. If he’s really as good as they say, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. And if not, well, you’ve never had a problem putting overconfident doctors in their place.
As you walk away from the nurses' station, you hear one last wistful sigh. "I can't wait to see him in action."
Neither can you, you think, but for entirely different reasons.
You step out of the OR, mind still buzzing with the details of the successful valve replacement surgery you just completed. you head to the cardiac unit to check on post-op patients, but something feels off. The usually bustling ward is eerily quiet, with only one nurse, Olivia, stationed at the desk.
“Olivia,” you calls out, her voice cutting through the silence. “Where is everyone?”
Olivia looks up, a hint of guilt flashing in her eyes. “They’re at lunch,” she replies a little too quickly, her tone unconvincing.
you narrows her eyes, knowing Olivia well enough to sense when she’s not telling the full truth. “Olivia...” you say in a stern voice, crossing your arms.
Olivia shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. “Okay, fine,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “They’re in OR 2’s gallery.”
Confusion flickers across your face. “Why would they be in the gallery?” you ask, your irritation growing.
“Dr. Sim is clipping an aneurysm,” Olivia admits, unable to meet your eyes.
That’s all you need to know, storming off towards the gallery, your footsteps echoing through the hallways. The idea of your nurses neglecting their duties to watch a surgery infuriates your. Jake’s presence in the hospital had already been a source of frustration, and now he was serving as a distraction for your team.
Reaching the gallery, you push open the door and stride in, your eyes scanning the crowd of nurses huddled around the glass, their attention glued to the procedure below. you spot Jake in the OR, skillfully clipping the aneurysm, his focus unwavering.
“What is going on here?” you demand, voice slicing through the murmurs. The nurses jump, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Why are you all here instead of attending to your patients?”
One of the nurses, Carla, steps forward, stammering. “We... we just wanted to see Dr. Sim’s technique. It’s supposed to be groundbreaking.”
your glare is icy. “I don’t care how groundbreaking it is. Your patients come first. Get back to your stations, now.”
The nurses scurry out, their heads bowed in embarrassment. you watch them go, your anger simmering. Jake’s impressive skills might have captivated your team, but to you, he was nothing more than a distraction. you couldn’t afford to have the nurses slacking off, not when lives depended on their diligence.
you turn back to the OR, eyes locking onto Jake. For a brief moment, your gazes meet through the glass, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it amusement? Shaking off the thought, you storm out of the gallery, determined to keep your team on track and your own frustrations with Jake in check.
You catch sight of Jake coming out of the OR, his surgical cap still on and his scrubs marked with the evidence of a long, intense procedure. He’s engrossed in conversation with another surgeon, but as you approach, he looks up and meets your gaze.
“You must be Dr. Sim,” you say, your voice firm.
Jake smiles, wiping his hands with a towel. “Dr. Y/L/N, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I could say the same about you,” you reply, not missing a beat. “Seeing as you’re the reason my nurses are disappearing during their shifts to watch this so-called groundbreaking technique of yours.”
His smile falters slightly, and he raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize my surgeries were causing any issues. I’m sorry if they’ve been a distraction.”
“They have,” you state bluntly, crossing your arms. “My team’s focus should be on their patients, not on observing other procedures or a certain brain surgeon, no matter how impressive they might be.”
Jake’s lips curl into a playful grin. “Oh, so you think I’m impressive?”
You feel a flush of annoyance, typical behavior for a neurosurgeon, always so full of themselves. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it,” he teases, taking a step closer. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”
You narrow your eyes, trying to maintain your stern demeanor. “My team doesn’t have time for distractions, Dr. Sim.”
“Fair enough,” he replies, his tone still light but his expression more serious. “I understand, and I’ll make sure to address it with the staff. I didn’t mean to disrupt the unit.”
You study him for a moment, gauging his sincerity. Despite your irritation, there’s something about his demeanor that disarms you slightly. You can’t help but notice his deep brown eyes, plump lips, and the way his Australian accent is way more attractive than it should be. You understand, in that moment, why the nurses might be so captivated.
“Good,” you say, your tone softening just a touch. “I appreciate that.”
Jake smiles again, this time a bit more warmly. “And if it’s any consolation, your reputation as a top cardiac surgeon is well-deserved. I look forward to working alongside you.”
“Likewise,” you reply, giving him a curt nod before turning to leave. As you walk away, you can’t shake the mixture of irritation and intrigue. Jake Sim might be causing headaches for your unit, but there’s no denying his skill and charm. You just hope he proves to be more than just a distraction.
A few days later, you find yourself in the hospital’s busy hallway, reviewing patient charts on your tablet. The hum of activity around you is a comforting backdrop until a familiar voice interrupts your focus.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his voice carrying that unmistakable Australian lilt. “Fancy seeing you here.”
You look up, and there he is, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Dr. Sim,” you acknowledge with a nod, trying to keep your tone neutral. “What can I do for you?”
“Just thought I’d say hello,” he replies, pushing off the wall and sauntering over to you. “And maybe ask how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” you respond, keeping your eyes on your tablet.
“Busy as usual, I see,” he notes, glancing at the screen. “You ever take a break?”
“Breaks are for people who don’t have critical patients to tend to,” you reply, not looking up.
He chuckles, the sound warm and annoyingly pleasant. “You know, there’s more to life than work. Maybe you need someone to remind you of that.”
You finally look up, raising an eyebrow. “And I suppose you think you’re that someone?”
“Could be,” he says with a confident grin. “I mean, who better to show you the lighter side of things?”
You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Confidence is a necessity in our line of work,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I’ve heard it helps in other areas too.”
“Oh really? Like what?” you ask, despite yourself.
He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Like convincing brilliant surgeons to step out of their comfort zones once in a while.”
You scoff lightly, shaking your head. “I don’t need convincing, Dr. Sim. I have my priorities straight.”
“Of course you do,” he replies smoothly. “But even the best of us need a break sometimes. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you out. Just offering a bit of friendly advice.”
You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Friendly advice, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he says with a wink. “Think of it as a, professional courtesy.”
You can’t help but laugh, despite your best efforts to stay stern. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I get that a lot,” he says, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to saving lives. But if you ever need a reminder of what fun looks like, you know where to find me.”
later that day, the hospital corridors are quieter than usual as you make your way to the elevators, finally heading home after a long shift. The soft hum of the building is almost soothing after the constant noise of the OR. You press the button and wait, your mind already shifting to thoughts of a hot shower and some much-needed sleep.
The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you see Jake standing inside, leaning against the back wall, his expression relaxed but alert. He looks up and his face lights up with a familiar, playful smile.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets, stepping aside to make room for you. “Heading home too?”
“Dr. Sim,” you reply, stepping in and pressing the button for the ground floor. “Looks like it.”
The doors close, and the elevator begins its descent. The enclosed space suddenly feels a bit smaller with the two of you in it.
“Long day?” he asks, glancing over at you.
“You could say that,” you respond, leaning back against the wall. “You?”
“Same here,” he says, a hint of fatigue creeping into his voice. “But it’s all part of the job, right?”
You nod, a brief silence settling between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension, a mix of mutual respect and something else you can’t quite put your finger on.
“So,” Jake breaks the silence, a teasing note in his voice. “Any plans for the evening? Or are you one of those surgeons who lives and breathes work even at home?”
You raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And what about you? Do you have a life outside the hospital, Dr. Sim?”
He laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine. “I try to, when I’m not dealing with brain surgery. But I’ll admit, it’s a challenge. The job can be all-consuming.”
“Tell me about it,” you agree, your tone more relaxed now. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything else.”
“Maybe that’s why it’s important to find some balance,” he says, his voice sincere. “Even if it’s just little moments here and there.”
You look at him, considering his words. There’s more to Jake than the cocky, flirtatious persona he often projects. “I suppose you’re right.”
The elevator dings again, signaling your arrival at the ground floor. As the doors open, you both step out into the lobby, the cool night air from outside brushing against your skin.
“Need a ride?” Jake offers, his tone casual but there’s a glint of genuine concern in his eyes. “It’s pretty late.”
“I’m good, thanks,” you reply, appreciating the offer but not ready to blur those professional lines just yet. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Count on it,” he says with a wink. “Have a good night, Dr. Y/L/N.”
“You too, Dr. Sim,” you respond, turning to head towards your car.
As you walk away, you can’t help but feel a strange mix of irritation and curiosity. Jake Sim might be a distraction, but there’s no denying that he’s also starting to become a presence you can’t quite ignore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not entirely a bad thing.
The next day, you find yourself scrubbing in for a complex procedure. Today’s case is a particularly challenging one: a patient with both a severe cardiac condition and a cerebral aneurysm, requiring the combined expertise of both cardiac and neuro specialists. As you meticulously scrub your hands and arms, you hear the familiar voice of Jake Sim beside you.
“Looks like we’re working together today,” he says, his tone a mix of professionalism and that signature playful edge.
You glance over, meeting his eyes. “Seems like it. Ready for this?”
“Always,” he replies, his confident smile never wavering. “I’ve been looking forward to this case. It’s not every day we get to tackle something this intricate together.”
You nod, appreciating his enthusiasm despite your initial reservations about him. “Agreed. The patient’s condition is precarious. We need to be perfectly in sync.”
Jake gives you a serious nod, his demeanor shifting. “Absolutely. Let’s make sure we give them the best outcome possible.”
You both finish scrubbing in and enter the OR, where the patient is already prepped and waiting. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of tension and anticipation, the surgical team moving with practiced precision. As you take your place on one side of the patient, Jake positions himself on the other, eyes meeting over the sterile field.
“Ready to start?” you ask, your voice steady and focused.
“Ready,” Jake confirms, his expression equally determined.
The surgery begins, and the OR fills with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft hum of machinery. You work methodically, your hands moving with practiced precision as you navigate the complex landscape of the patient’s heart. Jake mirrors your concentration, his focus unbroken as he tackles the aneurysm with equal skill.
“Forceps,” you request, your voice calm and controlled.
“Here,” the scrub nurse says, passing the instrument with a fluid motion. “How’s the heart looking?” jake asks
“Stable,” you reply, glancing up briefly to meet his eyes. “How about the aneurysm?”
“It’s going well,” he answers, his tone steady. “We’re almost there.”
As the surgery progresses, you find yourselves falling into a natural rhythm, your movements synchronized in a way that surprises you. There’s a subtle, unspoken understanding between you, each anticipating the other’s needs and adjustments.
“Nice work on that bypass,” Jake comments, his tone genuinely appreciative.
“Thanks,” you reply, a small smile forming behind your mask. “Your precision with the aneurysm is impressive.”
“Coming from you, that means a lot,” he says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.
Hours pass, but the intensity of your focus never wanes. Finally, as the last suture is placed and the patient’s vitals stabilize, you both step back, a sense of accomplishment settling over you.
“Great job, everyone,” you say to the team, who respond with nods and murmurs of agreement.
Jake meets your eyes, his expression one of respect and something more. “We make a good team, Dr. Y/L/N.”
You nod, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie. “We do, Dr. Sim. Let’s hope the patient has a smooth recovery.”
As you step out of the OR and begin the process of de-scrubbing, you can’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Working alongside Jake, seeing his skill and dedication firsthand, has shifted your perspective. He’s still cocky, still flirty, but there’s depth and talent beneath that exterior.
“Drinks tonight to celebrate?” Jake asks, a teasing glint in his eye as you both head towards the locker rooms.
You laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe another time, Dr. Sim. But good work today.”
“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, dropping the formalities for a moment. “Seriously, it was an honor working with you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” you admit, giving him a genuine smile before heading off to change.
The next few weeks bring more opportunities for you and Jake to work together, and each collaboration reveals another layer of his skill and personality. Despite his initial cockiness, Jake proves to be a dedicated and talented surgeon, and you begin to see him in a new light. The more time you spend together in the OR, the more you find yourself appreciating his expertise and even enjoying his company.
One evening, you find yourself finishing up some paperwork in the quiet cardiac unit. The day had been long, but fulfilling, with several successful surgeries under your belt. As you look up from your desk, you see Jake approaching, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "You still here?"
"Just wrapping up," you reply, setting aside your pen. "What about you?"
"Same," he says, stepping into your office. "I was going to head out, but I thought I'd check in on you first."
"Checking in on me, huh?" you say with a hint of amusement. "What for?"
"Well, I was thinking," he starts, a bit more serious than usual. "We've been working together a lot lately, and I wanted to say thank you. For trusting me in the OR and for being an amazing colleague."
You feel a warm glow at his words, appreciating the sincerity behind them. "Thank you, Jake. You've been a great partner in the OR. I couldn't have asked for a better neurosurgeon to collaborate with."
Jake smiles, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "You know, I think we make a pretty good team."
"I think so too," you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's been nice, working with you."
"Nice, huh?" he teases, his playful side emerging once more. "I'll take that as a high compliment coming from you."
You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Don't let it go to your head, Sim."
He chuckles, but his expression soon turns more contemplative. "You know, I've been thinking about what I said the other day. About balance and taking breaks. It's something I'm not great at either."
"a little hypocritical to be giving me advice then no?," you reply, your tone light but teasing. "It's hard to switch off when our work is so demanding."
"Exactly," he agrees. "But I've realized that maybe we could help each other with that. Maybe we could find a way to balance things out a bit more."
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"How about we start with something simple?" he suggests. "Like taking a real break. Maybe grab a coffee together, no work talk allowed. Just two colleagues, taking a breather."
You consider his offer, the idea surprisingly appealing. "Alright, Dr. Sim. Coffee sounds good."
Jake's smile widens, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Great. Tomorrow morning, then? Before our rounds?"
"Tomorrow morning," you agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation.
The next morning, you find yourself at the hospital’s small café, waiting for Jake. The early hour means the space is quiet, with only a few other staff members milling about. When Jake arrives, he’s carrying two steaming cups of coffee, a smile on his face.
“Good morning,” he greets, handing you a cup. “Thought I’d get us a head start.”
“Thanks,” you say, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. “So, what’s on your mind, Dr. Sim?”
“Just enjoying the company,” he replies, sitting down across from you. “And maybe getting to know the person behind the scalpel a little better.”
You chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, what do you want to know?”
“Let’s start simple,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “What do you do when you’re not saving lives?”
You think for a moment, realizing how rare it is for you to talk about anything other than work. “I like to read, mostly. And sometimes I go for a run. It helps clear my head.”
“Sounds nice,” he says, nodding. “I’m more of a swimmer myself. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane outside the OR.”
“Swimming, huh?” you ask, surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a swimmer.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N,” he says, his tone teasing but with a hint of seriousness.
“Maybe,” you admit, feeling a strange curiosity about him. “But I’m starting to think I’d like to find out.”
The conversation flows easily, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying the time with Jake. As you talk, you see different sides of him—his passion for his work, his dedication to his patients, and even a vulnerable side that he rarely shows.
When it’s time to head back to your respective departments, you feel a sense of connection that wasn’t there before. Maybe Jake Sim is more than just a distraction. Maybe he’s someone worth getting to know.
As you part ways, he gives you a warm smile. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Same time,” you agree, already looking forward to it.
And so, a new routine begins. Coffee in the mornings, shared surgeries, and increasingly personal conversations. The barriers you once held up start to crumble, and you find yourself drawn to Jake in ways you hadn’t anticipated.
Weeks pass, and the connection between you grows stronger. One evening, after another successful surgery, Jake catches up to you in the hallway.
“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” you reply, curious.
“I was thinking,” he starts, looking a bit nervous for the first time. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. I’d like to take you out for dinner. No work, just us.”
You feel a flutter of surprise and anticipation. “Dinner?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you say?”
You consider for a moment, then nod. “Alright, Jake. Dinner sounds good.”
As he walks away, you can’t help but smile.
The evening of your date arrives, and you’re both excited and a bit nervous. You’ve chosen a smart but casual outfit, and after a final check in the mirror, you’re ready. Your heart flutters with anticipation as you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside your apartment.
When you open the door, Jake is standing there, looking effortlessly charming in a blazer and jeans. His eyes light up as he sees you, and he smiles warmly.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a grin. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you, Dr. Sim,” you reply with a smile, feeling a bit flustered. “You look pretty sharp yourself.”
He gestures to the car parked behind him. “Shall we?”
You nod and follow him down to the car. As you slide into the passenger seat, Jake starts the engine and glances over with a playful smile.
“So, are you ready for an evening of fine dining and even finer conversation?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.
“I’m definitely looking forward to it,” you reply, settling into the seat and feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity.
As he drives, the conversation flows easily. Jake talks about his day and a recent surgery he performed, and you share some anecdotes from your own work. The drive is filled with laughter and engaging conversation, making you feel more at ease.
When you arrive at the restaurant, Jake parks and opens the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. The restaurant is a cozy bistro with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. Jake leads you inside and to your reserved table, which is positioned by a window with a view of the city lights.
“This place looks lovely,” you say as you take your seat, admiring the ambiance.
“I’m glad you like it,” Jake replies, settling into his chair across from you. “I thought it would be a nice spot for our first dinner out.”
The evening progresses with delightful conversation and delicious food. Jake is attentive and charming, making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself. As you both talk about various topics, you find yourself opening up more than you expected.
At one point, Jake asks, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance to yet?”
You think for a moment, considering the question. “I’ve always wanted to take a cooking class. I love to cook, but I think it would be fun to learn some new techniques and recipes.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Jake says, nodding. “Maybe we could take a class together sometime. I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook Italian cuisine.”
You smile at the thought. “That could be fun. I’d be up for that.”
As the evening progresses, the conversation turns more personal. Jake shares stories about his family and his upbringing in Australia. He talks about the challenges of being far from home and the sacrifices he’s made for his career.
“It’s not always easy being so far away from my family,” Jake admits. “I miss them a lot, especially during the holidays.”
“I can imagine,” you say sympathetically. “My family is close by, and we have our own share of drama, but I’m grateful for their support.”
Jake nods, appreciating your understanding. “Family can be complicated, but it’s important to have that support system.”
You both continue to share personal stories and insights, finding common ground in your experiences. By the end of the evening, you feel a genuine connection with Jake, one that goes beyond professional respect.
When the check arrives, Jake insists on paying. “It’s my treat tonight,” he says with a smile. “Consider it a small thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“Thank you, Jake,” you reply, feeling touched by his gesture. “I really appreciate it.”
. The night air is crisp and refreshing, and the drive home is filled with easy conversation. When you arrive at your apartment, Jake parks and turns to you with a hopeful expression.
“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly. “I hope you did too.”
“I did,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you for such a lovely evening.”
you hesitate for a moment, then look at jake with a warm smile. “Would you like to come up? Maybe just hang out and talk some more?”
he considers the offer, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. “That sounds nice. I’d love to.”
He smiles and follows you up to your apartment. As you enter, the space feels even more welcoming with the soft lighting and cozy atmosphere. You both get comfortable on the couch with drinks, and the conversation continues to flow effortlessly.
You find yourselves talking about everything from past relationships to future aspirations. As the conversation flows, Jake starts to open up about his past relationships. “You know, I’ve had my fair share of relationships that didn’t work out. One of the biggest challenges was balancing the demands of work and personal life. It’s not easy to find someone who understands the hours and the emotional toll.”
“I get that,” you say sympathetically. “It’s hard to maintain a relationship when your job takes up so much of your time and energy. My last relationship ended for similar reasons.”
Jake looks at you with genuine curiosity. “What happened?”
You take a deep breath, reflecting on your past. “We were together for a few years, and it started out great. But as time went on, he couldn’t handle the unpredictability of my schedule and the stress of my job. We drifted apart, and eventually, we just grew in different directions.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jake says softly. “It’s never easy to end a relationship, especially when it’s someone you care about.”
“Thanks,” you reply. “It’s part of life, I guess. We both moved on and found our own paths.”
Jake nods, taking a sip of his wine. The easy conversation slows, a new, more, intimate silence settling between the two of you.
Jake shifts slightly, closing the gap between you. his eyes locked on yours. you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you suddenly felt very aware of your own. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.
your heart raced as Jake leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. you responded eagerly, parting your lips to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. you could feel the heat building between you as you kissed, your bodies pressed together.
Jake's hands began to wander, tracing patterns on your back. you could feel his fingers brushing against the zipper of your dress, and you shivered with anticipation.
Jake pulled away from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "May I?" he asked, his hand hovering over the zipper.
You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. Jake slowly unzipped the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did so. You felt a thrill run through your body as the dress fell to the floor, leaving her standing in just your matching black bra and panties.
Jake's eyes roamed over yourbody, taking in every inch of you. You could feel yourself growing wet as he looked at you, his desire obvious and reflecting your own.
Jake stepped closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch you. You could feel his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, you shivered with pleasure. He leaned in and began to kiss your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
a soft moan escapes as Jake's lips moved down your body, his hands following close behind. “you’re so fucking beautiful” He reached your breasts, his fingers tracing the outline of your nipples through the lace of your bra. You could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more. “been thinking about this since the first day I saw you”
Jake reached behind You and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. He cupped your tits in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your nipples. You moaned as he touched you, your body responding to his touch.
Jake's mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your stomach. you could feel his breath against her skin, and she shivered with anticipation. “w-ant you” He reached for your panties, “relax baby I got you”, his fingers tracing the outline of your pussy through the fabric.
you gasp as Jake's fingers slip beneath your panties, his fingers exploring your folds. you could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more.
Jake pulled your panties down, his eyes locked on your pussy, “shit baby, you’re so wet f’me, such a pretty pussy” He leaned in and began to kiss your inner thighs, his lips igniting the heat pooling in your lower belly.
Jakes mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your pussy. a loud moan leaves your lips as he began to lick at your entrance, your hand instinctively going between your legs to run your fingers through his black locks. “fuck, jake feels so fucking good don’t stop” he hums in response, the vibration going straight to your core.
he’s practically making out with your cunt licking and sucking, his saliva and your juices combined, making a mess on your couch, but that was the last thing on your mind right now. “fuck i’m c-cuming” your orgasm rapidly approaching. “yeah baby cum on my tongue, fuck can’t get enough of you, you taste so sweet”. at his words, your orgasm hits you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure.
Jake stood up, his eyes locked on yours. you could see the desire in his eyes, and you knew what he wanted. you reached out and unbuttoned his pants, fingers brushing against his hard cock.
Jake stepped out of his pants, his hard cock springing free. while he wasn’t remarkably long, he definitely made up for it in girth. You reached out and wrapped your hand around it, stroking it gently. “ah shit baby” you could feel him growing harder in your hand, your excitement noticable.
he pushed you down onto the couch, climbing on top of you. “condom?” he asked, stopping in his tracks before he gets too ahead of himself. “it’s fine, just put it in” you reach down between you two, taking hold of his length as you begin to guide his cock into your dripping heat. his cock twitches at the thought of feeling you with nothing in between, “fuck, are you sure?”, “yeah, m’on the pill, just fuck me already please” your walls clench around nothing, needing to feel him inside you more than anything.
without another word he slides in. the stinging sensation quickly turning into one of pleasure. your pussy gripping him tightly as he sets a pace that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “so fucking tight, pretty, you’re squeezing me so good. pussy was made for my cock mhm?” you can’t even find the words to reply, the pleasure all too much to even think straight.
“feels so good jake” your words encourage him, his thrusts growing more quick, chasing his release as well as your own. the room is filled moans and the sloppy, wet sounds of his cock pounding into your hole. “s-so close, faster baby, want your cum inside me” you don’t have to tell him twice, his hips snapping into a pace that has you seeing stars.
“cum for me baby, cum on my cock” his hand reaches between you to rub your clit in quick circles, sending you over the edge “fuck! i’m cumming!” your release consumes you, his following not too long after.
he collapses next to you on the tiny couch, the both of you panting and out of breath as you come down from your high. “that was amazing” you turn your head to look at him, his eyes closed from pure euphoria he just experienced. “amazing is an understatement. it was fan fucking tastic” you let out a laugh at his pure honesty, a comfortable silence settling in the room.
he pulls you in by your waist, positioning you so your back is against his chest, a more comfortable position since your couch is definitely not meant for this. “i had a good time tonight” you can’t help the smile that grows on your face “me too”
as if the universe was against you, a beeping noise cuts through the silence, ending your moment. his pager was going off, they probably needed him back at the hospital, the realization of your jobs hitting you like a truck. “way to ruin the moment” he says getting up to check the pager “I gotta go, i’ll see you at work?” you smile at him nodding. he quickly gets dressed and presses a quick peck to your lips “get some rest” he tells you before rushing out the door to make his way to the hospital.
you can’t help but be a little disappointed. The obligation of your job was one of the many reasons you didn’t date, simply because it didn’t work. why did you expect this to be any different?
you drift off into a slumber, too tired to let your thoughts cloud your mind.
The next morning, the hospital is bustling with the usual chaos as you walk through the corridors towards your office. Despite the busy environment, your mind keeps drifting back to the night before with Jake. The memory of his touch, his kisses, and the intimate conversations you shared fills you with a warm, lingering sense of connection.
As you turn the corner, you see Jake standing near the nurses’ station, discussing a case with a colleague. He looks up and catches your eye, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. There’s a new glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a mixture of warmth and mischief.
“Good morning, Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his tone playful and a bit louder than necessary, drawing the attention of nearby staff. “Did you sleep well?”
You feel a blush rising but manage to keep your composure. “Good morning, Dr. Sim. I did, thank you. And you?”
“didn’t sleep much, had a lot on my mind,” he replies, his grin widening as he walks over to you. “Must be the excellent company I had last night.”
Several nurses and doctors nearby glance over with curious expressions, but Jake seems unfazed. He stops just a bit too close, his presence commanding your attention. “I was hoping we might catch up over lunch. I’ve been craving some more of those conversations we had.”
You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile that’s threatening to break through. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have to check my schedule.”
Jake chuckles, leaning in slightly. “You do that. In the meantime, if you need anything at all, you know where to find me.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “Or maybe I should say, you know where to call me.”
You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at his audacity. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Sim.”
He winks at you before stepping back, returning to his conversation with the colleague but not without a lingering glance over his shoulder.
Throughout the morning, you find yourself running into Jake more often than usual. Each time, he manages to throw in a playful comment or a flirty remark, making it clear that last night’s intimacy has only fueled his interest.
In the break room, you’re pouring a cup of coffee when Jake slips in beside you. “we meet again,” he says, his tone light. “I was just thinking about how good you look in scrubs.”
You roll your eyes but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Really? I’m sure you say that to all the doctors.”
“Only the ones who make a lasting impression,” he replies smoothly, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.
Later, while reviewing patient charts at your desk, you receive a text from Jake. It’s a picture of a heart drawn on a napkin, with a message: “Couldn’t help but think of you during rounds.”
You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. It’s clear that Jake’s flirting isn’t just a passing fancy; there’s a genuine interest and warmth behind his actions that makes your heart skip a beat.
Weeks turn into months, and your relationship with Jake settles into a comfortable, intimate rhythm. Without any formal labels, your connection grows deeper, rooted in shared moments and unspoken understandings. Lunches in the cafeteria become a regular occurrence, interspersed with stolen glances across the OR and late-night encounters that leave you breathless and wanting more.
You find yourself looking forward to these moments, the thrill of sneaking around adding a layer of excitement. During shifts, Jake’s flirtatious comments become a highlight of your day.
One afternoon, you’re in the break room, reviewing patient charts when Jake walks in, his usual confident stride and easy smile making your heart skip a beat. He leans against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Hey, beautiful. Busy?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.
“Always,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.
Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You look like you could use a break. How about a coffee?”
You glance at the clock, knowing you have a few minutes to spare. “Sure, why not?”
As you walk to the “coffee shop” side by side, jake quickly takes a glance around to make sure no one is watching and pulls you into the on-call room, the tension between you palpable, you can’t help but feel the thrill of anticipation. The moment the door closes behind you, Jake’s hands are on your waist, pulling you close. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s both urgent and tender, a mix of passion and familiarity that leaves you breathless.
“You’ve been on my mind all day,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back.
“you pulled me away for this?” you let out a slight chuckle. “mhm want you so bad” his lips move down to your neck “jake we’re at work.”
your eyes shut closed, enjoying the feeling of his soft, plump lips on that sweet spot behind you ear that he always found instantly. “doors locked, no one’s coming in here” he mutters out.
you give in, your hands immediately going to his pants and undoing the tie on his scrub bottoms. “well in that case, I wanna suck your cock” you whispered, lowering down into your knees in front of him. Jake's eyes widened in surprise, but then he grinned.
"Fuck, yeah," he said, dropping his pants and boxers. His cock was hard and thick, the tip already glistening with precum, your heart pounding with excitement.
you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking it gently. Jake groaned and closed his eyes, his head thrown back. you leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the salty precum. Jake's groan grew louder as you opened your mouth and took him in, lips sliding down his veiny shaft.
you started to suck, head bobbing up and down as youworked his cock. Jake's hands were in yoir hair, guiding you as you sucked him off. you could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, his balls tightening as he got closer to cumming.
"yeah, baby," Jake groaned, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth. "You're gonna make me cum so hard."
You moan around his cock, the sound vibrating through his shaft. You could feel his cock twitching in yourmouth, his balls tightening even more. you continued faster, fingers digging into his thighs as you worked him.
Jake's groans grew louder, his thrusts more urgent. you could feel his cock swelling, his precum flowing freely. you sucked harder, cheeks hollowing as your mouth got him to his release.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Jake groaned, his hips bucking as he came hard in your mouth. You swallowed, throat working as you took every drop of his cum. Jake's hands were in you hair, holding your head as he came, his hips still thrusting as he emptied himself into your mouth.
When he was done, you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jake's cock was still hard, but it was starting to soften. You stood up, smiling at him.
"Did you like that?" you asked, voice soft and seductive. Jake grinned, his eyes still glazed with pleasure.
"I loved it," he said, pulling you into a kiss. "That was amazing."
As the weeks went on, you and Jake continued the little rhythm you had set in place. He flirted with you every chance he got. The both of you ending up in each others beds more often than not.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, you’re sitting in your apartment, staring blankly at the schedule in front of you. Your mind keeps drifting back to Jake—the way he looked at you during lunch, the warmth of his hand on your back as he guided you through the crowded cafeteria. The realization hits you like a tidal wave: you’re falling for him. Hard.
It terrifies you.
You’ve always prided yourself on being focused, dedicated, and in control of your emotions. But with Jake, everything feels different. The boundaries you set for yourself are blurring, and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications.
The demands of your job loom heavily over you. The long hours, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the medical field leave little room for anything else. As you stare at the schedule for the coming weeks, packed with surgeries and patient consultations, the reality sinks in: maintaining a relationship would be nearly impossible. The thought of trying to juggle your career and a growing emotional commitment to Jake feels overwhelming. After much soul-searching, you come to a difficult conclusion. It’s not fair to him or to yourself to continue something you can’t fully sustain. With a heavy heart, you decide it’s best to end things, believing that stepping back is the only way to preserve the little balance in your life.
The next day, you’re in the break room, trying to focus on patient charts when Jake walks in. He greets you with his usual easy smile, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.
“Hey, what are you up to?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.
“just charting, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.
Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You wanna step away for a bit and grab lunch with me?”
You hesitate, the words on the tip of your tongue. You want to say yes, but the fear of what it might mean if you keep going down this path holds you back. “Actually, I have a lot to catch up on. Maybe another time.”
Jake’s brow furrows, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Everything okay?”
You force a smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed with work.”
He doesn’t push, but you can see the worry in his eyes as he nods and leaves you to your charts.
Over the next few days, you start to pull back, keeping your interactions with Jake strictly professional. You avoid the on-call room, decline his offers for lunch, and keep your conversations short and to the point. It’s not easy, and you can see the confusion and hurt in his eyes every time you brush him off.
One evening, you’re leaving the hospital when you run into Jake in the parking lot. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression serious.
“Y/N, can we talk?” he asks, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.
You nod, knowing you can’t avoid this conversation forever. “Sure.”
He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something wrong?”
You shake your head, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. “No, Jake, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we’re doing.”
Jake’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”
You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. “I’ve realized that I can’t keep up with a relationship right now. Our jobs are so demanding, and I’m constantly running on empty. I don’t think I can give you the attention and commitment you deserve.”
Jake’s expression shifts from confusion to hurt. “Y/N, I thought we were making this work. Why now? What changed?”
You struggle to keep your voice steady, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “It’s not about you. It’s about me and my inability to balance everything. I’ve been trying to make it work, but I can’t keep up with both my job and a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
Jake’s eyes drop to the floor, and he takes a deep breath, trying to process what you’ve said. “So, this is it? You’re just… ending things? before they even started?”
You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “I think it’s best. I care about you a lot, but right now, I can’t handle more than what I’ve got.”
Jake remains silent for a moment, then looks back at you with a pained expression. “I get it, Y/N. If this is what you need, then I respect your decision. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”
You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Jake. This isn’t what I wanted, but I need to focus on my career right now. I hope you understand.”
He nods, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. “Yeah, I understand. It doesn’t make it any less painful, but I get it.”
As you turn to leave, you feel a deep ache in your chest, knowing that you’ve made the right decision for yourself, but also feeling the weight of the loss. The break room seems colder now, and the empty space where Jake used to stand feels like a gaping hole in your heart.
Adjusting to life without Jake is more challenging than you anticipated. The hospital, once a place of shared glances and flirtatious banter, now feels strangely empty. The absence of his smile, his reassuring presence, and the warmth of his touch leaves a void that’s hard to ignore.
At work, you focus intently on your patients and your responsibilities, but the familiar routine feels different. The small moments that once brought you joy—a playful comment during a surgery, a quick coffee break together—are now replaced with an uncomfortable silence. Conversations with Jake are limited to work-related topics, and every interaction is laced with a professional distance that feels foreign and awkward.
In the OR, you work side by side, your focus on the patient and the procedure. Jake’s skill and calm demeanor are still impressive, and you find yourself appreciating his expertise even more now. But the casual camaraderie you once enjoyed is gone, replaced by a formality that feels both stifling and isolating.
During breaks, you find yourself missing the easy conversations you used to have with him. You used to share small victories and frustrations, but now those moments are spent in solitude or with other colleagues who don’t quite fill the gap Jake left behind.
Despite your best efforts to maintain your composure, you can’t help but feel the pangs of loneliness. Your personal life remains focused solely on work, and the connection you once had with Jake seems like a distant memory. You remind yourself why you made the decision, focusing on the demanding nature of your job and the need for balance.
Gradually, you begin to adjust, finding solace in the routine of your work and the support of your colleagues. The initial pain of Jake’s absence dulls over time, replaced by a newfound focus on your career and a deeper understanding of your own needs. Though the void remains, you learn to navigate your days with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication.
You’re passing through the hospital lobby, your mind preoccupied with patient charts, when you spot Jake standing near the information desk. He’s engaged in a conversation with Dr. Choi Miyeon, the oncology attending. Your steps slow involuntarily as you notice the easy laughter between them.
Jake’s smile is wide and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that once made your heart flutter. But today, the sight of that smile, directed at someone else, sends a pang of jealousy through you. Dr. Choi, with her poised demeanor and confident air, seems to be enjoying his attention, and the familiarity between them feels almost too intimate.
You try to focus on your task, but your gaze keeps drifting back to the two of them. Jake’s hand gestures animatedly as he talks, his face lighting up in a way that you haven’t seen directed at you in weeks. Dr. Choi’s laughter is soft and melodic, and she tilts her head slightly, clearly engaged in the conversation.
The sight of Jake looking so at ease with someone else brings an unexpected rush of emotion. You find yourself clenching your jaw, trying to ignore the gnawing sense of loss that accompanies the jealousy. It’s a reminder of the connection you once shared and the void left behind by your decision.
You force yourself to look away, turning back to your work with a renewed determination to focus on your patients. But the image of Jake’s smile and the easy rapport he shares with Dr. Choi lingers in your mind, leaving you with a mixture of regret and longing that’s hard to shake.
As you continue with your tasks, the memory of Jake’s interaction with Dr. Choi lingers, clouding your focus. Every time you glance up from your charts or interact with colleagues, your thoughts drift back to that moment in the lobby.
In the break room later that day, you catch sight of Jake entering, still visibly animated from his conversation with Dr. Choi. He looks up and sees you, his face lighting up with that same welcoming smile that used to be exclusively for you. The sight of it only intensifies the pang of jealousy you felt earlier.
“Hey, Y/N,” Jake says, approaching you with his usual warmth.
“Hi, Jake,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You make a deliberate effort to maintain your professional composure, avoiding any mention of the earlier encounter.
Jake seems to sense a change in your demeanor but doesn’t press. Instead, he casually starts discussing the upcoming surgery, his tone light and engaging. You nod along, responding with the necessary professionalism, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep picturing him with Dr. Choi, the way they interacted so naturally, and it’s hard to ignore the twinge of regret.
As you wrap up the conversation and head to your next task, you can’t help but feel a deepening sense of frustration. The realization that you still care about Jake more than you initially admitted weighs heavily on you. The professional distance you’ve maintained seems more like a barrier than a solution, and the void he left behind is harder to ignore than you thought.
Later that evening, as you drive home, you replay the scene in your mind, questioning your decision. You wonder if stepping back from Jake was truly the right choice, or if you were merely trying to shield yourself from the possibility of a meaningful connection. The jealousy you felt is a clear sign of unresolved feelings, and it becomes evident that the emotional aftermath of ending things is more complex than you anticipated.
By the time you reach your apartment, you’re left grappling with the realization that you might have made a mistake. The lingering image of Jake’s smile, coupled with the undeniable ache in your chest, leaves you pondering whether there’s a way to reconcile your fears with the genuine affection you still feel for him.
But it would be utterly selfish of you to go running back to him when he’s seemingly started to move on. This was all your doing after all. He had every right to find what you couldn’t give him in someone else.
The ache in your chest refuses to fade. The image of Jake smiling at Dr. Choi replays in your mind like a loop, and the jealousy you felt transforms into a deeper, more introspective turmoil. You sit in your apartment, the stillness of the room amplifying the thoughts racing through your head.
You replay the conversations and moments you shared with Jake, recalling the comfort and joy he brought into your life. The connection you had felt real and profound, and now that it’s gone, the void seems more pronounced than you expected. The professional distance you’ve maintained does little to mitigate the lingering emotional impact, and the space between you feels even more significant.
The next day, you find yourself in the hospital, struggling to maintain the professional facade you’ve carefully constructed. Every interaction with Jake, though polite and necessary, feels strained and awkward. You avoid his gaze when you can, focusing solely on your patients and tasks, but the undercurrent of unresolved feelings remains.
During a particularly intense surgery, Jake is once again by your side, and the familiarity of working with him brings back a rush of memories. His presence, though professional, is comforting, and you find yourself drawn to him despite your earlier resolve. As you work together seamlessly, the shared glances and brief touches become almost impossible to ignore, reigniting a flicker of the intimacy you once had.
After the surgery, you’re in the on-call room, trying to catch your breath and clear your mind. Jake enters, a small smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, the professional barrier you’ve erected feels flimsy. He approaches you, his tone soft but playful.
“Everything okay, Y/N? You seem a bit distracted today.”
You look up, meeting his gaze. His concern and warmth are genuine, and it only adds to the confusion you’re feeling. “Just a lot on my mind,” you admit, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”
Jake’s eyes linger on you, a hint of frustration and worry evident. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
His words cut through the walls you’ve built, and for a moment, you allow yourself to consider what you’ve been missing. The idea of opening up to Jake, of sharing your fears and feelings, feels both daunting and inviting.
As the day goes on, you grapple with the decision to reach out to him. The barriers you’ve erected are crumbling, and you realize that avoiding Jake might not be the solution you hoped for. Instead, you begin to consider whether there’s a way to address your fears and find a balance between your demanding career and a meaningful relationship.
The thought of reaching out to Jake, of possibly reconciling your emotions with the connection you still feel, starts to take shape. It’s a daunting step, but one that feels increasingly necessary as you navigate the complexities of your feelings and the emptiness left by his absence.
The days following your realization feel like a mix of regret and self-reproach. You can’t ignore the growing sense of remorse over ending things with Jake. The emptiness left by his absence is more acute than you anticipated, and the thought of missing out on something meaningful drives you to act.
One evening, determined to make things right, you head to Jake’s apartment, hoping to talk things through. Your heart races as you reach his door, and you take a deep breath before knocking.
After a moment, the door opens, and your heart sinks when you see Dr. Choi Miyeon standing there. Her presence immediately sends a wave of jealousy and discomfort through you.
“Doctor Y/L/N?” Miyeon says, her tone a mix of surprise and curiosity.
You stand frozen for a moment, the sight of her at Jake’s door intensifying your doubts. “Doctor Choi,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.
Miyeon’s expression shifts to one of mild confusion. “Did you need something?”
The thought of Jake being with Miyeon, combined with the realization that you’re intruding on what feels like an intimate moment, makes your decision for you. The hurt and uncertainty you’ve been feeling come to a head, and you realize you’re not ready to face him under these circumstances.
“I uh actually I’ll come at a better time”. Without another word, you turn and walk away from the door, your heart heavy with a mix of regret and frustration. You can hear Miyeon’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop. The realization that you’ve arrived at the wrong moment only deepens the sense of regret.
As you leave the building, the cool night air hits your face, offering a brief respite from the emotional storm you’re navigating. You’re left grappling with the decision to return, to try again, or to accept the possibility that you might have missed your chance. The weight of the encounter with Miyeon only adds to the complexity of your feelings, leaving you to ponder your next steps in the solitude of the evening.
The following days are a haze of frustration and introspection. Seeing Miyeon at Jake's apartment made you feel even more disconnected from him. At work, maintaining your professional facade becomes more difficult as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you.
One morning, you’re at your locker, preparing for your shift, when Olivia walks in, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by concern. “Hey, Y/N, you okay? You seem a bit off lately.”
You force a smile, trying to mask your turmoil. “Just a lot on my mind, Olivia. Thanks for asking.”
She nods sympathetically. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. We all have rough patches.”
You thank her and head to the OR, trying to push your thoughts aside. But every encounter with Jake is a reminder of what you’ve lost. You see him in the corridors, in meetings, and every interaction is laced with a painful awareness of the distance between you.
One afternoon, you’re in the middle of reviewing patient files when Jake approaches you. His expression is neutral, but there’s an underlying tension in his eyes. “Y/N, can we talk?”
You nod, setting your files aside. “Sure, what’s up?”
He leads you to a quieter corner of the hospital. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the other night. I saw you at my apartment, and then you just… left. What happened?”
You take a deep breath, the memory of that evening still fresh and painful. “I came to talk to you, to explain that I made a mistake in ending things. But when I saw Miyeon, I realized I couldn’t do it.”
Jake’s expression softens, a mix of understanding and frustration in his eyes. “Miyeon and I were just going over some research. There’s nothing between us, Y/N. But I get why you’d feel that way.”
The weight of your regret feels heavier now, knowing you misinterpreted the situation. “I’m sorry, Jake. I’ve been struggling with everything, and seeing you with her just… hurt. I felt like I’d already lost you.”
He steps closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You haven’t lost me, Y/N. I care about you. But we need to figure out what we’re doing here. This back and forth isn’t good for either of us.”
You nod, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I know. I’ve been scared, Jake. Scared that our jobs would make it impossible to have a real relationship. But I realize now that pushing you away was a mistake.”
Jake’s gaze softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand. “We can make this work if we both want it, Y/N. But we have to be honest with each other, and we have to be willing to try.”
You squeeze his hand, a sense of relief washing over you. “I do want to try, Jake. I want us to work.”
He smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. We’ll figure this out together.”
As you stand there, hand in hand, you feel a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead won’t be easy, but the thought of facing it with Jake by your side makes it seem possible. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re on the right path, ready to face whatever challenges come your way.
The days following your night with Jake are a blend of professional decorum and personal confusion. You both agreed to take things one step at a time, but it's hard to ignore the magnetic pull between you. At work, Jake is as focused and brilliant as ever, but there’s an added layer of warmth in his interactions with you, a silent acknowledgment of what you share.
One afternoon, you find yourself in the break room, sipping coffee and going over department paperwork . Jake walks in, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.
"Hey, Y/N," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of playfulness. "How’s your day going?"
You look up, trying to suppress a smile. "Busy as usual. Just finished a tricky valve replacement."
Jake nods, moving closer. "I heard. You did a great job."
You feel a flutter in your chest at his praise. "Thanks, Jake. How about you? Any groundbreaking surgeries today?"
He chuckles, leaning against the counter. "Just the usual brain stuff. Nothing too exciting." He pauses, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, dinner tonight? My place?"
You glance around to make sure no one is within earshot. "Are you asking me out, Dr. Sim?"
Jake’s grin widens. "Maybe I am, Dr. Y/L/N. What do you say?"
You pretend to ponder, then nod. "Alright. Dinner sounds good."
The evening arrives, and Jake picks you up from your house. He’s dressed casually but still looks incredibly handsome. The drive to his place is filled with light conversation and laughter, easing any lingering tension.
Once inside his apartment, you feel a sense of familiarity and comfort. Jake leads you to the living room, where he’s set up a cozy dinner with candles and soft music playing in the background.
"This looks amazing," you say, genuinely touched by the effort he’s put in.
Jake shrugs modestly. "I wanted to do something special."
The dinner is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your families, past relationships, and the challenges of balancing demanding careers with personal lives. As the night progresses, you feel the barriers between you dissolving.
After dinner, you move to the couch, a glass of wine in hand. The atmosphere is relaxed, and there’s a growing sense of intimacy.
"Tell me more about your family," Jake says, his voice soft and curious.
You take a sip of wine, thinking about your parents and your brother. "Well, my parents are both retired now. My mom was a nurse, and my dad was a teacher. My older brother is a lawyer. We’re close, even if we don’t see each other often."
Jake listens intently, nodding. "Sounds like a solid family. Mine’s a bit scattered. Parents divorced when I was young, so I spent a lot of time between Australia and the States. I have a younger sister who’s an artist. She’s currently exploring Europe."
The conversation continues, each revelation bringing you closer. You talk about your past relationships, the heartbreaks and lessons learned. There’s a vulnerability in the exchange, a mutual understanding of the complexities of your lives.
As the night deepens, you find yourself leaning closer to Jake, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.
"Y/N," he says softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I really care about you. I want this to work, despite the challenges."
You feel a rush of emotions, the sincerity in his words touching you deeply. "I care about you too, Jake. I want us to work."
He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The kiss deepens, your bodies pressing closer together. The desire that has been simmering between you ignites, and you find yourself losing track of time as you explore the depths of your connection.
You found yourself crossing the room to stand in front of him, heart pounding in your chest. You'd reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. And when he'd looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, you knew that you couldn't resist any longer.
You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. He'd responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And as you kissed, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins.
You pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. "Jake," you whispered, voice husky with longing.
"Yeah, baby?" he'd replied, his voice low and rough.
And then you stripped, slowly and deliberately, letting him watch as you revealed her body to him. You’d seen the heat in his eyes as he'd taken in the sight of you, and you knew that you had him.
You moved closer, pressing your naked body against his clothed one. You reached down, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his hard cock, dropping to your knees, taking him into your mouth and sucking him deep.
He'd groaned, his hands tangling into your hair as you worked magic on him. “s-shit baby, taking me so good, that’s it” you sucked and licked and teased, driving him wild with pleasure. when you felt him on the brink, you pulled back, smiling up at him.
"Fuck me, Jake," you commanded, voice husky with desire.
He'd obeyed, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, spreading your legs wide and burying his face between them. You cried out as he licked and sucked your clit, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.
And then he entered you, driving deep and hard. Your wrapped her legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust as you made love. It had been passionate and intense, a connection that went beyond the physical and was different from the previous times you had indulged in each other’s bodies.
when you finally reached your peak, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, you knew that you made the right decision. You finally acted on your attraction, and in doing so, you found a deeper connection with Jake.
You both lie there, still engulfed in the bliss of this newfound feeling between the two of you. He can’t help what he says next, feeling as if keeping it in was impossible. “i love you Y/N”.
you snap your neck in his direction, maybe it’s the post orgasm haze but you search for reassurance anyways.
His big brown eyes confirming his words. “I love you too jake”.
The next morning, you wake up in Jake’s arms, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He stirs beside you, his sleepy smile a welcome sight.
"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
"Good morning," you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.
As you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. In this moment, you feel a sense of peace and certainty. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you can face them together.
At the hospital, the dynamic between you and Jake shifts subtly but unmistakably. The stolen glances, the brief touches, the shared smiles—all are infused with a new depth of intimacy. Your colleagues notice, but no one comments, respecting the unspoken bond you share.
In the weeks that follow, the relationship deepens. You navigate the challenges of your demanding careers, finding solace and strength in each other. The on-call rooms become your private sanctuaries, the moments of stolen kisses and whispered confessions a lifeline in the chaos of the hospital.
One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, you find Jake waiting for you in the parking lot. His presence, as always, is a balm to your weary soul.
"Hey, pretty" he says, pulling you into a hug. "How was your day?"
"Tough," you admit, resting your head against his chest. "But it's better now."
He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Come on, let's go home."
As you drive back to his place, the city lights blurring into a comforting glow, you realize just how much Jake has come to mean to you. The fears and doubts that once plagued you have faded, replaced by a certainty that you can face anything as long as you're together.
Back at his apartment, you settle into a comfortable routine, cooking dinner together and sharing stories about your day. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and affectionate touches.
After dinner, you move to the couch, your bodies naturally gravitating towards each other. Jake pulls you into his lap, his hands resting on your hips as he looks into your eyes.
"Y/N," he says softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I know we've had our challenges, but I want you to know that I'm all in. I want to be with you, no matter what."
Your heart swells with love and gratitude. "I feel the same way, Jake. I want us to be together, through everything."
He smiles, his eyes shining with affection. "Good. Because I can't imagine my life without you."
You lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, tender kiss. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.
As the night wears on, you find yourself reflecting on the journey you've been on together. From the initial tension and uncertainty to the deep, abiding love you now share, it's been a rollercoaster of emotions. But through it all, you've found something rare and precious: a connection that transcends the challenges of your demanding careers, a love that grows stronger with each passing day.
and as you fall asleep in Jake's arms, you know that whatever the future holds, you'll face it together, hand in hand.
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❝ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 !! ❞
❝ PROF. GETO IS SO HOT AND NOW HE’S YOUR THESIS ADVISOR !! ❞
✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (yuta x f!reader) (part six of the prof geto series)
✧ summary: just when you had moved on, suguru is back in your life as your thesis advisor, and what choice do you have but to deal -- deal with lingering feelings from your breakup, but also yuta's. and through this, you both find out what you all owe to each other.
✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, but also angst depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student, but age is vague, post breakup, dealing with exes, insecurity, semi-exhibitionism, desk sex, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, multiple orgasms, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, fanart by @ / kyrraen (pls go follow them, they are so talented)
✧ 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
#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru fanfiction#suguru geto fanfiction#geto x reader#geto smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru x reader
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please be gentle (when you’re tearing me apart)

Eddie Munson x female! reader, Steve Harrington x reader
Main Masterlist
Eddie Munson Masterlist
Steve Harrington Masterlist
Summary:
You’re in love with Eddie, Eddie’s in love with someone else. Somehow, he accidentally ends up in a relationship with you anyway.
Warnings:
(18+), SERIOUS angst, there is only pain here, hurt/no comfort or hurt/a little comfort, cheating, pregnancy, pregnancy complications, birth/c section, Eddie is really out of character and is a total dick, Chrissy is out of character and she also sucks (sorry guys), smut, fingering, protected p in v, virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, really awkward first time!
Word Count: 14.6k
A/N:
WOW okay this was totally unexpected to write. The length especially. This is just something depressing for the anti-Valentine’s Day mood. I’ve been nervous to post so I hope you enjoy! Big giant thanks to @punkrockmlchael (who made my beautiful banner again and also beta read), @the-witty-pen-name , @fizzing-imagines, @losingmygrasponreality, @writhingg , and @lesservillain for bouncing ideas and beta reading! I couldn’t have written this without you. Also ignore that there’s only dividers for half the fic, apparently you can only add 10 images to a post 🙃
dividers by @/strangergraphics
Best friends.
That’s what you and Eddie were, and always had been. Growing up as neighbors in Forest Hills, you met when you were 8 and Eddie was 10, after he moved in with his uncle.
To be honest with yourself, you had had a crush on Eddie Munson since the first time you laid eyes on him. A silly childhood crush at first, he was so cute with his curls, short at the time, and it made your heart beat fast whenever you walked to the store together for snacks and he held your hand.
He would play you all kinds of music you’d never heard before, heavy stuff that was totally new to you. You weren’t sure about it at first, but you grew to love it. When he got into D&D, he would talk your ear off about his campaign plans for hours. You didn’t mind. You liked listening to him talk. When he started Hellfire, you were the first member to join. You didn’t know how to play an instrument, but you were Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan.
Eddie was everything to you. He was the first person you went to with any news, the only one you were excited to tell anything and everything to. He took you to see every new slasher movie, bought you your first dice set. He was the first thing you thought about in the morning and the last you thought of at night. At some point, it turned into more than a crush.
At some point, you fell in love.
Eddie was oblivious. He never dated in high school, but that didn’t seem to bother him. You didn’t, either, but it was mostly because you were so preoccupied with loving Eddie. You tried dropping hints, but he never seemed to figure it out. You were too scared to just get it over with and tell him outright.
So, you remained best friends. Just friends.
—
“Are you going to prom this year?” Wayne asked, sipping his beer as he sat relaxed in his recliner. Eddie nursed his own beer, feet up on the coffee table.
“Nah,” Eddie said. “You know that’s…not my thing.”
“You should go at least once,” Wayne said. “Might regret it.”
“I doubt it.”
“I had a great time at my senior prom,” Wayne reminisced, smiling at the memory. “You should give it a shot, Ed. Why don’t you take your little friend from next door?”
Eddie shook his head. “I don’t feel that way about her.”
“You can go as friends,” he pointed out. “I’m sure she’d like that. Girl adores you.”
“I’m pretty sure she has a crush on me,” Eddie winced, sipping his beer. “I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”
“You don’t have to marry her, Ed. Just show her a good time. You two have been so close for so long, I’m sure she would understand.”
Eddie thought about it. He didn’t want to go to prom, like at all, but he wanted to make his uncle happy. And if he had to go with someone, it might as well be you, his only female friend, right?
So, he approached you at your locker the next day at school. “Hey.”
You turned to him, your face immediately lighting up with a huge smile. “Hey, Eds.”
“I, uh,” Eddie looked around awkwardly. “I just wanted to ask if you’d want to go to…prom with me?”
Your eyes went wide, but inside your heart was thundering out of your chest. Had Eddie really just asked you out? “Prom? Really? I thought you hated prom?”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s my last senior year. Hopefully, at least. I figured I might as well give it a shot. We can pre game and sneak in some alcohol. And if it’s lame, we can ditch.”
You couldn’t wipe the huge smile off your face. You were almost a little concerned at how hard your heart was beating in that moment, like it would give out. “I’d love to go with you.”
Eddie gave you a soft smile. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at 6 that night.”
You watched as Eddie left, heading in the direction of his next class of the day. You waited until he was out of sight before you went sprinting in the direction of Robin’s locker.
You found her there, taking her books out. She startled when you ran up on her, placing her hand over her chest. “Jesus. What’s up with you?”
“Eddie just asked me to prom,” you blurted out. Robin’s jaw dropped open.
“No way!” She exclaimed, her look of shock turning to one of pure excitement. “This is huge. I always knew he was into you.”
You blushed. “I don’t know. I had given up hope of him liking me back. This was so out of the blue. I didn’t even think he wanted to go to prom at all.”
“Maybe he’s just better at hiding his feelings,” Robin offered. “Either way, we’re going dress shopping. Prom is only two weeks away!”
That weekend, Robin convinced her mom to drive the two of you to Indianapolis to go shopping in the big city. You were both giddy with excitement - Robin wasn’t much of a dress girl, and she didn’t have a date. The only person she wanted to take, she couldn’t ask. You were pretty sure Vickie was into girls and Robin in particular, but Robin was still too scared to make the move. You didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like typical rejection if things went wrong. So, instead, Robin was going with a group of girls from the marching band as friends.
Her mom took you to the huge mall, which was much more impressive than Starcourt. It was huge, with a ton of different stores. You made a stop at Camelot Music first, where Robin got a new Blondie tape and you grabbed the new The Smiths record and a Metallica Master of Puppets tape for Eddie, since his had recently broken.
Next was the formal wear store. You were both immediately overwhelmed when you walked in, the racks and racks of fancy dresses as far as the eye could see. All different colors, lengths, and styles. It was…a lot.
“Well…I guess let’s get started,” Robin said, her voice unsure.
You probably tried on 50 dresses each. You and Robin giggled as you tried on the dresses her mom picked for you, big floofy pink and blue monstrosities.
“You look like a marshmallow. Like a big pink marshmallow,” Robin had commented.
“Yeah?” You laughed, gesturing towards her powder blue gown. “Well, you look like a wedding cake.”
An hour and a half into dress shopping, you were both getting tired and totally over it. You had the last gown you’d picked out in your hand, and you told yourself if you hated this one, too, you’d just say fuck it and go to prom in your ripped jeans.
You pulled the dress over your head, smoothing it down your body. When you turned and looked into the mirror, you gasped. You actually looked…beautiful.
The dark purple dress hugged your curves, pushing your breasts up and making them look much sexier (and perkier) than they really were. The skirt fell above your knees, showing off your legs. You did a little twirl, the skirt swishing around your thighs. You loved it, it was by far the best one you’d tried on.
“Are you alive in there?” Robin called from outside the dressing room, and you smiled to yourself.
“I think we have a winner,” you called back.
“Ooh!” Robin said just as you moved the curtain and walked out. You saw Robin standing in a dark blue dress that looked beautiful on her, the skirt long but flattering.
“Oh my god,” she said. “You look stunning! Eddie is going to lose his mind.”
You blushed at the mention of Eddie. “You do too!” And she did. Finally, you had both found something.
After you left the dress shop with your bags in hand, you were both feeling much happier. You made a stop at Afterthoughts, where you found some earrings and a necklace to match your dress.
You couldn’t believe you were going to prom, and with Eddie. It was a dream come true.
You couldn’t wait.
—
Prom night, you were shaking as you got ready. The dress was just as beautiful as you remembered. The jewelry you had picked out matched your dress even better than you’d hoped.
Eddie picked you up right on time. He smiled at you awkwardly when he picked you up, holding a corsage in his hand. “Hey.”
You beamed at him. “Hi. Is…that for me?”
“Oh, yeah.” He looked at it like he had forgotten he had it. “You look pretty,” he told you as he slipped the corsage onto your wrist. You blushed as you pinned the boutonnière to his black suit jacket.
“You look handsome yourself,” you told him shyly.
Eddie drove the two of you to the school. The parking lot was packed with students’ cars and even a few rented limousines. Just as you were about to get out of the van, Eddie stopped you. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out two black flasks, handing one to you.
“This should make this night a lot more fun, yeah?” He smirked. You smiled back, before making a face as you took a sip of the burning liquid. Eddie laughed, which made you start giggling, too.
You took a photo together at the booth near the gym doors, which Eddie wasn’t super excited about. The next thing he did was head for the food, piling a tiny plate full of appetizers. You followed him, grabbing a cup of punch to help wash down the liquor in your purse.
Eddie wouldn’t dance with you until after he’d finished his flask, claiming it was stupid and he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing at prom. But by the time he finished it, he had enough of a buzz that he didn’t care. You were tipsy, too, and absolutely elated when he stood and took your hand, leading you to the floor just as a slow song came on.
Eddie playfully groaned, rolling his eyes, but he pulled you close to his body anyway. Butterflies took flight in your stomach as he placed his hands on your hips and you wrapped yours around his neck. The two of you swayed together in time to the music. You could not stop smiling. You laid your head on Eddie’s chest, tuning out the music as you listened to his heartbeat.
After prom, you headed back to the van. You’d had the best night of your life, one you would never forget. Yeah, you were both a little bit intoxicated, but you were floating on the clouds for a whole different reason.
“D’you want to come back to my place?” Eddie asked as he started the engine. “We could drink a little more, smoke a joint. Wayne’s working.”
You wanted nothing more. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
At the trailer, Eddie rolled up a thick joint as you gathered the bottles of liquor and shot glasses from the cabinet. Eddie was back in normal clothes, and you’d changed into one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants that were too big on you.
Eddie sparked up the joint as you poured each of you two shots of tequila. You clinked your glasses together before downing them both. Eddie took the first drag on the joint, his eyes falling closed as he inhaled the thick smoke. He looked gorgeous like this, curls still tamed and framing his face. The smoke escaped through his perfect lips, trailing up and throughout the bedroom. He handed the joint to you, and you gratefully took it, bringing it to your painted lips. Some of your lipstick had rubbed off on the shot glasses, leaving a stain.
As the night went on, the two of you got progressively more drunk and high. By the time it was 2am, the two of you were giggling messes, listening to music over the stereo and talking about the latest campaign. Suddenly, in your drunkenly stoned haze, you remembered the gift stashed in your purse.
“Oh!” You exclaimed, jumping up to grab your small bag. “I forgot. I got you something.”
“You got me something?” Eddie asked, confused, his words slightly slurring together.
You reached into the purse and pulled out the bag from Camelot. You hoped he loved it, because now that it was in your hands, you were suddenly nervous. You turned, smiling softly as you handed Eddie the bag. “I just saw it while I was at the mall with Robin and I thought of you.”
Eddie raised his eyebrows at you as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the Metallica tape, a huge grin spreading across his face immediately. “Shit! You didn’t have to do this. But it’s fuckin’ awesome you did.”
You giggled, flopping back onto the bed next to him. You laid with your head on his pillow, smiling up at Eddie from where he sat next to you. “I’m glad you like it. I know yours broke. Probably because you play it all the time.”
Eddie poked you in the side, making you laugh harder. “Shut up, Freak. You love Master of Puppets just as much as I do.”
“That’s true,” you conceded. You looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes gazing down at you. They sparkled, like his personality was shining its way through. He had a strong nose, kissable lips. God, you wanted to kiss those lips.
Eddie had never realized how pretty you were. He always just saw you as his long time best friend, the girl who definitely crushed on him but he never saw that way. He still didn’t think he had feelings for you, but…you were pretty.
“Have you ever kissed a guy before?” He asked, pushing a section of hair off your shoulder.
You blushed at the question. You didn’t have much experience, your love life was nonexistent. But you had kissed someone, at least. “Yeah. Tommy Hagan in 7th grade.”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Tommy Hagan? That dickhead? You never told me that.”
You shrugged, your cheeks red and hot. “It didn’t mean anything. I got invited to Heather Holloway’s birthday party and he was there. We all played spin the bottle. It only lasted two seconds and we never really talked again.” Eddie hummed. “What about you?”
It was Eddie’s turn to look sheepish. “Uh, yeah. A girl at school, Chrissy, in 8th grade. We didn’t date or anything.”
Now it was your turn to be shocked. “Chrissy Cunningham? You didn’t tell me that, either!” He had never mentioned her. You knew it was stupid, but you were struck with jealousy at his words.
“It was nothing,” he said, brushing it off.
“Look at us,” you laughed. “18 and almost 20, and we’re still a couple of virgins.”
Eddie looked down at you, something unfamiliar swimming behind his eyes. He had never wanted to kiss you before this moment, but now... “I mean, we can change that.”
Your heart stopped in your chest. “What do you mean?”
Eddie thought about it for a moment. This could be a point of no return, a step in a direction he didn’t want to take. But in his drunk and high mind…he wanted it. He wanted you.
He leaned forward slowly, so slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat right before his lips pressed against yours. They were just as soft as you always dreamed they were, and your mind went even more hazy from his kisses.
Neither of you were experienced at all and you were both pretty intoxicated, so the kiss was a little awkward and desperate. All tongues and teeth clashing together, hungry for one another. Eddie’s hand slid beneath your t-shirt - his Hellfire shirt - trailing up your smooth skin until he reached your breasts. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were bare chested beneath the thin shirt. His calloused fingers delicately grazed your nipples, making you shiver. You’d never been touched there before, never felt anything like this. Being touched by Eddie was so much different than being touched by your own hand.
“I love your tits,” Eddie mumbled against your lips between kisses. You hummed, arching your back into his touch.
“Feels good, Ed,” you moaned quietly, body turning into pure electricity under his wandering touch. Your own hand tangled in the curls at the back of his neck, loving the way your bodies molded together, the feeling of his body finally pressed up against your own.
“Yeah?” He squeezed your breast one more time before his hand moved to your back, sliding down your body until he grabbed your ass, pulling you into him. You gasped, feeling how hard he was through his own sweatpants. “You feel how hard I am?”
“Yeah,” you whispered back. You moved your hand to his chest, sliding it down his body until you reached the tent in his pants. He groaned as you felt him, squeezing his cock through the material.
Eddie sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. You eyed his bare chest, the tattoos adorning his pale skin. You traced a finger over the design on the left side of his chest. God, he was so hot.
His hands slid up your shirt, pulling it up and off. His gaze dropped straight to your tits, he was practically drooling. He reached for the waistband of your sweatpants next, pulling them down your body slowly, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You were grateful you picked something pretty, red and lace.
“So sexy,” Eddie moaned. He leaned forward and kissed your stomach, which startled you a little. He trailed kisses up your body until he reached your breasts, where he ran his tongue over one of your nipples before wrapping his lips around it. You moaned as you arched into his touch, his mouth, whatever he would give you.
His hand slid down your body slowly, slowly, until it reached your panties. He slipped beneath them, fingers dipping between your folds. He could feel how insanely wet you were, and it only made his cock harder.
“So wet for me,” he said. “Bet you can’t wait for my cock.”
You whimpered as he pressed a finger against your entrance. Slowly, carefully he pushed it inside, stretching you for the first time. You gasped at the intrusion, but the pain faded quickly. Eddie slowly pumped his long finger in and out of your pussy, pressing against something deep inside that felt incredible as he curled his finger against it. He added a second finger shortly after, and the stretch was more intense, but from the feeling of the size of his cock in your hand, you knew it wouldn’t even be comparable.
Eddie fingered you a little longer, getting you nice and wet and ready for him, before he removed his hand and slipped your panties off. Now bare before him, he drank you in with his hungry eyes. His cock twitched in his pants.
You helped him push them down his hips, and he kicked them off onto the floor. He didn’t have boxers on underneath, and his dick was so much more impressive once fully revealed. It was big enough that it made you feel scared even through your mind haze.
“You can take it,” he assured you, his words still slightly slurred. “I know you can.”
He reached over you into the bedside table and pulled out an unopened box of condoms. “Finally get to use these,” he laughed, taking one out of the box and ripping it open. You watched as he slid the rubber over his hard cock, tip red and glistening. You wished you could have had a taste.
Eddie got in between your legs, kissing all over your neck before meeting your lips again. His tongue pressed into your mouth immediately, attempting to distract you from the pain where he was lining himself up and slowly beginning to push inside.
You whined as he began to fill you, inch by thick inch. When he was fully seated inside he pulled back and snapped his hips back into you, making you gasp. He set a quick pace, desperately rutting into you as he chased his pleasure, his drunken rhythm sloppy and uneven.
You held onto him tightly as he fucked into you, and he groaned into your neck where he had his face buried. “Feels so good,” he moaned, not exactly caring how you felt, only worried about his own quickly impending orgasm. It was his first time and he was not going to last.
“Eddie,” you whined, “you’re so big.”
He groaned at that. “Yeah, baby? You like it?”
“Mmhmm,” you moaned, and it did feel good, but he was also splitting you in half.
“Fuck,” he hissed, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum.”
He pumped into you just a couple more times before he was stilling, buried to the hilt inside you as he filled the condom. He moaned loudly, body trembling on top of you as he rode out his orgasm. You didn’t get to cum, but you were too drunk to care.
Eddie pulled out, removing the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. He collapsed onto the bed next to you, his naked body sweaty, chest heaving.
“That was…good,” you said, not knowing if it was or not. You were happy to have lost your virginity to Eddie, and the whole night had been a dream. But he hadn’t exactly cared about your pleasure. You waited for Eddie to reply, to say anything, but nothing came.
He was already snoring.
—
The unbearably bright light shining through the window around his curtains is the first thing Eddie experienced the next morning. It woke him up, but he only squeezed his eyes shut tighter, groaning as the light made his pounding headache infinitely worse. Fuck, he drank way too much last night.
He barely even remembered it. He remembered the prom, he remembered drinking a lot, doing shots, and smoking a joint. He remembered you, but his memory was hazy. How did you get home anyway? He didn’t remember driving you home after prom.
Eddie stretched, his muscles stiff. He was naked beneath his blanket, which wasn’t entirely unusual. He probably just didn’t feel like changing once he got his suit off.
Eventually he figured he should get out of bed. He rolled over and stood with another old man groan. Fuck, he had to cut back on the drinking, because he definitely felt a lot older than 19 right now.
He pulled on some boxers and a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor, remaining shirtless. Wayne would be passed out in his own bedroom after a long night of work at the plant. But Eddie was starving, and he needed something for that headache.
When he stepped out of the room, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Something delicious was wafting from the kitchen, the smell of bacon overpowering some other food scents. That was weird. Wayne didn’t cook breakfast, not the morning after a work night. He walked down the hall cautiously, brows furrowed as he neared the end of the hallway. He turned the corner, and froze.
You were there in the kitchen, expertly flipping a pancake in a pan. A plate sat on the counter next to you filled with bacon, and another pan on the next burner was cooking scrambled eggs. Oh, and you were dressed in nothing but Eddie’s oversized t-shirt and your underwear.
Oh shit, Eddie thought. What the fuck did I do?
The floor creaked as he stepped into the kitchen, and you turned around, a smile spreading across your lips at the sight of him. “Hey, sleepyhead. I made us some breakfast. Thought you could use something on your stomach.”
Eddie didn’t know what to say or do. Did he sleep with you? Oh god. He was going to be sick. “Uh, good morning. You, uh, didn’t have to do all this.”
He watched as you plated the finished pancakes and eggs. “I thought we could both use a big breakfast after last night,” you said, giving him a smirk. Oh, shit. He did sleep with you last night. He drunkenly lost his virginity after prom, to you.
Fuck. He was a fucking idiot.
You started making plates for the both of you. “I set out a water bottle and some Tylenol for you over there,” you said, nodding to the corner of the counter. Eddie took the medicine immediately, desperate for some relief from his unbearable headache. Now he wasn’t sure what was making it worse, the hangover or the knowledge of what he’d done.
He sat down across from you at the small table. He didn’t know what to say. Your friendship would never be the same after this. He knew you liked him, he didn’t like you, then he slept with you. Now he had to crush your heart. He really felt like he was going to be sick.
“Did you sleep okay?” You finally asked as the two of you ate, breaking the silence.
“Huh?” Eddie snapped back to reality. “Oh. Yeah.”
You smiled softly at him. You figured he was just still cloudy from the weed. “I had a good time last night.”
“Yeah…” Eddie said. “Me too.”
Your face lit up at that, and he could have slapped himself. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t even remember the sex. He was not doing a good job of not leading you on. “Listen,” he said, “about that-“
“It was really good,” you said. Eddie’s watched as your cheeks turned red and you looked down at your plate. “Sorry. I just meant…I enjoyed it. Being with you.”
Eddie had suspected, known even, that you had a crush on him, but this was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud. Eddie was really going to have to stomp on your heart to put an end to those thoughts, and it was all his fault. He never should have brought you home after prom. “Look, I-“
“I didn’t think you liked me back,” you continued, rambling nervously, excitedly. “I…to be honest with you I’ve had a crush on you for years, but I was always too scared to tell you. But you never seemed like you were into me…until last night.” You giggled, covering your mouth. “I can’t believe we’re together now.”
Together?
Oh, fuck. He couldn’t do this. He could not do this. He couldn’t crush your spirit, wipe that elated smile off your face. He’d never seen you look so happy. He felt like the biggest asshole.
“Oh, yeah,” he said instead. “Um, me either.”
“I can’t wait to tell Robin,” you continued. “She’s going to freak.”
—
Eddie couldn’t believe he had gotten himself into this situation.
Sure, you were his best friend so he liked your personality, and it’s not like you weren’t cute, but he just didn’t have feelings for you in the way you did for him. But now he had slept with you and you thought he liked you back. He had somehow, some way, become your actual boyfriend.
“I thought you didn’t like her like that?” Gareth asked the next school day after prom at lunch. You were sitting with Robin today. You often bounced between the marching band table and the Hellfire table.
“I don’t,” Eddie said simply.
Gareth, Jeff, and Grant looked at him like he was crazy. “Then how…why…?”
Eddie slammed his hand on the table. “Stop grilling me, okay?”
“Someone’s cranky,” Jeff muttered, turning back to his lunch tray in front of him.
“Yeah, you’re in a pretty shitty mood to be the only one of us to lose his virginity and get a girlfriend,” Grant commented. Gareth and Jeff agreed, nodding along.
“Yeah, well,” Eddie muttered. “Would be nice if it was with someone I’m actually into.”
“Harsh,” Gareth tsked. “You should be honest with her. You’re just leading her on.”
“I can’t.” Eddie buried his face in his hands, exasperated and stressed. “It’s gone too far. She thinks I’m her boyfriend. She thinks I like her back. I can’t crush her like that.”
The other three boys exchanged a look. “So…you’re just gonna marry her?” Grant asked.
Eddie froze. That is where this would eventually lead if he didn’t turn it around. But he was scared. He couldn’t bring himself to burst your bubble. “I’ll figure something out.”
As lunch was ending, Eddie jolted when you came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, babe,” you giggled. “How was lunch?”
“Good,” Eddie said, giving each Hellfire boy a look that said don’t say or do a damn thing.
“You guys are so cute,” Robin said, holding her hands over her chest as she tilted her head to the side with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re finally together.”
Eddie felt sick. Just like he had all weekend, since the morning after prom. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy.”
Your whole face lit up with a smile. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out after school. Do our homework and work on the Curse of Vecna.”
Eddie groaned internally. This was such a disaster. “Sure.”
That day after school Eddie drove you back to his place. He reluctantly did his homework with you, mostly copying your answers rather than actually learning anything. Then the two of you laid on his bed and made out.
Hey, if he was going to be stuck in this relationship with someone he didn’t actually care for, the least he could do was take advantage of the benefits.
—
You spent four years with Eddie before you started noticing something was off.
It was the scent you started noticing on his clothes at first, like flowers and vanilla. You lifted his shirt from the laundry, the unexpected smell hitting you. You didn’t own anything that smelled like this, and Eddie certainly didn’t. You knew the smell of his cheap cologne better than anything, the amount of times you’d laid your head on his chest and smelled that distinctly Eddie scent. Something was wrong.
When you confronted him about it, he brushed it off. “It’s this new girl at work. Her perfume is so strong, everyone smells like it.”
You accepted the answer for the time being. But then there were other things you began to notice. A scrunchie that definitely didn’t belong to you on the floor of the passenger side of his van. A condom wrapper in the bathroom trash after you’d been out of town for the weekend. And finally, a pair of pink panties stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans that were so clearly not yours it was nearly comical if it hadn’t made you want to die.
When you confronted him about it the next time, it was with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat. “Eddie,” you said, your voice cracking as you tossed the panties onto the floor in front of where he sat on the couch. “What are these?”
Eddie knew he had been caught. There was no getting out of it this time. You didn’t own any underwear like that, and it was the wrong size. How could he have been so stupid to have kept the panties? “I…”
“Really?” You sobbed. “You have nothing to say?”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” Eddie looked down at his hands. “Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with someone else.”
Even though you already knew his words were true, they still hit you right in the heart. You could feel it cracking, could feel the fault lines forming, the blood and life seeping out of it. “With who?” You asked, barely audible. You weren’t sure if you wanted the answer, but you needed it.
“That’s not important-“
“It is important,” you said. “It’s important to me.”
Eddie didn’t respond at first. He didn’t want to respond. “Chrissy Cunningham,” he answered reluctantly at last. “But don’t pull her into this, she doesn’t deserve to be-“
“Chrissy Cunningham?” You scoffed. “Eddie, we’ve been together for four years. Chrissy knows we’re together. So she was just fine sleeping with a guy she knew was taken?” You laughed humorlessly through the tears. “Wow. You guys are perfect for each other, then.”
Eddie shook his head. “Don’t do that, man, she-“
“‘Man’?” You couldn’t believe the conversation you were having. “Wow, I sure got demoted from baby fast, huh?”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “Please. I don’t wanna do this. I don’t feel like doing this.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have cheated!” You yelled back. “Why would you do this? How could you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”
Eddie mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t catch.
“What?” You asked. “I can’t hear you. Just fucking tell me. Why would you do this to me?”
When Eddie looked up at you, his eyes were full of anger, flames flickering behind his normally sweet doe eyes. The ones you had gazed into, taken comfort in so many times. When he opened his mouth, nothing but poison seeped out.
“Because I never loved you!” Eddie yelled, hands running through his hair to the point he was practically pulling it out. You had never seen him so upset. “Fuck! I went out with you because we were friends and I felt bad, and by the time we’d been together for months it was too late. I never liked you back like that. That’s the truth, finally.”
His words hit you like a shot to the chest. You stared at him with your lips parted, staggering gasps being dragged into your lungs. You shook uncontrollably as if it were suddenly freezing. But the tears didn’t yet fall. You felt like you might be in shock. “How…”
“How did I pretend to be in love with you?” He scoffed. “I didn’t do a very good job of it, but it doesn’t seem like you ever noticed. You were so blinded by who you wanted me to be, you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. Hey, as long as I came home and fucked you before passing out next to you, you just took it.” He laughed, a cruel, sinister laugh. “You just let me treat you like shit. Like you have no respect for yourself, or were just that obsessed with me.”
You didn’t even know who this was in front of you right now. This person who looked like Eddie, sounded like Eddie, but was spewing such horrible, hurtful words that Eddie never would. You didn’t recognize him at all. You wanted to blame his words on his heightened emotions, but you could tell everything he said was true. Especially with the cheating to back it up.
That’s not how you treated someone you cared about.
“So you just led me on for four years instead of telling me?” You asked. There was no fight behind your voice like there was in his. Only hurt and defeat. “Eddie…even before all this, you were my best friend. How could you do this to me?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. Because he was a selfish idiot coward? That was the truth. “Look, me and Chrissy- it just happened. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did. She came in to the Hideout, we got to talking-“
“And you fucked her?” You finished for him.
He just looked at you. “Yeah.”
The truth was, Eddie felt bad. He knew he had fucked up astronomically bad. He had led you on, used your body, betrayed you. Wasted four years of your life. He knew you thought he was the one, he knew you were waiting for a proposal that was never going to come. It was his fault things had gotten this far.
Maybe he thought he could fake it ‘til he made it. Maybe he thought if he pretended to be into you, eventually he would be. But that never happened.
And now you were crying, hard. His chest ached for some reason, even though he had no right to hurt for what he had done to you. He deserved to feel like shit.
He wasn’t prepared for the next words that came out of your mouth.
“I’m pregnant, Eddie,” you said, eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop the torrent of tears currently streaming down your face. There was no response. You had to force yourself to open your eyes and look, wondering if he was even still there.
He was. He stared at you, brown eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open. “You’re- no.”
“I am,” you said, voice hoarse from crying. “I…”
Eddie shook his head. “No. No, no, no. This is not happening. It’s not fucking happening.”
You only cried harder. The pregnancy hormones had nothing to do with this; this was pure devastation, pure heartbreak. Your heart felt like it had crumbled in your chest and there was nothing left to repair even if you could.
“Let me see the test,” he said, holding a hand out.
“Why would I lie?” You asked, voice weak. You were so emotionally worn out, you felt like you could sleep for weeks. Months. Years. You wanted to.
“Because you want me to stay with you?” He scoffed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re lying, but I want to see to be sure.”
You just stared at him. Finally, you said “Fine,” going into your shared bedroom and coming out with a piece of paper with your office visit report. “I went to the doctor. Here.”
Eddie took the paper from your hands, examining it carefully. Sure enough, under “Reason for Visit/Diagnosis”, it said “Pregnancy - 8 weeks”.
“Christ,” Eddie said. He rubbed his hands over his face, like he was trying to erase the information from his brain. He was panicked. He couldn’t be a dad. Not right now, maybe not ever. He didn’t even know if he wanted kids. And with you? His soon to be ex girlfriend who he had treated like shit and didn’t love? “I mean fuck, man. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” you said. Your voice was small, like all the fight had left you.
Eddie felt like he had ruined his life. For one thing, you were both still so young. That was without even mentioning the mess of a ‘relationship’ he had gotten himself involved in, the fact that it would never work out even if he wanted it to because he didn’t have feelings for you, and now he was standing here crushing his pregnant girlfriend’s heart. Like an asshole.
He was an asshole, and he knew it.
“Look,” he said finally. “If there’s really a kid-“
“There is.”
Eddie continued. “I’m not gonna abandon it. I’ll…be here. I’ll pay child support, I want to share custody, I want to be involved.”
You nodded. At least there was that, you supposed. As heart broken as you were, as much as you felt like going to sleep and never waking up again, you couldn’t bear the thought of Eddie leaving both of you. This baby deserved better.
“Look, I…I need some time. I’m gonna go stay with Wayne for a little while. Until I can get my own place.” Eddie looked at you with pity now, the news of the pregnancy dousing the fire of his earlier cruelty. “You can keep the apartment. We’ve got the guest room for the baby, unless you decide to move out.”
You just nodded again. “Okay, Eddie.”
The two of you looked at each other. This wasn’t just the end of your apparent farce of a relationship, but also of your nearly lifelong friendship. Things between you and Eddie would never be the same again. He had taken your heart you gave to him and stomped on it, spit on it.
That was the thing you couldn’t get past. He hadn’t just rejected you, he had destroyed you. The cheating, the lying. Playing you like a fucking game. Like you meant nothing not just to him, but at all. You didn’t know how you’d ever learn to trust again, or if you even wanted to. Eddie slept on the couch that night, too late at night to drive to Wayne’s.
When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.
—
Your pregnancy was difficult. You had severe morning sickness in the beginning - hyperemesis gravidarum, your doctor called it. You struggled to keep any food down, and ended up hospitalized for fluids multiple times. Your doctor was concerned and considered you a high risk pregnancy. You went from monthly doctor visits to weekly. You felt pretty sure your emotional devastation wasn’t helping your physical health whatsoever.
Eddie was helpful, at least. He called you every couple of days to see how you were doing and if you needed anything. He remembered your appointment days and called to ask what the doctor said. He shopped for your groceries for you and dropped them off at the house. It would have felt nice, if you didn’t know he was only doing it for the baby and not you, and if you didn’t know he was still sleeping with Chrissy.
You went through most of the pregnancy alone. At 16 weeks, you noticed a bump for the first time, standing in front of your full length mirror as you got ready for work. It took you by surprise, this little baby bump that seemed to have popped up overnight. You ran your hand over the skin there, surprised by how firm it felt. There was really a little baby in there.
You had an ultrasound that afternoon. You were thrilled to see the baby, one of the only things you looked forward to anymore. The technician showed you your baby, thriving and wiggling around in there. It made your heart swell. She measured the heartbeat and played it out loud, the little whoosh whoosh whoosh comforting.
Eddie came to the apartment that evening to bring you the baby swing he had bought. You were in the kitchen cooking yourself chicken alfredo for dinner, wearing a thin tank top and your short sleep shorts. Eddie let himself in, since he still had a key in case of emergencies. You weren’t surprised to hear him coming in since he’d told you he’d be over.
You heard his footsteps heading into the kitchen, then - “Woah.”
You turned from where you’d been stirring the sauce, raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”
He gestured towards your stomach. “You, uh…your…”
You laughed lightly. “The bump? Yeah, that’s new.”
Eddie walked over towards you, leaning against the counter next to the stove. He didn’t know how to feel about it. It was strange to see, and it made him feel weird in his chest. Something he’d never felt before. “It’s…it’s cute. You look cute.”
You laughed again. “I’m about to get a lot bigger.”
The two of you stood in silence for a minute. Then, finally, Eddie worked up the courage to ask - “Can I…can I feel?”
You were surprised by the question. Sure, Eddie had been pretty devoted to this baby during the pregnancy, but it still caught you off guard. “Oh. Sure.”
You turned and he walked up to you cautiously. He raised his hands, slowly moving them towards you as he looked up at you for confirmation it was still okay. Finally he placed his hands on your belly, feeling the firm bump beneath his hands. It was real. He knew it was real, but now it was real.
“Wow,” he said after a minute. “That’s…wow.” He gently rubbed the bump, in shock that that was his child beneath his hand.
“I got an ultrasound today,” you said. “Want to see?”
“Of course,” he answered immediately. He watched as you headed into the living room, already developing the slightest little waddle. He couldn’t help but smile.
You pulled the printed photos from your purse, bringing them over. Eddie gently took them from your hands. “Holy shit!” He said, laughing as he closely examined the photos. “It really looks like a little baby now instead of a blob.”
“Yeah,” you agreed with a smile. “They said we’d find out if it’s a boy or a girl at the next one. At 20 weeks.”
Eddie’s eyes darted up to you. “Really? Can I…go?”
You raised your eyebrows. “Really? You want to come with me to the appointment?”
“Yeah, of course. I want to know what we’re having. I want to be there myself.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking about it. “How will Chrissy feel about that?”
Eddie’s expression hardened for the first time since he’d come over. “I can do whatever I want. And we’re not talking about her right now.”
You rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen to tend to your dinner. “I guess you can come, Eddie. It’s your baby too. But don’t bring her.”
“I’m not,” he assured you. You thought he’d have to be a fucking idiot to bring her, anyway. “I just want to be there.”
You felt like you couldn’t take that from him. If he wanted to be an involved father, he could. You encouraged that, in fact. This baby didn’t deserve to be born into the mess that was your relationship, or what used to be your relationship. Your issues with Eddie needed to be put aside for the sake of your child.
So, four weeks later, you waddled your 20 week pregnant self down the stairs of your apartment complex and into Eddie’s van where he sat idling, waiting to pick you up. He helped you climb in, and you waved him off when he tried to buckle you up. “I’ve got it, Eddie. I’m not totally helpless.”
“I know,” he said, “I just want to help.”
You rode to the doctor’s office without speaking, the only sounds being the heavy music playing over the stereo. You couldn’t stand it. Since the break up, you couldn’t listen to Eddie’s music anymore. Too many memories, too many associations.
When he pulled up at the office, he hopped out quickly to run around and offer you a hand as you carefully climbed down. The bump was significantly bigger already, it was in the way and threw off your center of balance. And Eddie was not about to let you fall and hurt yourself and the baby.
You had grown to know the staff at the office since you were there so often. They greeted you by name the second you walked in, looking pleased to see you. In the exam room, Eddie sat in the visitor’s chair, looking as awkward as he felt.
When the tech walked in, she barely managed to contain the surprise on her face to see Eddie with you. You had been to every appointment alone, and they knew you weren’t together with the father. But she quickly plastered a smile to her face, walking over to you.
“Are you excited?” She asked you. “It’s a big day!”
“So excited,” you giggled. “I’m ready to know.”
You laid back and lifted your shirt up and she squirted the cold gel onto your belly, your least favorite part. She placed the wand on your stomach and began moving it around. There was a screen only she could see, and a bigger screen facing you and Eddie that showed the baby.
The little wiggling baby popped up on the screen, moving all around. You smiled, relieved to see the little guy or girl was doing well. You always worried between ultrasounds that something would happen.
The two of you watched as the tech examined and measured the various body parts, making notes in your chart as she performed the exam. Then, finally, it was time.
“Okay,” she said. “Everything looks great! Do you want to know what you’re having?”
“Yes,” you and Eddie answered immediately at the same exact time. You glanced at each other, laughing lightly.
You were nervous. You weren’t sure why. You really didn’t have a preference for the baby’s sex, but this was a huge deal. This made it real, really real. The baby was about to go from “the baby” to your son or daughter. They would have a name, you would be able to shop more. This was a huge moment, and your heart thumped hard in your chest.
She moved the wand a little, looking where she needed to look. She smiled - “It’s a healthy baby girl.”
You choked out a light sob, hands moving up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t believe it. A baby girl, a daughter. Your daughter. Thoughts flashed through your mind of pink little dresses, playing dolls, dance recitals and late night dance parties. Or maybe she would be more of a tomboy, playing sports and getting dirty. You would love her no matter who she turned out to be.
Eddie stared at the screen in awe. A daughter. He was having a daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t have a preference for the gender either, but hearing it was a girl, it just felt right. Like this was the child he was meant to have, this was the perfect outcome. His body overflowed with the love he felt for this tiny person already. He nearly reached over and grabbed your hand, but thought better of it. It wasn’t his hand to hold anymore.
You left the appointment in high spirits with a stack of ultrasound photos in your hand. You kept looking them over, amazed at how much the baby looked like a baby. Just as you were about to get back in the van, you felt something move that made you gasp and nearly drop your bag.
“What??” Eddie asked, immediately by your side. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”
You looked up at him wide eyed. “I…” You were about to say something else when you felt the movement again. You quickly grabbed Eddie’s hand and placed it on your stomach, right where you felt it.
He looked at you strangely, but kept his hand there. Then, a second later - another kick, right where Eddie’s hand lay.
“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, jerking his hand back out of instinct before putting it back. “Did she just kick?”
“I think so,” you said, an incredulous giggle in your voice.
“She’s strong,” Eddie commented with a smile. He gently rubbed his hand over the bump. “My girl. Gonna be a soccer player or something. Or just kick some serious ass.”
You laughed, your hand resting next to Eddie’s. “This has been the best day I’ve had in months.”
Eddie felt a pang of guilt at that. He knew he was the reason for your sadness, for your pain. And now here you were, giving him the greatest gift he could dream of, even if it’s one he didn’t expect. He couldn’t wait for this baby to be here.
Robin threw you a baby shower when you were 33 weeks pregnant. You were huge and uncomfortable, and still mentally a disaster. But Robin had put in so much work you were at least going to make an attempt to enjoy yourself.
She had taken you shopping for a dress, and you’d landed on a long, light pink one with a hem right beneath your breasts, the rest of the dress draped over your belly. It made you feel pretty, even if gigantic.
When you and Robin walked in, the party was already underway, your friends, family, and acquaintances mingling around, eating from the buffet table. There was a table surrounded and piled high with gifts, a rocking chair with a bow on it sitting next to it.
“Oh my god, Robs,” you said, tears springing to your eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course I did,” she said, nudging your arm. “You deserve it, babes. You and her both.” She placed a hand over your belly, making you smile. “You’ve been put through hell this pregnancy, the least I can do is give you a good party.”
Robin led you over to the buffet table, where Steve Harrington was standing. You furrowed your brows at your best friend as you walked, and she gave you a sheepish smile and shrug.
“He’s different now,” she said. You couldn’t believe your ears. “He’s not King Steve anymore. And he helped me out a ton with this party. He’s kind of a dingus, but he’s cool.”
Steve gave you a kind smile as you approached. “Hey,” he said once you’d both reached him, standing up straight. “Congratulations. You look beautiful.”
You blushed, because you certainly didn’t expect him to say that. “I’m huge,” you said.
Steve chuckled. “Well, you’re growing a whole human. Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s hard work.”
You were completely shocked that Steve was being so nice to you. He had never been mean to you, but he definitely saw you and Eddie as Freaks in high school, and never gave you or Robin the time of day. He really did seem different.
“Come on,” Robin said, pulling gently on your arm. “Let’s get you and that baby something to eat. It’s gonna be a great party.”
And it was a good party. You were having a good time talking with your guests, everyone wanting to feel the baby and asking you questions. The food was good, too, you thought as you filled your third plate in 30 minutes. You were having a good time.
That is, until the door opened and two guests walked in late.
Eddie walked in, looking awkward, a gift bag in hand. He knew a good number of the people in attendance hated him, and for good reason. The fact that Eddie showed up to your party wasn’t the bad part. You were on okay terms. It was the fact that he walked in, hand in hand with Chrissy Cunningham.
Your heart stopped in your chest. You hated that you still weren’t over Eddie, but it was the truth. You felt like you would throw up at the sight.
“Oh, fuck no,” Robin muttered under her breath from next to you, before she stood tall and started walking over to them with purpose.
“Robs, wait!” You called, following after her, but Robin’s long strides were much faster than your 8 month pregnant waddle. Robin was already there when you reached the three, her finger pointed in Eddie’s face.
“And what do you think gives you the right to come marching into her party with your little girlfriend?” She was yelling, fury in her eyes like you’d never seen. “What the fuck is wrong with you??”
“Robin-“ you started, but she wasn’t even hearing you.
“You are the scum of the fucking earth,” she said to Eddie. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong outside enjoying the day. You belong in a cave.”
Eddie was looking at her with an irritated expression on his face. Chrissy stood next to him, her big eyes wide as she held onto his arm. It made you feel so much worse.
“This is my daughter’s baby shower,” he said. “I have a right to be here.”
“No, this is her shower.” Robin gestured towards where you stood slightly behind her without even turning around. “This is for her. She has been through hell, and it’s entirely your fault. The only thing you did besides ruin her life is put the damn baby in her. Good job, Eddie!”
Eddie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Down, guard dog, this has nothing to do with you. Get out of my face. I’m here to celebrate my daughter. Not yours.”
“And you had to bring your skank with you?”
Both you and Chrissy gasped. You had never heard her speak that way before. Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Don’t talk about her like that. She has nothing to do with this.”
“She slept with you multiple times while knowing you were in a relationship. So yeah, she’s a skank, and you’re a slut too. I guess you guys are made for each other.”
“Babe, why don’t we just go-“ Chrissy said softly.
“Babe,” Robin mocked. “How cute.”
“I’m not leaving,” Eddie said, looking from Chrissy to Robin, and finally to you. “I deserve to be here. So get over yourself.”
“I think you should leave, Eddie.”
You turned as you all looked behind you, where Steve had walked up. His expression was serious, and Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.
“This doesn’t concern you, Harrington.”
“Well, it kind of does,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “These are my friends. I helped organize the party. No one would have cared if you wanted to be here, but you had to go and bring your girlfriend to rub in her face?”
Eddie was taken aback. He couldn’t believe Steve Harrington was here and had the nerve to talk to him and his girlfriend this way. He was about to say something rude back when you spoke up.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice timid. “They can stay.”
Steve and Robin looked at you with concern etched on both of their faces. “Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly. “Robin told me your pregnancy has been complicated. You don’t need any extra stress.”
“It’s okay,” you repeated. You weren’t entirely sure if you were really okay with it, but you didn’t want drama at your baby shower. At least, not any more drama than what had already been caused.
Steve looked at you, giving you any chance to change your mind, but you didn’t say anything else. Steve looked at Eddie and Chrissy. “She says you can stay, you can stay.”
The rest of the party was admittedly very awkward. Eddie kind of felt like shit - he knew he shouldn’t have brought Chrissy here. It was the wrong move. He thought maybe it would be alright, but the second he walked in the door he knew what a mistake it had been.
When it was time for gifts, you felt a little uncomfortable. Even as a child you had never enjoyed the whole “opening gifts in front of the whole guest list” part of parties, but you knew your older relatives would find it rude if you didn’t.
You got a lot of lovely gifts - lots of girly clothes and tiny dresses, bottles, burp cloths, a baby monitor, baby soap and towels, health stuff, toys, all kinds of things. You even got some bigger items, like a high chair, a car seat, and a stroller. You were so grateful you teared up multiple times. As a single mom, you had been worried sick about how you’d afford a lot of this stuff.
When you opened Eddie’s gift, it was just a piece of paper inside the bag. You were confused, until you took the paper out and saw the photo of the crib you had been eyeing on it, and a note that he had ordered it for you. Cue the waterworks.
Chrissy’s gift was probably the ugliest baby clothes you’d ever seen in size 24m and a toy she wouldn’t be able to play with for years. You wanted to throw the gift back in her face. She did that shit on purpose.
The rest of the party went well. You managed to avoid Chrissy, or maybe she was avoiding you. You gave each of your friends and family hugs as they left when the party was over, thanking them for coming and for their gifts.
Eddie gave you a nod as he and Chrissy left. He was always so much more pleasant when he wasn’t with her. You could always tell when she was in his ear, too, because he would start stupid arguments and stress you out. You were tired of Chrissy in your business. You never wanted to see her for the rest of your life.
But that was Eddie’s girlfriend, the girl he actually liked, and Eddie was this baby’s father. So you supposed you’d have to live with her.
At 33 weeks, days after the shower, you noticed horrible swelling in your hands and feet. More than the normal pregnancy swelling. You brought it up at your doctor’s appointment, and she was immediately concerned.
Your blood pressure was through the roof. You were diagnosed with pre eclampsia and told to head straight to the hospital to be admitted.
You cried on the way to the car. This whole pregnancy had been hell, and as excited as you were to meet the baby, you were miserable. And it wasn’t time for her to come yet. You were terrified.
You drove around the corner to the hospital’s main entrance, walking inside and giving the receptionist the paper from your doctor. They had you upstairs and set up in bed in no time, hooked up to monitors and put on strict bed rest.
The first thing you did once you were settled was grab the bedside phone. You dialed Robin’s number first, filling her in through tears. She promised to be over right after work with movies to watch, wanting to make you as comfortable as possible while you had to be in the hospital.
Next, you called Eddie.
“Hello?” He answered, a laugh in his voice, and you could hear Chrissy giggling in the background. It made you feel infinitely worse.
“Eddie. It’s me.” It was obvious in your voice that you’d been crying.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, suddenly serious. “Is it the baby? Is she coming? It’s too early!”
You sniffled. “Not yet. But I have pre eclampsia. They hospitalized me and put me on bed rest until the baby is born.”
“Shit,” Eddie hissed. “Do you, uh…do you need me?”
“Can you run by the apartment and grab my bag I packed?” You asked. “Maybe throw some extra stuff in there since I’m going to be here for a while?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The next week in the hospital was a long one. You were bored to death, even with Robin and Steve coming by every day after work and on their days off. They would bring different movies from Family Video every day, and they had bought you a collection of board games to play together.
At 34 weeks, things took a turn for the worse.
Your water broke and labor began far too early. You were in a panic. Robin had been visiting at the time, and next thing you knew, doctors and nurses were rushing in, checking your vitals and fussing over you. The contractions started immediately, coming strong and fast.
“Call Eddie!” You called to a shocked Robin, who froze for only a few seconds before dashing for the phone.
By the time Eddie sprinted through the door, breathless and mercilessly alone, things were well underway. Labor had set in fast, and the baby’s vitals were dropping. They had to get her out as soon as possible.
“We’re going to be taking you back for a C section, okay?” The doctor told you kindly, but you could hear the seriousness of the situation in his tone. “We need to get this baby out right now.”
You had never been more terrified in your life. You could not lose this baby. You didn’t care much about your own well-being, but losing this baby would kill you.
“Can I come?” Eddie asked, his voice shaking. He was equally terrified. This baby, his daughter, meant the world to him already and she wasn’t even here yet. He needed both of you to be okay.
“Yes, you’ll just have to change into a pair of scrubs,” the doctor said. “One of the nurses will bring you some then bring you to the OR. We just need to get her in there and prepped immediately.”
Eddie watched as they wheeled you from the room quickly, disappearing down the hall with an urgency that made him sick to his stomach. Just as he’d been told, a nurse walked up with a pair of surgical scrubs and a hair cap, snapping him out of his internal panic.
He went into the bathroom and changed into the scrubs, pulling his hair up into a bun and putting the cap on. He slipped the shoe covers on last. He felt like he looked ridiculous, but he really didn’t have time to think about that right now.
Inside the operating room, you laid on a table with your arms strapped down out to the side. You also wore a cap over your hair, and a large drape curtained off everything below your chest.
“Hey,” you said, sounding nice and calm and a little out of it. “You came.”
“Of course I came,” Eddie said. He stood next to you as the doctor got to work. He did not want to think about what was going on behind that curtain.
It wasn’t long before the doctor said “Here she is!” and the next thing Eddie knew, he heard a shrill cry. It made his heart stutter in his chest, he lost his breath. Moments later one of the nurses came around with the tiniest baby Eddie had ever seen, wrapped in a hospital blanket. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His child.
You gazed at the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. You were so drugged up you couldn’t really comprehend the moment, but you knew that tiny bundle was your daughter. Here at last. And alive, healthy. Pink skin and a head full of brown hair.
“Would you like to hold her?” The nurse asked as the doctor went to work on stitching you up. “We have to get her to the NICU, so only for a moment. I’m sorry.”
The NICU. Eddie didn’t want to think too hard about that. “Yes, I want to hold her.” Eddie held out his arms and the nurse gently placed the tiny baby in them.
She was so small. She felt like glass, like the most fragile thing in the world. He took in every aspect of her appearance, from her hair that matched his, to her tiny button nose, her little pink lips. Her eyes were closed, so he didn’t get to see her eye color.
He moved over to you and held the baby down for you to see. “Here she is,” he whispered to you. “Our baby girl.”
You smiled a loopy smile, but you could feel the love practically bursting out of your chest. “Hi, Lottie,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “Charlotte Mae.”
Charlotte did great, and had none of the problems common in premature babies. It was a miracle, and you were so grateful.
There was a knock at your door before it opened. Robin walked in, Steve trailing behind her. They both had smiles on their faces and held gift bags. Steve held a bouquet of beautiful flowers. He wore a yellow sweater and jeans, his long hair styled. You couldn’t help but notice how cute he was.
“Hey, mama, how are you feeling?” Robin greeted, coming over and giving you a kiss on the cheek. She looked down at the sleeping baby in your arms. “Hi, Lottie!”
“We’re doing good,” you said, a tired smile on your face. Eddie had been over earlier, but had to leave when Chrissy called the hospital phone, demanding he come home. It had made your chest ache, especially when he obeyed.
“Hey,” Steve said, moving to your other side. He held up the flowers. “I, uh, brought these for you.”
“Had the idea, picked them out, and bought them himself,” Robin said, wiggling her eyebrows.
The way Steve was looking at you did something to you, something felt deep in your chest. “Thank you,” you smiled at him. “They’re beautiful.”
“We also brought you these,” Robin said, placing both gift bags on your lap. One was purple with pink tissue paper, and the other was blue with yellow paper. “Can Auntie Robs hold her now?”
“Of course,” you replied, gently passing the tiny bundle into Robin’s waiting arms. She held the baby like a natural, gently rocking her.
You reached for the purple bag first. You pulled the paper out and found a comfy pair of pajamas for yourself, and a matching set for Charlotte. There was a card inside that read, I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best mom ever! Love, Auntie Robs.
You almost teared up, looking at Robin. “Thank you,” you said. “This means so much.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Now open Steve’s!”
You laughed as you grabbed the blue bag and removed the paper. Inside you found an assortment of candy, and a small teddy bear. A card inside read Motherhood looks beautiful on you. You’re going to rock it. I’m glad we’ve become friends. Love, Steve.
“How did you know I have a sweet tooth?” You asked Steve with a laugh. You couldn’t focus on his note right now unless you really wanted to cry.
“Robin,” he laughed. “She filled me in.”
Robin and Steve visited for as long as they could, taking turns holding Charlotte and helping to take care of both her and you. You were so grateful to have such support, such amazing friends.
Custody was a whole other ordeal. You and Eddie had agreed that he would get Charlotte every other weekend, starting when she was 5 months old and could take a bottle when she was with Eddie since you were breastfeeding.
It worked out, Eddie didn’t argue with you much unless Chrissy started convincing him to, as she sometimes did. He started missing his scheduled weekends, claiming plans with Chrissy. The thing is that Chrissy knew what weekends Eddie had Charlotte, and she would do this on purpose. And he just let her.
It made you so mad. Lottie deserved better than this. She deserved a father who was excited to see her any chance he got. You began to resent Eddie more and more.
It was Saturday night, and Eddie had bailed for the weekend again. He was taking Chrissy to Indianapolis to spend the weekend and go shopping. Honestly, you were in the mood for a good cry.
Not only was Eddie bailing on his visitation, but he was also pushing for more. You didn’t understand it, but you knew who was behind it. Chrissy just liked stirring up shit between you and Eddie. You were convinced she got a kick out of it.
You figured the best way to get a good cry was to go rent a sappy movie. You were sure a good romance would have you sobbing within the hour. You packed Lottie’s diaper bag, strapped her in her car seat, and drove to Family Video.
You smiled when you saw Steve behind the counter through the glass doors. He was on the phone as you walked in, but he gave you a big smile and held up a finger to tell you to hold on a second. You started browsing the movies, seeing what was available.
Steve got off the phone as quickly as possible, rushing over to your side. “Hey, Lottie,” he greeted the baby on your hip, making her giggle and reach for him. You handed her off as Steve happily took her. “So, what brings you in today? Not that I’m not excited to see you.”
You couldn’t help but smile at Steve. “Rough weekend. I need a good cry.”
He frowned. “Why?”
You sighed. “Just Eddie and Chrissy stuff. The usual.”
Steve nodded in understanding, but it pissed him off. He hated the hell Eddie and his girlfriend put you through on a constant basis. He wished he could make it better. “So you need a sad movie?”
“Yeah. Any recommendations?”
He thought for a minute. He browsed the shelves as Lottie played with his name tag. “Hmm…oh!” He reached forward and plucked a VHS off the shelf. “This one will get you for sure.”
You took it from his hands. “Steel Magnolias. I haven’t seen it.”
“Oh, it’ll definitely make you cry,” Steve laughed as you examined the tape, reading the back synopsis.
“Do you know that because it made you cry?” You teased, a playful smile on your lips as you looked at him again.
Steve blushed bright red. “Maybe.”
You laughed, poking him in the side. “Who knew you were such a sap, Steve Harrington.”
“Hey,” he said, holding up his free hand in surrender. “Chicks dig a guy who’s in tune with his emotions.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so,” Steve confirmed with a grin. You could never wipe the smile off your face when Steve was around. He was just so fun, and kind, and funny. He was a great friend, and cute, too, if you let yourself admit it.
You exchanged the tape for Lottie then followed Steve back to the counter where he checked you out. “Just one movie tonight?”
“Yeah. I pass out too early now to watch more than one.”
Steve chuckled as he scanned the tape and pulled up your account. He clicked on his computer for a few seconds before a receipt began to print. “Alright, you’re all set.”
“Thanks,” you smiled as you took the tape and receipt from him. “I’ll see you around, Steve!” You turned and began walking to the front door, ready to get home, get Lottie comfy in bed, then watch your movie.
“Hey,” Steve said, stopping you. You turned around, confused.
“What’s up?”
“Um…” Steve cleared his throat. “Would you…want to go out sometime?” His voice was nervous, like you’d never heard it before.
His words caught you off guard. You raised your eyebrows, switching the baby to the other arm. “What?”
“Go out? Like, on a date?”
You blinked at him. “You want to go on a date…with me?”
“Yeah,” he smiled nervously at you. “I’ve…been wanting to ask you out for a while. But you just had so much going on, I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate…”
“Steve, you could never do anything but make my life better. I love spending time with you.”
He beamed at that. “Yeah? Well…would you want to go on a date with me?”
“Sure,” you smiled. “I would love that.”
You finished packing up Charlotte’s bag, making sure it was stocked with plenty of clothes and her favorite toys, including the teddy bear Steve had given her, which was her absolute favorite. Eddie had plenty of diapers and wipes at his house so you didn’t have to worry about that.
You had your date with Steve tonight. He was going to be picking you up shortly after Lottie left, so you had already gotten ready. You wore a short little dress that you’d been waiting for an excuse to wear forever, your hair hung perfectly, and you had done some light makeup. You hadn’t dressed up like this and gone on a date in…ever.
There was a knock at the door right on time. “There’s daddy!” You told Charlotte, who smiled big and clapped her little hands together. You scooped her up and headed for the front door, opening it to reveal Eddie.
Eddie smiled at Charlotte, but immediately took notice of your look. “Where are you going all dolled up? Got a hot date?” He asked, a sneer in his voice.
Your smile dropped. So he was going to be like this today. “Yeah. I do, actually.”
Eddie didn’t like that. The thought of it struck an unusual and unwelcome jealousy into his chest. “With who?”
“That’s none of your business,” you said. You handed over Charlotte’s bag. “I can do whatever I want. You cheated on me, remember?”
He didn’t acknowledge your second comment. “It is my business if you’re bringing my daughter around some guy.”
You stared him down. “Well, you bring your mistress around our daughter, so I don’t think you have the right to say anything.”
Eddie’s eyes darkened. “Chrissy is my girlfriend.”
“Sure.” You turned to Charlotte, smiling at her. “I’ll see you Sunday, baby girl. I love you so much.” You gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek before handing her off to Eddie. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
Eddie left, and you sighed. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You would not let Eddie ruin this night. This was your first time being asked on a date, and you were going to have a good time.
It was about 15 minutes later that Steve picked you up. He looked handsome, wearing a button up shirt and jeans. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers that he handed you as you opened the door.
“You look gorgeous,” he said, and you could tell from his voice that he truly meant it. You blushed deeply as you took the flowers.
“Thank you,” you smiled. Steve followed you into the apartment, stepping over toys as you walked into the kitchen. You grabbed a vase and filled it with water, placing the flowers inside.
“Where are we going?” You asked as you walked with Steve to his car. He held the passenger side door open for you, and you smiled at him as you slid in. He was such a gentleman.
“I was thinking, dinner and a movie is too lame, too cliche. We watch movies all the time. So,” he gestured into the backseat, “I packed us a picnic, and got us tickets to see David Bowie in the city tonight.”
You stared at him, blinking. “I…no you didn’t.”
Steve laughed. “Yeah, I did. I know you’re a big fan, and he was performing nearby, so…”
“Oh my god!” Your heart was beating out of your chest, you felt like it would explode. “Steve. Oh my god.”
Steve was very proud of himself for this one. He knew you’d freak out, but your reaction was even better than he hoped. ���That’s why I asked you out tonight specifically. I, uh…already had the tickets.”
You quickly swiped a falling tear off your cheek before it could mess up your makeup. “Steve Harrington, I think I’m in love with you.”
That made Steve’s heart swell. Because he felt the same way about you.
Steve drove the two of you to the park, where you found a spot next to a large tree. He laid out the blanket and sat down the picnic basket he’d packed full of all kinds of foods. You ate together, laughing and joking and having the best time. But you couldn’t shake the buzzing excitement in your belly from the news of the concert.
It was a couple hour’s drive to the city, but it was worth it. The show was incredible, everything you dreamed seeing David Bowie would be. Steve held your hand, which sent electricity through both of your bodies.
When Steve brought you home, he walked you to your apartment door. Butterflies were flying in your stomach, still ecstatic from the most incredible date you ever could have imagined.
“I had a great time,” Steve said.
“Me too,” you agreed. “Truly. Do you…want to come in? The night doesn’t have to be over yet.”
A smile spread across Steve’s lips. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Steve followed you in. As you turned to him, you saw something behind his eyes. Like he was thinking, considering something. He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face with the back of his hand, thinking he had never seen someone as beautiful in his life. “Can I kiss you?”
Your breath hitched in your throat. “I…yes.”
Steve smiled lightly. Then he was leaning in, closer and closer, until his lips pressed to yours.
Sparks flew. You kissed him back eagerly, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush to his own. The kiss turned heated, Steve pressing your back up against the wall as he kissed you passionately. His hands began sliding up the skirt of your dress.
“Steve,” you said, breathless against his lips. “Take me to my room.”
The next morning, you woke up next to Steve. He had his arm around your waist, cuddling you close. You were both naked. As you awoke, Steve did, too, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.
“I’m not,” you giggled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Steve asked you to be his girlfriend that morning. It may have been a little soon, but you happily said yes. You knew Steve well, he was one of your best friends. You knew you wanted to be with him.
Robin was ecstatic when you told her the news. “About time!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up. “Took you long enough, dingus.”
You knew you had to tell Eddie. As much as you dreaded it, he deserved to know as the father of your daughter. You waited a couple of weeks into the relationship, wanting to be sure things were going to work out before you brought it up. But your relationship with Steve was incredible, a kind of joy you never thought you could experience in a relationship.
Eddie came to the door to drop off Charlotte one Sunday evening. He was a little early, and Steve was over.
“Shit,” you hissed as he knocked at the door. “I guess it’s now or never.”
You answered the door, loving how Lottie’s face lit up at the sight of you. “Hi baby!”
“Mama!” She called, reaching for you. You took her from Eddie’s arms, sitting her on your hip. “Dada!” She exclaimed next, only she wasn’t looking at Eddie.
Steve had come up behind you, and Lottie was pointing at him. Your mouth dropped as Eddie’s face turned to one of pure anger. “What the fuck?” He said.
“I swear, I don’t know what that’s about. She’s never called him that before,” you explained quickly. Honestly Eddie deserved to have his feelings hurt, but you knew how destroyed you would be if Lottie called Chrissy Mama.
“What is he doing here anyway?” Eddie asked, gesturing towards Steve. “I don’t see Robin here. Do you have a life of your own, Harrington?”
You looked between Steve and Eddie. “Ed…me and Steve are…together.”
The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He figured you would date eventually, but maybe he just got spoiled by you being single. He didn’t expect the pain of finding out you had moved on. And with Harrington? “What?”
You pursed your lips, knowing this had the potential to go badly. “We’re together. Steve is my boyfriend.”
Eddie just stared between the two of you. Then, he laughed, a sinister sounding chuckle. He knew he had no right to be pissed, but he was pissed. “Well, isn’t that just great.”
“Eddie-“
“No,” he said, holding a hand up. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You do whatever you want. Enjoy your life with Steve.”
And with that, he left. He didn’t even tell Charlotte goodbye.
Things with Steve were incredible. He was the best boyfriend you could ask for, and he was amazing with Lottie. She loved playing with him, and he could sit on the floor and play with her for hours without getting bored.
You had been together for a year and a half when he surprised you with a trip to the beach. You spent the weekend laying out in the sun, playing in the ocean, making love until the early morning in your suite.
On the last day there, you were walking down the beach hand in hand. As you were looking down at the sand for seashells, you noticed some writing in the sand. You let go of Steve’s hand to walk over and read it.
Will you marry me?
“Steve!” You exclaimed. “Look, someone proposed! How cute-“
You froze when you turned around to see Steve on one knee, holding a beautiful ring in a black velvet box. You gasped, tears immediately falling. You always were emotional.
“Will you make me the luckiest guy in the world and marry me?”
Eddie came home a little early from work one evening, and immediately knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere before he even heard the noises. Those unmistakable noises.
He crept down the hallway, careful not to make any noise. Not that he thought he’d be noticed, anyway. Not with what he deeply suspected was going on.
He made it to the bedroom he shared with Chrissy. The door was slightly ajar, and he took a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.
Chrissy and her ex, Jason Carver, were in his bed, absolutely going at it. Eddie knew this was what was going on from the moment he walked into the apartment, but seeing it, he still felt like he’d be sick. Chrissy turned at the sound of the door opening and screamed, covering herself and Jason, who didn’t really seem to give a fuck at all.
After Jason left and Eddie was left alone with his girlfriend, he demanded the truth. She admitted she had been sleeping with Jason again for months.
Naturally, Eddie kicked her out. Then, he was alone.
Alone with only his thoughts, he had too much quiet time to think. And what he found himself thinking about was you. Far too often. He thought about your relationship, how he fucked everything up, including your lifelong friendship. Sure, he got his beautiful daughter out of it, but he could have treated you better. He should have treated you better.
He also thought about the way you’d treated him. The way you had loved him. How you were the only woman who had ever loved him, besides his mom all those years ago. How he had taken you for granted. He thought about how he would feel if some asshole treated Lottie the way he treated you. The thought itself made him furious.
Because now that Chrissy was gone and he was no longer blinded by his lifelong crush, he was realizing something:
Eddie loved you.
Not just as the mother of his child, or as a platonic friend, but love love. The kind he had been too blind to see back in high school, back during the days of your relationship.
He hated himself now. He had fucked up more than was even fathomable. He had thrown you away, for Chrissy. You were so much better than Chrissy in every way. Prettier, smarter, funnier, kinder. And you had treated him well.
Eddie dwelled on it for months. He grabbed his mail from the mailbox as he headed into his trailer one day, flipping through the various bills and junk mail - until he stopped at one with your name on it.
He dropped the other pieces of mail in his rush to open that one. He nearly ripped it in half getting it open, and as he pulled out the card inside, his blood ran cold.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. and Mrs Harrington.
It was too late.
tags
@ali-r3n @crispystarfishhottub
#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson imagine#steve harrington imagine#joseph quinn#joseph quinn smut#joseph quinn x reader#joe keery#joe keery x reader#eddie munson x you#steve harrington x you#eddie munson oneshot#steve harrington oneshot#eddie munson one shot#steve harrington one shot#eddie munson x fem! reader#steve harrington x fem! reader#eddie munson x female reader#steve harrington x female reader#eddie stranger things#steve stranger things#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#steve harrington x y/n#eddie munson fanfic
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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]
in holy matriphony ch.4 in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)
ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.
ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s
ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!
ᰔ chapter. 4/x
ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)
a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((
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“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”
You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue.
Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.
“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders.
The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.
You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.
But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.
It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.
“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”
You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”
“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”
You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”
“Who are you married to?” she asks.
“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”
She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”
You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”
“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”
You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.
Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.
“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.
You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.
The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.
Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.
When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.
The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”
“Card.”
Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”
The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”
The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.
“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.
You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.
“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.
“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”
“Yeah,” you say.
“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.
“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”
You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.
And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”
Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”
“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”
She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”
You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them.
“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.
She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.
You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.
When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.
The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied.
The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.
It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.
Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.
With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you.
Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?
The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.
Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come.
You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed.
But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?
By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.
Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too.
There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.
i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D
A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.
The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that.
The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.
You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.
On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.
Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes.
You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict.
There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—
A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.
You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day.
You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.
“I—” you stutter.
He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.
“y/n,” he says, “let go.”
“No,” you say stubbornly.
He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”
“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”
He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly.
“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”
He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.”
You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them.
“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute.
You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together.
You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”
“Huh. I see,” he says.
Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.
“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”
You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.
“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”
You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”
He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path.
“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”
“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”
You roll your eyes and sigh.
Another awkward silence.
“Can I ask you a question?” you say.
“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy.
“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”
He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side.
“Just answer me.”
He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”
You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.
“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds.
You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place.
“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”
A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.
“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”
You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.
He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”
You blink up at him with no commentary to add.
He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one.
He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.
You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight.
He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.
The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.
“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.
His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”
Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too.
“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.
“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”
“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.
He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”
Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.
You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his.
“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”
You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too.
You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it.
“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•
“Sign right here for me, sir.”
You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.
Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.
The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.
The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.
“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around.
Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.
“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”
“Huh?”
“What’s her room number?” he asks you.
“Y-You wanna go see her??”
“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”
You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”
“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”
You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.
“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight.
“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.
Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”
“Oh, no, she’s my–”
“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason.
Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.
Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.
Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now.
“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.
“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt.
Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”
The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”
Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm.
Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.
You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face.
“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.
“I’m not a manwhor–”
“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”
He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”
“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s true.”
He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”
You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”
“What? I’m not always rude to you.”
“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.
“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.”
“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.
“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.
“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat.
You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.
“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.
“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.
“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”
Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”
The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”
You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”
The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”
Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”
The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.
You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.
“What?” you snap at him.
“Are you doing okay?”
“Just fine, thanks.”
“Are you sure?”
“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”
His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you.
“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.
You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”
You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.
Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.
“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”
Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.
“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.
You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”
Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”
You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.
She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”
Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”
Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”
Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”
“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”
“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”
“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”
Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”
“With the lemon tree!”
“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”
“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.
There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.
“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.
He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.
“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”
Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.
“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.
And it knocks the wind out of you.
It drops your heart to the center of the earth.
The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.
Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days.
“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”
A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.
It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.
Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world.
That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore.
No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.
In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.
And that’s why it hurts.
Because it’s all fake.
It’s phony.
It’s not real.
This arrangement you have with Gojo.
And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.
Not in the way she believes there will be.
Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.
Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.
“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.
You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.
Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.
“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”
You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.
With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.
It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.
He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet.
A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.
“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry.
He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”
You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”
“y/n,” he tried to convince you.
You finally look up at him. “Please.”
He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,
“Okay.”
.
.
.
.
.
[end of chapter 4]
a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0
➸ take me to chapter five!
note: please do not ask me for updates or when i will next update (read rules)
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#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x reader angst#jjk gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru fluff#smut#fluff#angst#gojo satoru fanfiction#gojo x you#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk series#romance#fake dating#fake marriage#neighbors au#ongoing series#humor#slow burn#mutual pining#enemies to lovers#gojo x reader series
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wait. forgort I was planning on writing but feel indecisive
#hm i should make an original post tag#no skip option. pick one or die curious about who's winning#calling it triangulation of desire in honor of this one destiel mutual's post that lives rent free in my head#well it's two different posts. about fic ideas of theirs. the wording got mixed up in my mind but the point is basically#guy jealous of seeing other guy with a woman (that he thinks he desires). and slowly realizing it's not the woman he wants#(well the destiel mutual's is more like. guy joining in thinking he wants the woman but only paying attention to the other guy.)#but anyway. you get it. weird not-throuple where the guys are obsessed with each other and act on that through the woman#who may or may not also have a weird relationship towards both#.... ok now i need to add some propaganda for the others#old men qpr is. thee first one i started. and probably the one with the potential for being longest. and most lighthearted.#just two old enemies making peace and living together and hiding from the government (inquisitors)#and maybe bickering about training the chosen one#space smut is. well. what else can i say.#what if the jedi found out about sidious's identity and plan before rots even started#by the power of the one guy who knows all that has a giant obsession with obi-wan and reasons to want sidious dead#is it out of character for him to give up power for the sake of revenge? who knows. i think not.#<- guy who loves giving this guy complex feelings about seeking/having power#anyways. hewwp. pick for me
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maybe in another universe; m |jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 6.2k
tropes: idol!jungkook, angst, childhood friends, exes to lovers?, smut
rating: 18+
warnings: protected sex, making out, groping, fingering, jk is saur in love <3, oc is an overthinker, they're v needy, he loves watching her cum <3, giggly kisses, jk wants to hit it raw so bad 👉🏼👈🏼, one (1) boob squeeze i think, oc scratches his back 🤭
summary: jungkook is tipsy as he wanders the streets of seoul, and still, you're all he can think about.
a/n: it's bestie jk's bday!!! so here's a little fic n i swear i was gonna post smth fluffy but...here we are!!!!! sorry not sorry </3 love u
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
“I need you.”
“What?”
“I miss you so bad.”
“Are you drunk?”
“I love you. So much. It kinda hurts.”
“Jungkook.”
Silence. Except for the faint noises of cars passing by.
You hear a little sigh. “Missed hearing you say my name.”
Your fingers clasp tighter around your phone. “Why’d you call?” It’s 2 a. m., and the only reason you answered is because you were worried. This is the first time he’s called since the breakup.
“Just ‘cause,” he mumbles. You can hear the pout he’s speaking with. “We have a one week break from tour and I came back to Korea. Missed home and Mum, and you.”
“You’re in Busan, then?”
“Seoul.”
He’s here. So close.
You shake your head. Take a steady breath to calm your giddy heart. You shouldn’t care.
“Was at my parents’ for two...three days.” After a short pause, he continues, “Been wanting to talk to you all day long, but I didn’t have enough courage.”
“I mean...” You slump back against the couch, your head falling back. “There isn’t anything for us to talk about.”
“No?” he asks, confused. “I’ve got so much to say, though.”
“I meant, like, we shouldn’t be talking. At all. ‘Cause we’re – we’re done.” You thought you were. You thought you made it clear when you broke up with him.
“Haven’t you missed me at all?” He sounds both accusing and sad, and you think your heart breaks a little. “I think about you constantly,” Jungkook whispers, his confession carrying a soft hopelessness through the phone.
You sit up straight. “How much did you drink?”
“Hmm, not much,” he answers. “I’m not drunk!” he quickly adds. “Just needed some alcohol to have enough courage to call you.”
“You drank because of me?”
“You’ve never done this?”
“I’d like to say it wasn’t because of you.”
“So... you’ve been thinking about me too?” he asks tentatively.
You close your eyes. “Is this a conversation we should be having?”
Jungkook heaves a defeated sigh. With your eyes closed, you can almost picture him standing outside, the chill of the night air mixing with his feelings of loneliness. Maybe he’s pacing, or just staring into the distance, eyes weary with a faint trace of frustration mixed with vulnerability etched on his face.
“You can hang up if you want. I just hoped we could talk a bit. I’ve been – I’ve been feeling lonely and a little sad, and I couldn’t get you out of my head,” he babbles. “I’m sorry if you don’t wanna talk.”
You wish you could be cruel – could be a cynic and just hang up. But you can’t. He is tipsy and emotional, and you still love him too much.
“No, it’s fine.” If only he knew how much you’ve been wanting to hear his voice again. “I didn’t expect a call like this tonight, that’s all,” you add, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Are you on your way home?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”
“You have the dorm all to yourself?”
“The dorm? Ah, yes, I was the only one to fly back to Korea. The others stayed in the US.”
You hug your knees with one arm.
“Why are you still up so late?” Jungkook asks, as if he isn’t the one roaming around, tipsy and a bit of a heartbroken mess, in the city in the middle of the night. He does all that and yet worries about you.
“I was just eating.” Your eyes drift to the remnants of food in front of you. “And watching a drama.” The big screen is on mute. You hurriedly searched for the remote to turn off the sound once you saw the caller’s name.
“With your mum?”
“No, she’s at the studio. I think she’s finishing up some songs,” you say. Your mum left sometime in the evening, saying she’d had a sudden spark of inspiration and needed to go to the company. You bet she won’t come home until 4 a.m. “I couldn’t sleep and was craving some tteokbokki, so...”
“From the restaurant at Gangnam?”
A soft, hesitant smile blossoms on your face. “They make it the most delicious.”
He mutters a wistful sound. “I haven’t had it in so long.”
Your fingertips gently tap against your knees in a slow rhythm. “You should definitely have it before you leave again.”
“With you?” Just two words and yet they’re filled with so much innocent hope.
Your fingers halt.
“Oh?”
“Would you not want to see me?”
“I’m not sure if we should.”
“But do you want to?” He’s met with silence from your side. “You were one of the reasons I really wanted to come back to Korea.”
“But what if I don’t want to meet up?”
“Then don’t open the door.”
“I don’t...What door?”
“Your door,” he answers conversationally.
You hurriedly scramble to your feet and walk to the door. “You’re here?” The screen on the intercom shows Jungkook, holding up his phone against his ear and patiently waiting.
“You watching me?” Jungkook teases, playfully cocking his head to the side as he stares directly into the camera.
“Oh.” You take shy step back. Blood rushes to your cheeks.
“Open the door for me? Please?”
You don’t think it’s a good idea to let Jungkook in. But his doe eyes. His pleading doe eyes. They do it for you.
You buzz him in and, while you wait for him, you try to calm your racing heart.
When the elevator doors open and Jungkook steps out, you’re struck by the sight of him after months apart. You take in every detail: his tousled hair, his tired but still striking eyes, the way the light catches the contours of his face. He looks so handsome, so achingly familiar. You’re drinking him in with your eyes, unable to believe he’s actually here.
“I thought you were heading to the dorm,” you say as Jungkook steps out of the elevator.
“I didn’t say that.” A pout graces his face.
He said he was heading home.
“I missed you,” Jungkook says, and suddenly you become awfully aware of the situation unfolding before you. You have to blink twice to make sure you’re not just picturing a hologram of Jungkook in your apartment. This time, he is real. Not a figment of your imagination.
“Me too,” you admit with a heavy heart.
A lopsided, sorrowful grin appears on his mouth. “Can’t bring yourself to say it back?”
“Jungkook, you-” You shake your head, sighing as your scramble for words. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
It’s the middle of the night, and upon answering a call from Jungkook, he stands right in front of you – just like in the dreams you secretly have at night when you’re feeling lonely again. It shouldn’t be this easy. It really shouldn’t be this easy for him to say these things and fall back into a natural pattern with you when you’ve been crying yourself to sleep at night, wishing your love for him would die.
And yet, here you are, with dangerous words at the tip of your tongue, barely resisting the intense urge of your heart to scream how much it has been wanting him back.
“But let’s not – let's not just stand here.” You point to the slippers next to him. “Take off your shoes and I’ll...I dunno, put on a movie?” You go back into the living room as Jungkook hangs up his coat and follows you.
“Oh, that looks delicious,” Jungkook exclaims when he spots the leftover tteokbokki on the coffee table.
“I can heat it up for you, if you want,” you offer. Judging by the way his tongue wets his bottom lip, it’s clear he’d appreciate that.
Jungkook trails behind you into the kitchen.
“So, watchu been up to?” He leans his forearms on the counter, watching you from across the island as you put the tteokbokki into the microwave.
He’s been in this kitchen countless times before. He’s made you tea when you were sick, prepared hot chocolate when you needed comfort, and knew exactly where to find the snack stash for movie nights. He’s even prepared breakfast for you and your mum on some mornings. But tonight, he can’t shake the feeling of being a stranger here. The memories of those moments feel distant, like a blurry movie he watched when he was too young to fully remember, leaving him with only a vague sense of familiarity.
“Just, you know, studying, working. The usual.” You turn to him, mimicking his position on the other side of the counter.
“So much on your plate that you couldn’t reply to my messages?”
His gaze is intense and shameless, and you look away.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to reply to messages sent by your ex.” You turn around, leaning your back against the counter. “What am I supposed to text back when you tell me that you miss me?”
“Hey, just last week I asked how you were doing. You could’ve replied to that one.” You can sense the sulkiness in his voice, mingled with a touch of light-heartedness, but you don’t turn to face him.
Jungkook closes the distance between you.
“You don’t want me in your life anymore? Like, at all?”
Your engulfed by his scent as he stands next to you, struggling to form a proper answer as you hesitantly peer into his face.
The microwave dings, and you breathe again.
“When was the last time you had this?” You place the plate in front of him and hand him the chopsticks.
“It’s been a few months. Before the tour started, I was dieting, so, maybe 5 months?” Jungkook doesn’t notice the roll of your eyes when he mentions dieting, his attention focused on the hot tteokbokki between his chopsticks. “Mhmmm.” He closes his eyes tightly, tipping his head back as he tastes the food on his tongue. “So good.”
“Feels good to have a bit of home again before you leave?”
Jungkook nods vigorously, his eyebrows scrunched up as he eats more.
You find yourself smiling, only realising it when Jungkook mirrors your grin. A giddy thrill and a soft ache twist together inside you like a secret exposed to the light. Unable to bear the eye contact, you look away, hiding your smile by biting your bottom lip.
You notice Jungkook offering you a piece of tteokbokki in your peripheral vision. “No, thanks. I’m really full. I had a lot.” You rub your belly.
“You always used to steal bites of mine, even when you were full.”
“I used to steal your dessert. Not dinner,” you correct him. “I can never have enough dessert.” You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “But that was when things were... different.”
Jungkook’s playful expression fades slightly. He chews slowly, contemplating your words. “Does it have to be that different?”
A delicate confession that hangs heavily in the air.
The warmth in your chest tightens, and you’re reminded again. Reminded of the reality you’ve both been trying to avoid – more so you than Jungkook.
“Maybe it does,” you reply, giving him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Things change, people change.”
The weight of your words settles over both of you like a cold shadow.
Jungkook’s eyes search yours, as if trying to find a crack in the wall you’ve put up. “But what if some things don’t have to change? What if...some things are worth holding on to?”
So much longing and regret in his words, his eyes, his heart – he is blue everywhere.
“It’s not that simple, Jungkook.” The ache in your voice betrays the calm you’re trying to maintain. “We can’t just go back to how things were.”
He steps closer, and his familiar scent surrounds you again, making it so hard to act rationally when so many past memories swirl in your mind.
“I know we can’t go back. But I don’t want to lose you completely. Can’t we find a way to be something else? Something that works?”
The idea of keeping him in your life, even in a different way, tugs at you, but you know the danger in that. You know how easily the lines could blur again, how much harder it would be to protect your heart.
That reminds you, there are still pieces of Jungkook left in your room; t-shirts and sweatshirts scattered in your wardrobe.
Taking a deep breath, you push off the counter. “Before I forget, there are still some of your things in my bedroom.”
You catch the sudden confusion in Jungkook’s eyes, but you don’t let it deter you as you pad into your room.
“It’s just a few of your shirts. I’ve been meaning to give them back to you, but uh, I wasn’t sure how to approach you because I didn’t want to contact you, but anyways.” You grab the neatly folded pile of clothes from the back of your wardrobe. “Now you’re here, so.” You hold the pile out to him.
He regards his forgotten clothes with a slight raise of his brow. His hands don’t move to take them.
“They’re old anyway,” he says. “I don’t need them. Just throw them out.”
You hesitate, holding the pile tightly.
You won’t throw them out. He knows that too.
“Fine,” you shrug nonchalantly, storing his clothes back into your wardrobe. They sit there, a constant reminder that he still has a place in your life, even when he shouldn’t. Haunting every little corner that still belongs to him. But you’re just as guilty, allowing him to do so.
When you turn around again, you see the loaded expression on his face, and your immediate response is to ignore it – redirect his attention before he starts digging up old feelings, past memories, and forgotten promises that will only make you doubt the walls you’ve tried to put between you.
“I think you still have some tteokbokki left-”
“___.” Jungkook interrupts you, grabbing your hand. You feel the warmth of his skin, and you’re mortified and comforted at the same time. “I thought we would always speak comfortably with each other. No hiding, no walls – just the truth.”
“That was before the breakup,” you counter, barely able to hold his gaze. “There is no we anymore.”
“How can you say that when our whole lives have been intertwined? We can’t just pretend it all meant nothing, erase everything.”
“Being with me is an inconvenience for you, Jungkook.”
“Is that why you broke up?”
Ah, right. You never told him the real reason.
The night when you broke up with Jungkook was a bit chaotic.
You hadn’t planned on ending the relationship. Threads of worry had plagued you for some time, and you had been considering breaking up with him, but you never had the courage. You loved him, still do. And losing the one person you’ve trusted since childhood was terrifying.
But that night, while waiting for Jungkook at your favourite convenience store, you grew impatient. Waited for so long that you started eating ramyeon without him. As you sat by the window, gazing at the night sky, you decided that tonight you would break up.
Jungkook had always been busy, and you never minded it. Didn’t even mind it as you were eating ramyeon while pondering how to tell Jungkook. But Jungkook had so many things on his plate, so many worries, and you didn’t want to make his life more complicated by being his girlfriend. He tried so hard to always respond to your texts, tried to call at reasonable times instead of the middle of the night after practise, and promised to meet you at times other than when the sun had long fallen.
Jungkook needed to prioritise things that were more important to him.
And knowing his selfish tendencies, you needed to help him a little.
“Part of it, yeah,” you answer.
Jungkook doesn’t hesitate when he says, “You’re worth the inconvenience.”
You think he holds your hand a little tighter, but maybe you imagined it.
“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and that night, I – I didn’t know if I would ever feel okay again.”
Jungkook was so used to you giving in. Was so selfishly used to having you whenever he wanted, that once you finally pulled away, his world had lost its gravitational pull. Suddenly, he was left adrift, circling aimlessly like a planet that had lost its orbit.
“I still don’t know. I miss you every night and keep wondering how to move on, but I’m not sure if that will ever happen. How do you move on from a love like ours?”
He’s known you for almost his entire life, and having you completely erased from his life felt like something he could never get over. Jungkook went a little insane. Everyone around him noticed his change in behaviour, but he pretended to be clueless, perhaps as a foolish act of hoping that you might return, change your mind, want him again, and never leave. It’s the hopeless romantic in Jungkook that makes him cling to shreds of hope for a better ending – a happy ending.
And maybe it’s not so hopeless after all, he thinks, as he watches your eyes sparkle with gentle love when you meet his gaze.
“Have you never thought about calling me?” he asks. “Never wanted to text back?”
“I almost do every night.”
“What makes you hesitate?” Jungkook steps closer, and it’s so dangerous, but you can’t keep pretending you don’t want him.
Which is why you whisper your next words, staring down at the small space retaining between your bodies.
“Because I know that I’d forgive and not fight.” You want to force your eyes back to him, but can’t. “It’s not like I wanted to break up. I just did it because I thought it was the wisest decision for us.”
“___.” It’s just a soft murmur of your name, slipping off his tongue with more love than it should, and it sends your heart fluttering far too easily. His voice draws your gaze up to him, and you’re met with eyes brimming with pure yearning and raw adoration. You never forgot how he looked at you, but you did underestimate the intense pull of his gaze – how it stirs something deep within you, even now.
“I thought it was for the better, but...” You trail off, lost in his eyes, forgetting what you were trying to explain and deny. Because what does it matter? How does anything matter when he’s here – when he’s here and not a single bit of his love for you has wavered?
Jungkook cups your cheek with his free hand. It pulls you closer to him. His thumb brushes gently across your skin, and the world outside of this moment blurs into insignificance.
You can feel your resolve crumbling, the walls you’ve built around your heart starting to fracture. It’s terrifying and comforting all at once, the way he’s always had this power over you – the way he can unravel you with just a look, a touch, a simple word.
“I don’t want to let you go,” Jungkook says, his voice tight with emotion. His hand remains on your cheek, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.
“Neither do I,” you confess, barely believing your own words. But voicing it out loud seems to untangle something within you that had been knotted and confused for so long.
Jungkook’s eyes search yours, making sure he heard you right, that this moment is real and not just another dream he’s afraid of waking up from. His thumb stills on your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin, grounding you, anchoring you.
“Is this okay?” He leans in the slightest bit.
You nod, muttering a small “Yeah” as your gaze lingers on his sparkling eyes, the soft curve of his nose, the tiny mole beneath his lip – everything that reminds you of longing, comfort and the feeling of home.
The moment his mouth presses against yours, you feel a surge of warmth. It’s tender and soft, his mouth brushing against yours with a mix of hesitance and longing. As the kiss deepens it becomes more fervent, more urgent, as if he’s trying to convey everything he’s been holding back.
Your lips move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, and the touch of his tongue sends shivers down your spine. There’s a slight pressure as he cups your face, wanting you closer, while his other hand slides down your back, settling on your waist.
“I hope you know that I didn’t come here with these intentions.” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, his voice husky. But you guide him towards your bed.
“I know. It’s okay.” You straddle his lap. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to.”
Jungkook’s hands are eager and exploratory, skimming over your shoulders, your back, and down to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. His chin rests in the crook of your neck as he breathes in deeply.
“You don’t know how much I missed you,” he mumbles, nose tickling your neck as he snuggles closer to you. “You missed me too, right?” he speaks with an innocent pout on his lips that you don’t even need to see – you know it’s there.
“Of course I did. Why would you think otherwise?” You run your fingers through his silky hair, which is a comfort for both you and him.
“I think I just need to hear you say it.”
He draws back, and a soft smile touches your lips as you see the achingly tortured expression contorting his face – traces of love and relief at having you so close, right where he wants you.
“I missed you.” You keep your eyes on him.
“Again,” he urges softly.
“I missed you.”
Your fingers gently curl around his face.
Jungkook’s lips brush against yours in a fleeting kiss. His forehead falls against yours as your words sink into him, straight to his heart.
“One more time? Please?”
A giggle slips out of you. “I missed you, Jungkook.”
Your laugh dies in your throat when he crashes his lips against yours, more forceful and passionate this time, pulling you so close to him, you feel everything.
Your hips move on their own, instinctively grinding against his lap. He’s hard and the bulge is right where you’re craving him the most. You kiss turns sloppy and needy and it’s filled with heavy breathing.
Jungkook’s hands are all over you. His touches leave tingling sparks everywhere. You’ve gone months without him, and every little brush of his finger makes you lose your mind. Especially when his hand dips into the front of your tiny shorts, lightly grazing the pad of his finger against your panties and making you twitch when he brushes over your clit. You break the kiss, inhaling sharply.
“I wanna make you feel good.” His words are hushed, a slight tremor tinging his voice. His fingers disappear into your panties, rubbing his middle finger along your folds and spreading your wetness. Jungkook is tender as he moves his finger, and you wish you could see him playing with you, watch him be so soft with you because he loves treating you with delicate care, and you love feeling like you’re everything to him.
Your hips buck as he circles your aching clit. You start whine softly as Jungkook applies a little more pressure, his steady, deliberate movements intensifying the sensations as he continues to rub your sensitive spot.
“You like it?” His gaze fixed intently on your reactions to his touches. His doe eyes drink up every nuance of your face and body – each twitch, shudder, and breath. His expression brightens with a trace of satisfaction.
“Feels good,” you reply shakily.
He has you making his fingers all sticky and wet. As Jungkook slowly teases your hole, drawing tiny circles and ever so slightly dipping the tip of his finger inside, your eyes close and your breath catches while you anticipate the familiar stretch of his finger.
Jungkook slides two fingers inside you, and your brows furrow as you feel them burying deep within your pussy. He moves them slowly, each stroke eliciting soft, breathy moans from you. The gradual, teasing rhythm amplifies your pleasure, and with each tender push, your senses heighten, making you ache for more.
“Move your finger like – oh. That’s right. Don’t stop, please.”
His fingers brush against your sweet spot continuously, making you grip his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin as you try to anchor yourself and try to tame the soft trembles of your body as the pleasure reaches you everywhere.
Jungkook holds you close to him by having his hand placed firmly on the small of your back. He keeps you perched on his lap while you lose yourself in the feeling.
As the pleasure builds, you find yourself melting into him, whimpering his name in a gentle hush. The soft sounds of your voice blends with the rhythmic movements of his fingers.
Jungkook feels you tightening around him. He doesn’t increase his pace but keeps his steady pattern going, exactly how he knows you like it. You hide your face on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the fast-approaching high. Your muffled noises sharply contrasting with the squelching sounds coming your shorts.
“Let me see you,” Jungkook gently requests, tugging gingerly at your shirt to draw you back. It’s just a delicate tug, but it’s enough to pull you away from him. You’re too immersed by the intense feelings enveloping you to fully respond.
He catches the exact moment when your moan gets caught in your throat, your lashes flutter shut, and the sweetest glow settles on your face as you reach your climax.
He doesn’t tease you, instead, he lets you revel in the wave of euphoria that pulses through you, your thighs quivering as you gradually come down from your high. As our breath steadies, your foreheads touch, and you exhale heavily through your nose, tickling Jungkook’s face.
He smiles. His eyes reflect a deep satisfaction, because you’re happy and that’s enough.
Jungkook’s hands travel to your sides and he slowly strokes his palms up and down. Your body is warm and shaky and he wants to hold you forever.
“Is it okay that I want more?”
You nod, kiss him, probably a little deliriously, answering, “I want it just as much.”
Your hand glides under his sweater, fingers tracing the contours of his toned stomach. Jungkook wastes no a time pulling the sweater over his head, tossing it carelessly behind you. He helps you shimmy out of your shorts, discarding your clothes in a hasty rush, stealing giggly kisses between each movement, because you need to feel. He playfully comments on how cute your panties are. His finger lazily skims over the little pink ribbon before the material sinks slips down your legs and pools around your feet in a small heap. You giggle shyly.
Just as you want to sink onto your knees, Jungkook grabs you by the elbows, not letting you.
“Want you on the bed, ___. I need to feel you,” he says, voice strained with desperate need. Jungkook leads you onto the bed, gently laying you down. Your head sinks into the soft pillows. He spreads your legs, settling himself comfortably between them.
Your hair is fanned around your head against the pillow. Jungkook can’t help but stare, utterly captivated. He brushes a few strands away from your face, his fingertips lingering as if memorising every curve. His gaze holds a quiet affection, mingled with a sense of awe, like he is seeing you for the first time and falling for you all over again.
A curse slips his mouth as she stared down at your bare pussy, glistening and shining just for him, looking so pretty only for his eyes. For a few seconds, he allows himself to rub his tip over your wet folds. Just gentle brushes, nothing more. You don’t stop him, letting him play a little.
Jungkook is painfully hard, and he dares to slide his tip further down to tease your hole a little. His stare is fixed downcast while he pokes his cheek with his tongue to distract himself from the urge to push himself all the way as he minimally dips his head inside. Jungkook’s so sensitive, he thinks he could cum like this. He’d go insane if he slipped his cock into without protection. He’s let his mind wander to this fantasy a few times and he so desperately wants to feel all of you with no barrier, especially after not having you for so long, but you both have to be careful.
Someday, when you’re older, Jungkook thinks. When he can love you endlessly without always having to consider the consequences.
“Jungkook.” You pull him back to reality, and a faint pink flush colours his face.
He bends over and opens your nightstand drawer, searching for a condom. His fingers brush against several plastic foil packages, and he pauses, lost in thought. He thinks back to the last time he was over at yours. How many were left in the drawer then? Is his mind playing tricks on him, or were there more condoms the last time he was here?
While Jungkook’s mind drifts to you every night his head falls against the pillow in a different city each night – have you been letting other boys warm your bed?
You say his name again, forcing him out of his racing thoughts once more, this time with a note of impatience.
Jungkook tears open the wrapper, tosses it away along with his doubts, and focuses on you again. You chose him, and for now, that’s all that matters to him.
He rolls it down his length. Your eyes fixate on the slow connection of your bodies. Once he’s fully inside, a shaky whimper escapes your throat, trembling as it leaves you. Jungkook begins to move his hips with deliberate thrusts, and your head rolls back, eyes drifting to the ceiling as Jungkook finds his pace.
“You’re so pretty.” His eyes roam over your naked figure, so much adoration and maybe a hint of obsession hiding in them. The white covers beneath you are messy and chaotic, and you lie on top of them like a delicate masterpiece, a striking contrast to the chaos of the bed. The soft light casts a warm glow on your skin, highlighting every curve and contour. The soft swells of your boobs move with every thrust and he enjoys the sight of it.
You grow a little shy beneath his intense gaze. You turn your head and cover your face with your arm.
Jungkook lowers himself, clicking his tongue as he gently pulls your arm away. “Don’t.” His grip is firm on your wrist and he holds it against the covers, preventing you from hiding again. However, his hold on your chin is careful as he guides your gaze back to him. Fingers slightly caressing your skin. “I love everything about you, baby.” His words coax a small smile from you, which he acknowledges with an approving nod and a smile of his own. “You don’t need to hide from me.”
“It’s just been a while.” You bite your lip. The shyness still lingers, like spotting your crush in a crowded room and instinctively hiding, feeling all giddy inside.
Jungkook slows a little, buried so deep inside you, but his movements are precise, hitting the spot that makes your tummy clench.
“I know,” he says softly, tracing his thumb over your lip to free it from your clenched teeth. He plants a little kiss on your mouth, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip to soothe the ache you’ve caused yourself. “I don’t think I’ll last long,” Jungkook admits as his round nose brushes your cheek. You’re so wet and snug around him that he has to focus intently to keep from coming right away. You’re too good, too pretty, occupying every corner of his mind. “Missed you so much. You don’t even know.”
Jungkook’s head falls into the crook of your shoulder. His moans grow a little louder as he moves faster again. He can’t help himself. Feels too good. You wrap your legs around him, allowing him to bury himself even deeper. You pull him closer, throwing your arms around him to have him as close to you as possible while Jungkook repeatedly tells you how much he has missed you and loves you, how he never wants to let go of you and keep you to himself forever. How you are meant for him just as much he is meant for you.
Jungkook sneaks one hand between your bodies and grasps your breast. Keeps a firm squeeze around your flesh while your bed rhythmically hits the wall. All the tender murmurs and quiet gasps of your love had been missing from your room for so long that you began to doubt if Jungkook would ever again fill your bed with his warmth and whispers.
You feel the heat rising on your skin, growing with each passing second, and you can sense it on Jungkook’s body too. His back is hot, slightly slick with a sheen of sweat, and you can’t resist digging your nails into his muscled shoulders, leaving chaotic, frantic lines across his skin. A whine, which you try to suppress, tumbles from your lips as the tingling sensation spreads through you.
Jungkook pulls back, his movements weary yet determined, and peers at you through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Jungkook,” you mumble weakly, and he nods, because he knows.
With a gentle but firm motion, Jungkook shifts, guiding you both onto your sides. He slips an arm beneath your waist, holding you close to his chest as he continues to move inside you. The new position allows him to thrust deeper, and you gasp. His other hand slides down your thigh, hitching your leg over his hip to open you up further.
The intimacy of the position, with your bodies so close and intertwined, makes everything feel more intense, more personal. As you move together, your eyes lock. You see in his eyes the reflection of your own emotions, a mirror of longing, affection.
Tears begin to well up in your eyes, not just from the overwhelming pleasure, but from the sheer depth of the moment, the intimacy of it all, and how much you’ve missed him.
He notices the tears glistening in your eyes. “Baby,” he breathes. “Are those tears for me?”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’m not letting you leave me again.” It’s a promise wrapped in desire. “That’ll never happen again.”
His hand on your waist grips you tighter, and his thrusts become more urgent until you’re both teetering on the edge.
Jungkook’s hips stutter as he loses control, and with one final, deep thrust, he’s all the way inside you, spilling into the condom with a low groan. At the same time, you reach your peak, your body clenching tightly around his length, breathy puffs escaping your lips as the intense tremors take over. Jungkook’s holds you steady through all of it.
He stays inside you, savouring the warmth and closeness for a few more moments before carefully pulling out. He presses soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, his breath still uneven as you both come down from the high.
Later, after Jungkook asked if it’s okay to stay – just as you had been plagued by the thought that he might want to leave, and sighed in relief upon realising you were on the same page, lovesick and obsessed after finding each other again – and after he asked if he could borrow one of his old t-shirts and you giggled, saying they are his anyway (they are more yours than his and you both know it), you’re now cuddled up in bed with your head on his chest, right on top of his heart where you belong.
“Forgot how comfy your bed is.” He nuzzles deeper into the mattress, wriggling beneath you.
“You should visit more often, then.”
Jungkook sniffs a surprised laugh at your flirty remark.
“I should, huh?” He brushes his knuckles over your back. “After the tour, I’ll make sure to drop by as often as possible,” he says. “So much that you might get sick of me.”
You smile. Banter and flirt and giggle with him a bit more before you both drift off to sleep.
But you wonder, every time your eyes flutter open in the dark, is it actually this easy to fall back into normality?
Pretend the last few months didn’t happen and continue as you had never been apart?
Questions swirl in your head all night long, but the answer to your doubts lies right beside you. Unlike you, he isn’t awake, grappling with what’s right and wrong – he’s softly sleeping, peacefully unconscious of your turmoil.
It makes you think, is it really this simple and you’re just too much? Or is it all a mess, and you’re the only one trying to make sense of it?
Maybe you had it all wrong.
And you wonder, the next morning, are you really that surprised to find the spot next to you empty?
#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook scenario#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook#bts smut#bts x reader#bts scenario#bts fanfiction
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hot for teacher
chapter two previous


pairing: shouta aizawa x f!reader
synopsis: You’re not expecting your day to fall to pieces at 8:21 a.m., but life hasn’t really been going your way lately. A string of lackluster dates, followed by two dead vibrators (with missing cords!), and the only outlet left for your mounting sexual frustration—the smut blog you diligently update—has been discovered by the one person you never wanted to find it: fellow teacher Shouta Aizawa. Who might just be the inspiration behind most of the fantasies you post about.
chapter cws: phone sex -> video call sex, soft dom aizawa being soft as hell, reader being vulnerable on main and hating it, gratuitous use of pet names, dirty talk, praise kink on crack, D/s vibes but never explicitly said, he talks you through it, reader referred to as girl once
word count: 2.2k
aizawa: You’re a good writer.
aizawa: This is Shouta, by the way. Shouta Aizawa, I mean. I suppose I should have started with that.
The compliment cracks your face into a wide, goofy grin that the rest of his texts only magnifies. He's a little clumsy with this form of media, and the thought softens the edge of anxiety.
You still can't wrap your head around the fact that Shouta fucking Aizawa not only found your blog, but was actually maybe into it?
You’ve mostly known him on the periphery, a part of the school’s landscape but never someone you felt comfortable becoming casual friends with. A crush of your magnitude already made talking to him difficult enough.
Which is probably best to not remind yourself of that fact before doing whatever the fuck it is you're doing with Aizawa.
The memory of fingers rubbing circles into your palm pops into your head. His touch had instantly calmed the riot of thoughts in your head.
You stare down at your phone. Thank you is not enough to say, and yet you have no idea what else to add. You shake your head. You’re a grown adult, for fuck’s sake. Surely you can respond to a text message.
aizawa: Can I call you?
You throw your phone across your bed. One of your cats, Bao Bao, raises his head to glare at you.
"Sorry, baby." You offer conciliatory scritches. He consents while your phone buzzes from the corner of the bed.
You pick it up with far more trepidation than necessary.
"Hi." You voices sounds wild to you, all high pitched and breathy with your heart thundering so hard in your ears you barely hear him say hello back. "How are you?"
You punch a fist into the bed sheets. How are you? Fucking seriously?
"Good. Are you nervous?"
You can't help but sigh. Clocked it in one. "Unbelievably."
A pause.
"Because it's me?"
"No, it's not that." You bite your lip. "I've just..."
It’s not like you’re inexperienced. You’ve fucked plenty of guys, but never really quite enjoyed having sex with any of them, which led to you churning out fantasies online.
"I've never really done any of the things I actually like with the people I've slept with. I guess I'm worried I'll be...bad, or something."
"Do you often think about your partner's experience over your own?"
This conversation is sounding more like a clinical psychologist appointment then a get-to-know-your-fuck-buddy chat.
A horrible thought occurs to you.
What if you're some kind of experiment to him? A curiosity? Rumi might know him from his college days and vouch for him, but you don't know shit about the guy.
"You know I can hear your brain whirring through the phone?"
"Fuck." You exhale out a laugh. "I'm sorry. I'm just finally realizing that I don't actually know what your intentions are. And men tend to be..."
"Manipulative pieces of shit?" he offers.
"Yeah. Something like that."
"I'm sorry. My 20 questions routine probably isn't helping."
You smile softly. "That and my anxiety. Always pushing forward the worst possible thought with little to no evidence. You're right, though. I'm usually in my head when I'm with someone. Can never get out of it long enough to actually enjoy myself."
He hums, considering. "What would help you not think so much?"
"Talking usually helps. I have a thing for nice voices."
"Do you like mine?" You swear you hear a touch of apprehension in his tone.
"Yeah," you say. "It's deep and kind of... I don't know, rumbley?"
"Rumbley," he repeats, chuckling. "I've never heard that before."
"It's a good thing, I swear."
"As long as you like it."
You have to strongly fight the desire to kick your feet up and down.
Keep it together.
Aizawa starts to speak again. "I know this is just words right now, but I want you to feel comfortable enough with me so you can tell me what you like and don't like."
Your stomach swoops at the calm intent.
"Right. I - " You swallow. "I want that, too."
"Good." The single word dries your mouth up. “Do you like to be called anything specific?"
An image of Aizawa's hand collaring your throat flashes through your head, his mouth an inch away from your ear as he tells you to behave—
"Isn’t this, I dunno, boring to you?" You toss the question out in a pitiful attempt at deflection. This conversation is already too honest, too real, too close to exposing who you are to another person.
He pauses. “Why would this be boring to me?”
"You know. We’re not doing the typical phone sex stuff. We’re just…talking."
"And you don't think that's enough to interest me?"
It never has been before.
You shut out the pitiful answer.
"Sorry. In my head again."
He's quiet for a moment.
"You’re telling me you’re not wet just thinking about the things I want to call you when we’re together?"
Your whole body flashes hot.
"I mean—"
"Tell the truth, sweetheart."
It’s impossible not to be, you realize; just from his voice alone, your panties are already damp and sticky with your arousal.
"Yes," you admit, and you wish you could see the look on his face when he lets out a gentle groan.
"I don’t care what phone sex is supposed to be like, I just want it to be what we like."
Oh god, you weren’t counting on Shouta Aizawa being sweet.
"That was one," you say, cheeks on fire. How is this both the tamest and sexiest conversation you’ve ever had? "I like being called sweetheart. But only, like, if I’ve been good."
Admitting this makes you feel off-kilter. You’ve never had such a frank discussion about what you like in bed, but talking to him feels safe, easy, even if your whole body aches, demanding to be touched.
"Oh?" His voice shifts, a deeper register making that single sound strike deep in your gut. "And what do you like to be called when you’ve been bad?"
You’re pretty positive that if Aizawa called you his little whore you’d detonate on the spot.
"You must have—"
"I know what you’ve written. I want to know what you like."
There's a bite in his tone you recognize, a struggle to keep himself quiet.
"Are you hard?" you blurt out.
His chuckle is strained. "Have been this entire time. And you called our conversation boring."
You grin at the teasing. "Can I see?"
You want to, suddenly, with a desperation that knocks you flat. If he were here, you're pretty sure you'd fucking crawl on your knees to get to him.
"Tell me what you like to be called, and I'll consider it."
You tell him instantly. "Slut, whore, brat. You could probably call me your little bitch and I’d like it."
"Fuck." He sounds wrecked. "Are you touching yourself, sweetheart?"
The pet name washes over you like sunshine.
"Umm. No, actually. I was..."
Waiting for your permission.
You handed him the reins a while ago, you realize, as soon as you obeyed his command to tell the truth.
"What are you wearing?"
Your thoughts stumble.
"The truth, y/n." His voice is so low now it's almost a growl. "I don't give a fuck if you're in a teddy or a trash bag, I just need to know how to get you naked the fastest."
"A t-shirt and panties," you breathe out. Arousal makes your skin tingle and pulse, every intonation of his voice drawing you closer to the edge. Rubbing your thighs together does nothing to ease the ache.
"Shit. You probably look so fucking cute in your bed right now." You hear him grunt and then a drawer shut. Thinking about Aizawa slicking up his hands and fucking his fist drives another thrum of desire through you. "Spread your legs apart, baby, pretend I'm right in front of you. Can you do that?"
You can barely breathe you're so turned on. "Yes, I can do that."
"Good girl. Now pull your panties to the side. Tell me how wet you are."
Just the caress of your fingers on your hips and inner thigh is enough to make you tremble. A light buzzing fills your ears and the world drops away to just your fingertips gathering the slick at your entrance. You graze your clit and gasp.
"I'm - " You suck in a breath, trying to articulate the words. "I don't think I've ever been this wet. Fuck, you're not even here and I'm practically soaking through my fucking sheets."
A second later, a video notification comes through.
You answer and Aizawa's face appears, his stubble heavier than normal, eyes hungry.
"Knew you'd look fucking beautiful like this," he says before you have time to speak. His eyes rove over your face like he's mapping it.
You wriggle under the compliment, under the implication—had he thought of you, too, before the blog?
"You look so good," is the only thing you can think to say, but Aizawa doesn't seem to mind. His eyes crinkle into a small smile. It's one you almost wish you hadn't seen, its sincerity something so rarely turned toward you it nearly stings.
"Thanks, honey."
Oh, you're never coming back from this.
"You still want to see?"
Really, truly, never coming back after Aizawa pans down his stomach, passing over a dark happy trail that makes your mouth water, and angles his phone over his cock.
Your pussy clenches around nothing.
"ohmygodyou'rebig," comes out in one long rush.
His head falls back against his headboard. He sucks in a breath and you watch, mesmerized, as he starts stroking his shaft slowly. He squeezes and twists the head, a little bit more pre-cum glistening at the tip.
"You've gotta stop lookin' at it like that, sweetheart, or I'll cum like a fucking teenager." Pride washes over you at how destroyed he sounds. It's like he would push himself through the phone if it were possible. "You have something there that will make you cum fast? I'm barely holding on and I want to finish with you."
You fumble for your rose, a thought occurring to you. Normally, you'd be too embarrassed to even suggest it, but you want to with Aizawa.
"Do you want to see me?"
The sound he makes is pornographic. You bite your lip, twisting your inner thighs together.
"Yes. God yes, I want to see you."
"I know you said you wanted me naked earlier, but maybe I can leave my shirt on?"
He nods. "Yeah, baby, let's do that. It's not like I don't want to see all of you. I just—"
"Want to save some things for next time?" you supply.
"Yeah." That soft smile again, the one that feels like your heart's being set on fire. "Exactly."
You do the same general pass over your body that Aizawa did, tracing over your waist and hips, encouraged by the way his eyes drink in every inch of exposed skin. Before you turn the rose on, you sink two fingers into your pussy and slide back out, slick webbing in between your fingers.
"Jesus, you're soaking wet." You can hear the lewd squelch of his hand along his dick and the moan you let out rivals his from earlier. You're shaking you're so turned on. "Turn your rose on, sweetheart, and then come back to me. I want to see you when you fall apart."
The toy suctions against your clit. A whimper falls from your mouth, and then several more, as Aizawa's voice washes over you. You lose track of how many times he tells you how good you're doing for him, how beautiful you look, but it feels like only seconds later that you're cresting toward your peak.
"Shouta," you breathe out, gasping for breath. His eyes are fixed on you, something unnameable in his gaze. "Please please please—"
"Cum, sweetheart," he says, and your eyes fall shut, voice keening into a wail as you thrash on your bed in the fiercest orgasm you've ever had. "That's my girl, showing me how much she wants me there stuff her full. Fucking perfect, so fucking perfect—"
Through the haze of orgasm, you barely register Aizawa's own orgasm, your own name echoing in your head as he finds his release.
"That was..." you trail off. You have no idea how to describe what that was besides life-changing, but that feels a little too intense to say.
"Amazing," he finishes. "Absolutely amazing. You were incredible."
You're pretty sure your body temperature could set your bed on fire you're so pleased by the compliment.
"You know you're cute when you're embarrassed," he teases.
You groan. "Your pillow talk needs work."
You were joking, but his face turns serious. "Got it. You were okay the whole time?"
A smile takes over your face before you can stop it. "Yeah. I was great. The whole time."
"Good."
You both don't say anything, and then you realize you're just staring at him, and the comfort is starting to make your skin itch. You aren't used to this.
"I should go to bed." The time on your bedside nightstand reads 1:03 a.m. "You too if we're going to get all the exams graded before break."
"Right. Good night, sweetheart."
You fall into sleep after the call clicks off, a trace of a smile on your lips.
You don't see the email come through.
SL: TIME SENSITIVE: SPRING BREAK - DEBATE TEAM COMPETITION - CHAPERONES NEEDED
taglist: @phaticserpent, @magidzi, @hotlosergirl17, @luckybibucky, @heyithinkilike, @getoisinnocent, @personally4runa, @kennys-partner, @geektastic84, @wave2mia, @bakery-angel, @constanttea, @aryuunachigiri, @sskorvid, @therefore-evermore, @one-scarred-mofo, @food4dead, @alphabetsoupyum, @cielito--lindo, @rentheannihilator, @juiceeypeach, @imastorytelleritsondvd, @ivydoesit23, @anotherfuckedupdayinthelifeofme, @deputy-azor, @ibby-miyoshi-nerd, @h3rmit-purrrrple420, @lousypotatoes, @hisbitch101, @greedygobbo
(・ω・)つandy's notes: another outrageously self-indulgent chapter that i had SO MUCH fun writing and I really hope you all enjoy it, too!! the posting schedule is Mon/Fri, hope u follow along! <3
ALSO ALERT ALERT AIZAWA POV NEXT WEEK
#andy's writing — 'hot for teacher'#aizawa shouta#aizawa shōta#aizawa x reader#aizawa smut#aizawa shouta x reader#aizawa x you#aizawa x y/n#bnha x reader#bnha smut#mha x reader#mha smut#boku no hero academia#shouta aizawa#shouta aizawa x reader#shouta aizawa imagine#sugarwarachanwrites
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Bubbles and You
bf!Viktor (arcane) x reader

Summary - You decide to help Viktor relax from his stressful work at the lab with a warm bath, which leads to you two becoming intimate :)
Genre - smut, fluff, intimate, shower sex
Warnings - mdni!, unprotected sex, cockwarming. I have no idea if i should add anything else. Let me know if so.
Attention: Bessa's first post! + I'm not really fluent in english, if there are typos and mistakes just close your eyes ❤️
Midnight. Another day in which you patiently wait for your Viktor to come back home from the lab. But tonight you had something in mind - a way to spend some relaxing time together when he arrives.
It's been like that for the past 2-ish weeks where Viktor comes home really late at night, and it would be a lie if you said that you weren't pissed off by now with this routine. Spending your nights alone until late in the shared bed of your shared little cozy house, missing the presence of your loved one, isn't something that you or anyone else would wish for but sadly it's what you are put to deal with.
For the short time Viktor returns back home to have a meal, take a quick shower, and finally get some sleep for a few hours, you can see the stress he is put into. You knew he had a hard time with the new device he is working on, so you could never be mad at him. You are not this type of person, you respect his hard work and ambitions even if the lack of attention to you hurt you.
Today you had something in mind though - helping him relax with a warm bath together.
Time - 12:41AM. Viktor is finally on the front door, removing his shoes. You go running to him, giving him a tight hug and a peck on the lips.
"You are finally here." you say with a smile. He smiles back at you as he closes and locks the door behind him.
The night passed as usual until Viktor made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. You followed him there, starting to undress with him. He paused for a bit, processing your actions.
"Y/n what are you.. doing, my love?" he asked with confusion since you two have never showered nor bathed together. Why were you undressing together with him in the bathroom was a big mystery he couldn't solve right now, woah.
"Will take a bath, with you." a simple reply you striked him with, which made him look at you with wide open eyes. It's not like you haven't seen each other naked before. Oh, you did (even did the freaky, not once). But having such an intimate moment together as bathing? Haven't done it.
"Stop staring.. undress finally." you say as you were fully undressed now, but Viktor stayed as if he was frozen in time.
"Is there something wrong? You don't want to?"
"N-no, no, no, I'm undressing! Done!" and for a second he got completely naked too.
Man's heart beats fast like a rabit's. He got so excited but also shocked about the idea of bathing with you that at this point, he just waited for your commands of what to do.
You filled the bathtub with warm water, added the bubbles, and together stepped inside, you helping him. He hates bathtubs, and he never bathes because of his leg. He would difficultly step in and out of one, but with you beside him to help, it was alright.
You two sat comfortably there. Your back pressed against his chest, warm water with bubbles touching your bodies in the dark bathroom where you put a few candles to make the atmosphere more romantic. Your hand was drawing circles on Viktor's (good leg) thigh and he rested his head on your shoulder.
"I really enjoy this. Thank you..." he said quietly and leaned to leave a kiss on your shoulder. One, two, three more, and he went up kissing your neck, slowly and softly.
"You work really hard... I want to help you relax." you said and turned around to face him.
"You do it everyday already." His eyes sparkled from the light of the candles. He looked at you with a sotf smile on his face. "After all the hours in the lab, coming home to you always gives me peace. Sleeping in your arms makes me think about nothing but feel your warmth and care. I love this." he took your hand in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a kiss. "I love you." he looked into your eyes again and pulled you into his lap.
You rested your hands on his shoulders while his rested on your waist, holding you there and kissed you softly. You kissed back, leaning in more into the kiss that your chest pressed against his now. The kiss grew hungrier, leaving you and Viktor breathless. He pulled away just to move down to your neck, leaving wet kisses and bites, marking you as his. You moaned and grabbed his hair, pulling it not to harshly. This made him suck on your neck harder, forming red to purple marks everywhere around it, down to your collarbones.
One of his hands reached up to grab your breast. He squeezed and played with it as his other hand still held you by the waist. Since you were sitting in his lap, you could feel his bare hardness against you. You felt so hot and worked up already that all you wanted was to take him in.
You raised yourself slightly on your knees, which surrounded him, and grabbed his shaft so you could position it on your entrance.
"Wait babe, a condom?" he stopped kising your chest to mention the miss of protection you needed to continue.
"Not this time." you were needy and couldn't wait any longer, he waited in front of your entrance damn it.
"Are you sur-" he couldn't finish his question because you were already positioning yourself down on him slowly, taking his length just perfectly. He moaned and rolled his eyes back to the sensation, grabbing your waist with both his hands and hips slightly bucking up to feel more you. Oh, you felt so heavenly, all wet and warm, just for him. He got dizzy, and he could see stars.
You started to move up and down, your hands still on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you felt him deep inside you. Viktor being a whimpering mess beneath you, moving his hips up because he wanted to cum so bad after not doing so for days.
You continued riding him but increasing your spreed by a little. The water in the bathtub moving restlessly with your rhythm.
Viktor could feel his climax approach, making him try to rut up into you desperately. You can feel your own approach too, so you didn't stop nor slow down your moves. Thankfully, the water surrounding you helped you not feel as tired as you would feel by now.
Viktor buried his face into your neck as his orgasm was about to hit. "Close.. so close, don't stop." he murmured breathlessly but a few seconds later now he was milking your insides. Hot seed filling you up, which triggers your orgasm too, and you two come together in sync.
You still feel him twitch inside you, and you lean to give him another sweet, tired kiss. "So good..." you whisper in between and pull away to rest your head on his shoulder.
Viktor hugged you tightly as you were still there with him buried inside you, kissing the top of your head. "That was so good, love, I agree." he smiled and closed his eyes. The water in the tub calming its movement too. You two could really relax now in each others embrace.
Hello guysss hope you liked some of my brainrot writings. It's the first one i ever post so please support me for more. If this one gets some positive attention i might post another one very soon. Feel free to request too! I'm open to write about your ideas too :)
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#viktor x reader#viktor x you#arcane viktor x reader#viktor arcane x reader#lol x reader#league of legends x reader#viktor arcane#viktor smut#viktor arcane smut#smut#league of legends x you#arcane#x reader#first post#bessa-ta writing
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