i love doctor boba eyes

He notices that his coffee tastes better when you’re in the kitchen with him. Not because you add anything to it—he still drinks it black—but because you’re there, humming softly while you dig through the fridge, stealing sips from his mug when you think he’s not looking. He pretends not to see. Pretends not to wait for it.

But on mornings you sleep in? He finds himself standing at the counter longer than necessary, mug cooling in his metal hand, listening for your footsteps in the hall.

His day doesn’t feel like it’s started until you appear.

He tells himself it’s coincidence.

It isn’t.

He realizes it again during missions.

There was a time when Bucky could compartmentalize anything. He could put emotions in a locked box, shove it to the back of his mind, and focus solely on the objective. Clean. Efficient. Detached.

Now?

Now he checks his phone before every briefing.

Just to make sure you texted back.

Just to make sure you’re safe.

He doesn’t relax until he sees your name on the screen—some mundane message about groceries or a picture of the stray cat you’re trying to befriend. His shoulders loosen. His breathing evens out.

Only then can he concentrate.

Sam notices it before he does.

“You’re distracted,” Sam mutters one afternoon while they’re reviewing intel.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Bucky bristles automatically, jaw tightening. But when Sam raises a brow and glances pointedly at the phone in Bucky’s hand, Bucky feels something twist low in his gut.

He sets it down. Pushes it away.

He doesn’t pick it up again.

Not for fifteen whole minutes.

And then he checks it anyway.

It’s subtle at first, the way you become the axis his world turns on.

He starts timing his workouts so he’s home when you are. Starts grocery shopping for things you like without thinking about it. Starts leaving a light on if you’re coming back late because he doesn’t like the idea of you walking into a dark apartment.

He tells himself it’s just… consideration.

He doesn’t realize it’s devotion.

The first time it truly hits him is on a random Friday.

You’re late.

You said you’d be home by six.

It’s 6:17.

And Bucky is pacing.

He hates that he’s pacing.

His chest feels tight in a way he hasn’t felt in years—like something is pressing down on his ribs from the inside. He checks his phone. No new messages. He considers calling you, then stops himself. He doesn’t want to be overbearing.

You’re fine.

You’re fine.

You’re—

The lock clicks.

You walk in, shaking rain from your jacket, muttering about traffic and a flat tire and how your phone died halfway through the tow.

You barely get two steps inside before he’s in front of you.

“You okay?” His voice is rough, sharper than he means it to be. His hands hover at your shoulders like he’s afraid to grab you too tightly.

You blink at him. “Yeah? Buck, I’m fine.”

But he doesn’t breathe properly until he pulls you into his chest and feels the steady rhythm of your heart beneath his palm.

And that’s when it settles in.

The realization.

It’s quiet and terrifying and absolute.

His world doesn’t function right without you in it.

He doesn’t know when it happened.

He doesn’t know the exact moment you became the first thing he looks for in every room, the person his mind reaches for when things go wrong, the calm in the storm of his thoughts.

He just knows that somewhere along the way, you stopped being a part of his life and became the center of it.

And that scares the hell out of him.

Because Bucky Barnes knows loss.

He knows how easily things can be ripped away.

He knows what it’s like to wake up in a world where everything you love is gone.

The thought of that happening with you?

It makes him feel hollow.

He starts watching you differently after that; much more aware.

Of how you laugh when you’re half-asleep. Of how you chew your bottom lip when you’re thinking. Of the way your hand always finds his without looking.

He memorizes you.

Like if he learns every detail, he’ll somehow be able to keep you.

One night, you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, smiling softly from where you’re curled against him on the couch.

He hesitates.

He doesn’t do vulnerable easily.

But this feels too big to swallow.

“I don’t remember when it happened,” he says quietly.

“When what happened?”

“When you became… everything.”

You go still.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, metal cool against your warm skin.

“My day doesn’t start until I see you,” he admits. “I can’t focus unless I know you’re safe. If you’re late, I feel like I can’t breathe.” His jaw tightens. “And that’s— that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you whisper.

“For me.” He swallows. “Because I know how easy it is to lose things. I know how fragile good things are. And you…” His voice falters just slightly. “You’re the best thing I’ve got.”

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Bucky,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” you agree softly. “But I can promise I’m here right now. And I choose you. Every day.”

The tightness in his chest eases, just a fraction.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close like he’s grounding himself in something solid.

He may not know when you became his entire world.

He may never pinpoint the exact moment.

Bucky grunts something noncommittal and drops onto the opposite end of the couch. He’s fresh from a shower, hair damp and pushed back, wearing gray sweats and a black Henley that stretches across his shoulders. He smells like clean soap and something warm and distinctly him.

You hum in acknowledgment, keep scrolling.

It’s less than three minutes before you glance over and realize his head has tipped back against the cushions, mouth parted slightly, breathing slow and even.

You blink.

“Barnes?”

No response.

You lean closer. He’s out cold.

You stare at him for a second, then snort quietly to yourself. He had been tense when he walked in, shoulders tight like piano wire. Now he looks… soft. Younger. Peaceful in a way you don’t get to see often.

You slide the blanket off your legs and drape it over him instead.

The next night it happens again.

And the next.

It becomes a pattern so quickly it’s almost ridiculous. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he nurses a cup of tea? He’s asleep at the table before it cools. You’re on the training mats stretching after a workout? He sits down “just for a minute” and is snoring softly within five. You’re on the Quinjet, shoulder brushing his, and he’s gone before takeoff.

The first time Sam notices, he nearly chokes on his drink.

“Man,” he says slowly, eyes bouncing between you and the unconscious super soldier slumped in his chair, “I have never seen him do that.”

“What?” you ask innocently.

“Sleep. Like that.”

You glance at Bucky. He’s folded in on himself in one of the common room armchairs, chin tucked to his chest, looking so deeply asleep it borders on absurd.

“Maybe he’s tired,” you shrug.

“Uh-huh,” Sam says, squinting.

Natasha catches on next.

She tests it.

One evening, she corners Bucky in the kitchen while you’re still in the gym. She talks to him about mission reports, about old Hydra intel, about nothing at all. She even sits him down on the couch and lowers her voice to that smooth, soothing cadence she uses on frightened witnesses.

He doesn’t so much as yawn.

You walk in ten minutes later, towel around your neck, cheeks flushed from sparring.

“Hey,” you say, smiling when you see them.

Bucky looks up at the sound of your voice.

And promptly passes out mid-sentence.

Natasha stares at him.

Then at you.

“Oh,” she breathes.

Within a week it’s a full-blown investigation.

Clint tries keeping Bucky company in the rec room. Steve insists on staying up with him one night to “see what’s going on.” Sam even suggests it might be some weird delayed serum side effect.

Nothing.

Bucky stays stubbornly, frustratingly awake with everyone else.

But the second you’re alone with him?

Lights out.

The breaking point comes during movie night.

The whole team is sprawled across the couches. Bucky is sitting ramrod straight on one end, clearly determined to prove a point. He even says as much.

“I’m not tired,” he mutters, jaw tight.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling and sit beside him anyway. Not touching. Just close enough that your knees almost brush.

The movie starts.

Thirty seconds later, his head tips sideways.

And lands squarely on your shoulder.

The room erupts.

Sam howls. Clint actually applauds. Natasha hides her smirk behind her hand. Even Steve’s lips twitch.

Bucky jerks upright, horrified. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”

“You were snoring,” Sam informs him gleefully.

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were,” Clint says. “Like a tiny chainsaw.”

You’re laughing now, warmth blooming in your chest as Bucky’s ears turn pink.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles, refusing to look at you.

It is funny.

But it’s also… something else.

Because you’ve started to notice the details. The way his breathing evens out almost immediately when you’re near. The way his shoulders drop. The way the constant, subtle vigilance that hums beneath his skin finally goes quiet.

It hits you one evening when it’s just the two of you in your room.

He hadn’t meant to come in. He was pacing the hall after a nightmare, trying not to wake anyone. You’d opened your door at the sound of his footsteps.

“You okay?” you’d asked softly.

He hesitated.

Then nodded, once.

“C’mere,” you’d said, stepping aside.

He perches on the edge of your bed like he’s afraid it might bite him. You sit cross-legged across from him, close but not touching.

“You don’t have to stay,” he says roughly.

“I know.”

You talk about nothing. About the new recruits. About a recipe Sam ruined. About the weather.

His eyelids start to droop.

You watch it happen in real time.

“Buck,” you murmur gently.

He blinks at you, trying to fight it.

“You’re safe,” you tell him, because you think maybe that’s the key. “You can sleep.”

It’s like someone flips a switch.

He sways once.

Then slumps forward, forehead pressing lightly against your shoulder as he goes completely limp.

You freeze for a second.

Then slowly, carefully, you ease him down against your pillows and pull the comforter over him.

He doesn’t stir.

The next morning, the team finds him there.

In your bed.

Still asleep.

Sam leans against the doorway, grinning. “Well. Mystery solved.”

Bucky groans and buries his face in your pillow. “Kill me.”

You just smile, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.

“Or,” you say sweetly, “you could just start sleeping in here.”

His eyes flick up to yours, wary but hopeful.

“You serious?”

“Seems like you only sleep when I’m around,” you shrug. “Might as well get a full night out of it.”

There’s a beat.

Then, slowly, shyly, he nods.

The team never lets him live it down.

But that night—and every night after—Bucky falls asleep within minutes of you climbing into bed beside him.

Varka is visibly surprised by your action, but he can’t deny how good it felt to momentarily feel your touch on him. But you still haven’t given a reply to his confession.

Varka is made in a shy mess in your proximity. Longing touches that’s lasting for a second too long and yearning glances filled with nothing but love and the need to be with you. His heart beats for you and inhales the air you breathe. Dandelion wine might best every beverage out there, but you’re the one thing he will never stop having a fill of.

“Crap, this confession must have made it so weird right? I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.” He mumbles the last part, which doesn’t get missed by you.

Varka was about to say something and you as well, before someone from the knights called for his attention. Varka tells them he will be there shortly.

Just as he was about to apologize and excuse himself, you grasp onto his hand and you stop in your actions. It was a spur of the moment thing. A confession has never been spoken to you, you have no idea what to say or how to react. But to make such a good man like Varka, unbeknownst to him, return your feelings so instead of feeling pure ecstasy you’re just made into a surprised speechless mess.

Varka’s hand is warm and large in your grasp, you can feel the callouses on his skin and you softly brush your thumb on the inside of his palm before taking it to your cheek and lean into it.

Surprise is an understatement to what Varka feels right now. He steps in closer to you, heart beating way faster than it usually does.

“Does this mean your feelings are the same?” The nod to his question sends waves of joy through his big body and he puts his other hand around your midsection and softly pulls you in.

“I thought your silence was a rejection.” He breathes out, relieved and happy.

“I’m sorry, it was just hard to know how to react. This is all new to me.” You look at Varka, feeling embarrassed.

“What is new, sweetheart?” Oh damn him, he just had to say that and send you into even more of an internal mess.

“Confessions, relationships—“ you begin and then avoid his piercing eyes on you. “—love.” You mumble and then you feel yourself getting further pressed up against Varka’s body. He’s warm and sturdy, you put your hands on his chest.

“We shall take it slow, if you desire it. I’ve liked you for years now, I can do it for eternities more.” His words make your eyes widen in surprise before letting out a giggle. Unbeknownst to you, the same pair of blue eyes you adore is now longingly looking at your mouth.

“I think I’d like that, yeah.”

—

Then the worst day ever happened.

The expedition has been a talk for days now, but now it’s put into motion and you can’t help the waves of feelings in you. Varka is the one leading the expedition, of course he is, he’s the Grandmaster. He’s doing this for the safety of Monstadt. And Teyvat perhaps.

You watch him amongst the crowd as he greets his bye’s to everyone, giving them big smiles and thanking for their prayers of safety to Barbatos.

You think back to moments before this.

You had been rushed inside his office by Varka and he locked the door. You grew a little worried until you see a little trinket in his hand and he hands it to you in his palm.

“I can’t say how long this expedition will go on, but should it go on for years, I want you to have this.” He motions you to take the trinket and you do.

“Varka, whats going on?”

“I want to say, no, if your feelings stay the same and your heart beats for mine like mine does for you—“ Varka breathes out, he looks nervous. “—give this trinket back to me. It’s something Boreas had given me years back.” Your eyes widens at his words.

“Varka, I—“

“Shall your heart beat for an another in the time I’m gone, you can give this trinket back to Jean.“

You both look at each other for Barbatos knows how long. You feel the slight weight of the trinket in your hand and Varka’s more heavier look on you. This man wears his heart on his sleeves for you. You can’t see anything but warmth and affection in his eyes. Despite telling you to give the trinket back to Jean should you like someone else, it’s as if his love for you grows every second without hesitation.

“Okay.”

Such a short word, but it reassures Varka. You know it cause his tense shoulders are relaxed now.

Back to current situation, Varka is approaching you. He gently holds your face in his bigger palms and looks at you, taking in the image of the one he loves, the touch and warmth of your skin before craning down and pressing a soft lingering kiss on your forehead. You lean into him as he does that, gripping onto the sides of his body.

This was your first act of kissing. Varka was true to his words like he is to his oath as a knight and Grandmaster. He did take it at your pace in your relationship, never did anything to cause you discomfort. He voiced clearly he will never do something without your consent. Your pace is his pace.

Varka steps away then and takes his bag before stepping out of Monstadt soil. But he could feel in the wind, telling him to turn around and he did. And you leaped into his arms. Varka drops his bag and embraces you.

Your feelings is getting out like crashing waves, you bury your face in Varka’s neck and hold onto him so tight you wish were glue and to be at his side at all times.

Varka nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. Taking in the feeling of your arms around his neck and your thighs squeezing his waist. Then you pull your head away, your face stricken with tears and something aches in Varka at the sight of you in tears.

“Give me a proper kiss when you come back.”

—

It went on for longer than you thought. Years.

You hold onto the trinket in your hand, looking at the details. Such a precious thing is in your hands, which shows the amount of trust Varka has in you. You put away the trinket before you felt your feelings come crashing down on you again. You miss Varka.

That’s when you heard the bells and the shouting from outside your home. You look out the window and see the familiar banners of the Knight of Favonius. You immediately run outside and join the ecstatic crowd.

But you can’t find the man you’re looking for until you hear a booming laughter, a sound you could only imagine in your head and listen to in your dreams.

His back was to you, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back as he laughs in the endearing way he does. And as if he could feel you looking at him, he turns around and immediately finds you amongst the crowd.

His eyes zero in on you so fast, you jumped back a little in surprise and you see how he was about to walk towards you when someone else gets his attention, he looks at you and the knight before turning around, his back facing you again.

And all day, you haven’t had a moment alone with Varka. Even during the party at the tavern could make you be able to talk to him properly. Or at the event near the Favonius Headquarters. You could only manage to greet him and he gets swooped away by someone else.

You can’t fault him for that. Being away for so long, work has been piled up, people want to know of his adventures throughout Teyvat, especially the one in Nod-Krai and meeting a trilune goddess.

The scenery on the cliff near the Cathedral never fails to stun you into awe. As you fiddle with the trinket in your hand, you jump back in surprise when you hear a familiar voice. You almost drop the trinket, and Varka sees the trinket in your hand and he can’t help the happiness he feels. There’s hope.

“Varka!” You lightly squeak out his name before covering your mouth, embarrassed at the sound you gave out. Varka laughs a little before taking one step closer to you.

“I figured you would be here, it seems your taste in scenery hasn’t changed in years.” You chuckle at his words, nodding your head as you look at the view before looking at Varka again.

And he looks at you. The exact same way he did the day he confessed, the days leading up the expedition and before he left. Your palms grow sweaty at his gaze and proximity. Your heart flutters at finally being alone with the man you’ve missed for years. And still love.

“We finally have a chance to be alone.” Varka lets out a chuckle and you nod, smiling. Your words lost on you and Varka rubs his hand on his other arm before pointing at the trinket.

“The trinket is still with you it seems.” You nod again at his words, looking at the trinket.

“Have you been doing well?” You look at Varka, he says a yes before throwing the question back to you, to which you nod your head at.

“Got into alchemy a little bit, with the help of Sucrose and Albedo.” Varka nods his head, eyes widening a little in surprise.

“You’ve voiced before how you wanted to try it out, do you still do it?” You smile, especially at the fact he remembers even though it’s been years since you last saw him.

“It’s a little intimidating, but it’s fun. I like it.” You say, still with a smile on your face. You look at Varka and your heart is even more of a mess when you see how his blue eyes flickers down to your mouth. And you see how he slightly licks his lips before gulping down on nothing. You remember what you’ve told him before he left. And you remember what he told you the same day.

“I’ve missed you. A lot.” You voice out and Varka breathes out, in relief.

“I’ve thought about you everyday.” Varka says as he steps in a little closer.

You grip onto the trinket, gathering courage.

“You told me to give the trinket back to Jean should my heart beat for another.” You start off, Varka feels his shoulder tense at your words and he grows nervous.

“But it’s been years and my heart still beats for you, Varka.” And you immediately feel yourself get engulfed in a pair of arms you’ve wished to be in for Barbatos knows how long. To be with the man who made you feel nothing but safe and loved.

“My heart was with you the moment I left Monstadt soil.” You feel your eyes brimming with tears and you bury your face into Varka’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. The trinket in your fist as you hold onto Varka.

“I’ve thought of you everyday and loved you even when I was gone. I had Albedo paint me a picture of you, you know.” You giggle amidst your soft crying.

“Why would you do that? Poor Albedo.” Varka laughs as he grasps onto your head and takes a good look at you. He gently wipes your tears off your cheeks, his gaze soft on you.

“I was going crazy thinking I forgot the face of the woman I love.” His blue eyes are all over your face, his hand on your head is as gentle as ever.

“And I think you might have forgotten something else.” Your words make him ponder until he catches you briefly look at his lips and he figures it out.

“I thought it was a spur of the moment thing, what you said.” Varka’s hands slightly trails down your neck.

“You gave me a kiss on the forehead, it’s only right you give me a proper kiss—“ you stop yourself, feeling embarrassed and nervous at your sudden act of confidence. “—somewhere else than my forehead.” You mumble.

It was quiet for a moment between you two. The wind was softly blowing, and cause of Varka’s body warmth the wind doesn’t send a chill down your body. Then you feel it.

His right hand slips down, wrapping his arm around your midsection and the left is still gently holding your neck, his fingers touching your hair. And you feel yourself get lifted, your feet dangling in the air.

A small sound of surprise lefts your lips, your arms around his neck while your legs are wrapped around his midsection and you feel Varka’s mouth on your cheek.

“Like this?” He asks and you look at him, heart beating too fast for your own good. But you like it. Pressed up against his chest, you can feel how Varka’s own heart is beating in tune with yours. You nod your head.

Another kiss on your other cheek, one each on each eyelid down to your temple before he lifts your head with his left hand. With his thumb on your chin, he presses a kiss on your jaw, close to your pulse point.

A soft press to the corner of your mouth and as if it took as long as the expedition, finally his lips are on yours and you feel like you could finally breathe. You feel how Varka’s own body relaxes against you.

It was a soft press of your lips for a moment, Varka breathes through his nose and then his lips starts to softly move.

Butterflies and tingling sensations is all over your body at his kisses. He kisses like you’re a dandelion flower, careful to not let you fall apart. He kisses like he drinks, with happiness and delight. He kisses like this is not a dream, it’s reality. He kisses like there’s no ending to his love for you.

“This is nothing like how I imagined.” Soft mutters against your mouth, heart beating faster and waves of feelings surging through your bodies.

The kiss gets softly broken apart, tender kisses down your jaw to your neck before he settles there. One last chaste kiss on your neck and he breathes in the scent of you. His right arm is tightly yet gently gripped around you, as to not hurt you.

You tighten your own arms around his neck, you see the trinket, still in your hand and you smile to yourself. Varka’s home, he’s in your arms and your love growing stronger every minute. You nuzzle into his hair as you grip onto the trinket he put in your safekeeping.

—

Olruggio:

You and Olruggio have been dating for a couple months and to celebrate that and him finishing one of his longest commissions, you two decide to go out to a bar of his choosing.

“Sweetheart you have to trust me, this place has the best wine in all of Kahln.”

You stare at the little building that looks like it can only hold maybe seven people. It looks a bit run down and the smell of alcohol is clear as day as you stand outside. Wouldn’t have been your first choice, but seeing how happy Olruggio is, you can’t say no.

“Didn’t know one of your favorite places was so tiny,” you tease him.

“Any place is good when they have good wine.”

You shake your head while chuckling to yourself. He snickers before grabbing your hand and leads you into the tiny building.

You’re instantly aware that there are more than seven people in this cramped building. You don’t even know how all these people fit in here.

Olruggio pushes his way through the crowd, making sure you’re still beside him every couple of seconds. He gets you two to open barstools and has you sit down first before sitting beside you.

He waves down the bartender, “Two of your strongest wine please.”

“Right away Mister Olruggio.” The young bartender goes off and gets the order.

“Mister Olruggio?” You raise an eyebrow.

He rubs the back of his head, “Come here quite often… if you can’t tell.”

You can’t hold your laugh in anymore. You burst into a deep fit of laughter which has Olruggio mesmerized. Your laugh is something he wishes he could replay over and over again so he can hear it whenever he wants.

As the night goes on you two drink more and more. You try to pace yourself a bit better than Olruggio so you both would be able to make back to the atelier in one piece. But that doesn’t stop him from knocking drinks back quickly.

He stares at you with flushes cheeks and a massive grin, “So beautiful, you come here often?”

You can tell he’s joking around but you decide to follow his lead. “I’m afraid not.” You lean your chin on your palm and look him up and down, “Guess I need a regular to show me the ropes.”

He leans forward all confidently, “Well good news for you, I’m quite the regular here.”

“Oh is that true?”

“Owner gives me a discount.”

You take your chin off your palm and fan yourself, “Wow sir, you really know how to get the ladies.”

“I do have to keep the beautiful one in front of me entertained.”

“You don’t even know my name…”

He holds out his hand, “Olruggio the witch. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You shake his hand holding back your smile. You introduce yourself and he repeats your name as if he is saying it for the first time ever. His grip is tight and if he doesn’t want to let go of you.

His grip tightens, “Thinking about my thick hands?”

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand, “Now you ruined it.”

He bursts out with a deep laughter that makes his fold in half, “Sorry forgot I can’t just make sexual jokes after meeting someone for the first time.” You shove his shoulder and laugh along with him.

You adjust your position and feel a sudden urge to use the restroom. You stand up and he sits up looking at you confused. You lean into his ear, “Sorry I really have to use the restroom. Be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” he nods.

“Um where are the restrooms?”

“Oh right!” He spins you so you look to your right, “Down the hallway to your left.”

“Thank you!” You press a kiss to his cheek and walk off in the direction he told you.

The line for the bathroom was a bit long but not as bad if you two would have went to a bigger bar. You wait patiently even after letting someone cut you because she was going to throw up on the floor. You didn’t want to get that on you or have the poor employee have to clean it up. So you make Olruggio wait a bit longer for you.

You quickly use the restroom once you get a stall so you don’t hold anyone up. You wash your hands when you’re finished and push through the sea of people to get back to your boyfriend.

When you finally see him you also see a girl standing in front of him. He’s barely giving her attention and is clearly annoyed but she won’t give up. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your system but this is making you angrier than before.

You stomp over there and shove her out of the way.

“Hey! What is your problem?” The girl snaps.

“He’s my boyfriend. He is MINE. So back off.” You snap right back at her.

You pull some money out of your waist bag and slap it down on the table. You grab Olruggio’s hand and tell him, “We are leaving.” You then drag him out of the bar and down the street.

Olruggio happily lets you pull him along because his heart is racing after your declaration. The only thing he can hear in his mind right now is how you said mine. It was so possessive but you didn’t say it as if he was your property but you said it with so much love. He can’t get over it.

You let go of his hand once you reach the edge of Kahln. You throw your hands up in frustration and start to pace.

“Who did that girl think she was? How dare she talk to you like you want her? How dare she not leave you alone?”

Instead of saying anything Olruggio crosses the distance and kisses you deeply. You stumble back due to the force he is kissing you with so you clutch onto the front of his shirt to steady yourself.

Between kisses he whispers, “I’m yours.” Over and over again as if he is confirming it for you and agreeing with what you said earlier.

You smile into the kiss and happily let him repeat those words over and over again because it makes your heart soar.

Safe to say from now on if another girl talks to him when you’re not there, he looks for you to point and say “I’m hers.”

Qifrey:

Qifrey hasn’t been feeling the best recently so he ended up falling asleep on the couch. So the girls begged you to help them make something to help him get better soon. Agott and Coco work on making “the perfect” tea while you help Richeh and Tetia prep the chicken noodle soup.

“Master, this will make him better right?” Coco asks.

“It won’t cure him right away but it will help him get better soon.”

She hangs her head, “I feel bad. I’m the one that got him sick.”

“Coco, look at me.” She looks up and you can see the sadness written all over her face. Your heart breaks at the sight because she is always hard on herself. “Qifrey would help any of you girls when one of you gets sick. He knows the consequences but he doesn’t care for them. All he wants is to make sure you all are healthy.”

Tetia wraps an arm around Coco’s neck pulling her close, “That is why we are going to help him too!”

“You’re right!” Coco psyches herself up and goes back to helping Agott with the tea.

You finish the cutting the chicken and put it into the magic pot along with the other ingredients the Richeh and Tetia have been preparing.

The girls are extra focused but once everything is cooking and steeping, they sit at the counter and ask you about their master.

“You’re dating Master Qifrey right?” Tetia confirms.

“Yes I am. Have been for a couple of years.”

Tetia kicks her feet, “I can’t wait to fall in love!”

You chuckle at her eagerness, “It’s great if you have a good person. You want someone that cares deeply about you and always shows they love you.”

“What does that look like?” Richeh speaks up.

“Well, it’s someone that will always stand beside you no matter what. When you’re the happiest but also when you’re at your lowest. It doesn’t always have to be words either. It can be through physical actions. Them helping you with things as small as dishes or hugging you after a bad day. But it’s also vet important to find someone who is loyal to you.”

The girls tilt their head in confusion so you explain. “You want someone who is only romantically with you. You don’t want someone who tries to see multiple people while being committed to you.”

“Oh so not dating anyone else besides your partner!” Tetia points out.

“Yes Tetia,” Agott answers for you.

“Take Qifrey and I for example. He is my boyfriend. Mine and only mine. Then I am Qifrey’s girlfriend. His and only his.”

The girls smile happily at you admitting that. “You two are the best!” Coco cheers.

Qifrey woke up about ten minutes ago but he didn’t want to have you all know. He enjoyed listening to your conversation but now he feels his face getting even warmer than it already is. You’ve never said “mine” in all the years of you two dating or well at least not where he has heard.

He then sees a head poke around the couch, “Master he is up.” Agott tells you.

Damn busted.

“Okay girls, get everything ready to show him!”

Agott heads back over to help Coco with the tea and carry it over because she doesn’t want her to drop it. Then Richeh carries the soup for the same reason of not wanting Tetia to drop it.

You grab a try so he’s be able to eat comfortably without burning himself at all. You place it in his lap after making sure he can sit up comfortably. The girls surprise him and tell him all about what they did to help him get better.

“Thank you girls. It’s very kind of you, I appreciate it very much.”

“Of course!” They tell him without any hesitation.

Instead of watching eat the entire time they tell you to sit with him so they can clean the dishes.

“What sweet girls they are.”

“I’m lucky they wanted to study at my atelier.”

You brush the back of your hand against his forehead, “You’re still burning up.”

He clears his throat, “That may be because of you saying I’m yours.”

“You were awake!?” You feel a deep blush cover your cheeks.

“Yes,” he laughs before coughing. You grab his tea and hand it to him. He takes a sip before thanking you.

You watch him closely and see that he is okay before going back to the previous conversation.

“I mean it is true. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

He leans back against the couch, “I love hearing that out loud. I’ll never tire of that.” He looks over at you, “Never stop speaking that sentence.”

Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”

“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.” 

Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious. 

Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it. 

Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue. 

“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.” 

“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile. 

Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?” 

“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light. 

“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?” 

Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.” 

“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.” 

Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.

“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?” 

Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.” 

“How do they feel against his ones?” 

“Soft like petals.” 

“How do you want him to kiss you?” 

Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”

And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it. 

“Does it feel good?” 

“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed. 

“How so?” 

“I can't picture him doing this.”

The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.

“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.

Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”

“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”

Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick. 

“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”

“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.

“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?” 

A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.” 

Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”

“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.

Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”

“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”

With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling. 

“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.” 

“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.” 

Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you. 

“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?” 

The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips. 

“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up. 

“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?” 

“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.

The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching. 

His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you. 

You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response. 

“Miss [Name].”

No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him. 

Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you. 

“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away. 

Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too. 

Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”

“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat. 

Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.

The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.

After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright. 

It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual. 

The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.

Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.

You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.

For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.

During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.

“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”

The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”

You obey, heart hammering against your ribs. 

He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”

Fantasy is about to become reality.

Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.

“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.

Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.

When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.

“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."

The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize. 

"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"

"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.

"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."

Who?

He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.

"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."

You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt. 

“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you. 

“Ah, Geto—” 

“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face. 

“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling. 

“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”

He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.

Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips. 

Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste. 

“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls. 

You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.

"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."

Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.

note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru