As if that wasn’t enough, a suction toy clamps tightly onto your swollen clit, tugging and slurping with obscene, wet noises, like it's trying to suck your soul straight out through your trembling folds. Every pull sends white-hot sparks through your body, every pulse making you jolt and tremble.

All because of him.

Professor Caleb. Your childhood friend. Your Gege. Now the most sought-after artificial intelligence lecturer on campus—the heartthrob every girl wanted. And the man who had no mercy for you.

This was his game. His twisted, cruel judgment: could you endure, maintain your perfect, untouchable image... while the toy he prepared tore you apart from the inside out?

Or would you crack, humiliate yourself by running to the bathroom to finger yourself raw like a desperate little thing?

You refused to lose.

Your pride was too fierce.

Your stubbornness, too stupid.

So you stayed in your seat, trembling, thighs sticky and slick, grinding ever so slightly against the chair in a desperate bid for relief. Hands clamped over your mouth, you prayed no one would hear the faint, wicked buzzing between your legs. You clenched, you gasped, you endured.

Until the voice you dreaded most called out, slicing through your fragile composure like a blade.

"Class number 13," Caleb said smoothly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Please come up and solve the problem. What is the predicted value output of this activation layer in the full network?"

Oh gods.

Oh fuck.

Your heart plummeted. Your body spasmed around the merciless toy, gushing helplessly. Your mind—blank, so utterly blank, filled only with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full and sucked dry.

You hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.

But you had a reputation to keep. The golden girl. The untouchable ace.

You forced yourself to rise, your nails digging into the table so hard they threatened to break. You took slow, shaky breaths, fighting to control the feverish pulse hammering through you. Your legs trembled as you stepped out into the aisle, every eye in the room burning into your skin, every step feeling like a mile-long walk of shame.

You reached the front—and there he was. Professor Caleb. Eyes dark with amusement. Smirk hidden behind the respectable façade.

He handed you the chalk. His fingers brushed yours—and in that exact moment, you caught it: the glint of the remote tucked in his palm.

A flick of his thumb.

The vibrator inside you roared to life, surging to its highest setting, brutal and relentless. It slammed into you, the fat shaft pistoning deep, hammering your g-spot, dragging moans up your throat you barely swallowed down. The toy twisted with each brutal thrust, the head grinding against your sweetest spots, almost lovingly cruel in how it refused to let you breathe.

The suction on your clit tightened too, a filthy, slurping rhythm pulling at you in time with each thrust inside—as if the toy was fucking and drinking you at once, milking you dry.

Your knees buckled slightly. You caught yourself against the chalkboard.

You could feel it.

The thick, pulsing length of the toy stuffing you full, stretching your cunt to its limits, buzzing violently against your spasming walls. Your panties were drenched, your thighs glistening. Your dignity, seconds away from shattering.

And yet you had to solve the equation.

In front of the entire class.

Under his watchful, merciless gaze.

The chalk trembled in your hand. He leaned in close, voice a low purr only you could hear. "Go on, top student," Caleb murmured, dark and wicked against your ear.

"Show me how well you can think… while getting fucked dumb.”

Fuck—a moan slipped past your lips before you could catch it. You wanted to curse the existence out of him. You wanted to tear him apart with words, call him the cruelest bastard alive. But all you could do was look at him—eyes burning with dark, venomous vengeance, even as your body betrayed you with heavy, panting breaths and soft, pathetic whimpers.

You tried—you really fucking tried—to walk your mind through every algorithm, every neural network formula you’d memorized so well. You tried to scribble something on the chalkboard, your hand trembling. But it was useless. Your writing was a mess of illegible lines, nonsense formulas no one could make sense of, the chalk crumbling and snapping in your tight, desperate grip.

Then you heard it— the low, rich sound of his chuckle. Amused. Entertained. Savoring your unraveling.

With a lazy flick of his thumb against the remote, he cranked the suction to maximum.

The effect was immediate. Your entire body convulsed, a helpless jolt of pleasure rippling up your spine. The suction on your clit was savage, unrelenting—greedy little pulls that sent wave after wave crashing through your gut, making your vision blur with stars.

Fuck, you were so close. So fucking close.

You slapped a trembling palm against the chalkboard to steady yourself. The chalk clattered to the floor with a hollow thud as your fingers lost their grip. Your knees buckled, barely holding you up as your hips gave a desperate, involuntary twitch.

Inside you, the thick vibrator kept thrusting deep—the textured veins along its shaft dragging against your slick walls with every ruthless stroke, the fat, rounded head grinding mercilessly against your sensitive cervix. It was maddening—perfect—too good. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, every pulse made your cunt flutter helplessly, greedy for more.

The suction was obscene, slurping at your clit so loudly you were sure someone, anyone, could hear. Humiliation and raw, brain-melting pleasure tangled inside you, choking you.

Then—his hand.

You felt it. Large, warm, strong fingers gripping your shoulder tightly.

You barely registered him leaning down, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, sinful growl meant for you alone.

"Fuck, baby," Caleb rasped, the words sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

"Why don't you just give up—let go—and I'll fill you up with my babies later, hm? Breed you nice and full right here…"

That was it.

The last straw.

You came—hard. Your body seized violently, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm tore through you, raw and merciless. Slick gushed down your thighs, soaking through your panties, dripping onto the floor. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the loud, broken moan that ripped free from your throat.

You shattered under him, completely undone, just as he wanted.

You heard it—the low, scandalous murmurs rippling across the room. The students whispering, stealing glances at the obscene sight before them. You, gasping for air, your knees buckling under you, while Professor Caleb—the campus heartthrob—stood so close you could taste his cologne, feel the heat of him against your trembling skin.

Then he stood upright, rolling his shoulders lazily like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t falling apart on the floor.

"Alright, folks. Class dismissed," he said, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "I'll take care of our top student here. She must be feeling a little... overwhelmed."

He winked—a cruel, knowing thing that made your blood boil.

"Come back next week with the answers to the problem on the board."

Students scurried out, throwing lingering stares your way, none brave enough to question him.

None knowing just how soaked you were—how the vibrator still pounded inside you, thrusting, suctioning, working your overstimulated folds mercilessly. The cum from earlier leaking out, wetting your thighs shamefully.

Once the last student left, Caleb locked the door with a click. He turned, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up, no patience left in him.

"Stand up, Pip-squeak," he said, his professor mask fully dropped, replaced by something darker, filthier. "I’ll make it fast for you."

You nodded, helpless. Your legs felt like jelly, your cunt still clenching pathetically around the toy buried deep inside. With his steadying hand, you stumbled upright.

He guided you to his seat—the throne at the front of the room—and sat back lazily, spreading his legs in a welcoming posture.

"Strip, baby," he ordered, voice thick with lust. "I wanna see every curve hiding under that tight little shirt and short skirt you wore, thinking you could tease me."

You glared at him, breathing heavy. God, you hated him. You hated how hot he made you. How wet you got just from the sound of his voice.

"Chop chop," he said, tapping his jaw with his fingers smugly. "Or do you want me to rip it off you instead? I won't be gentle, Pips."

You cursed under your breath but obeyed—gripping the hem of your tank top, peeling it over your head slowly, exposing trembling skin. Your skirt pooled down your legs with a soft whisper, leaving you utterly bare, nothing left to hide.

"What now, Caleb?" you asked, your voice small, shivering slightly.

"Good girl," he murmured, unzipping his fancy linen pants with one smooth motion. His thick, heavy cock sprung free—long, veined, angry red at the tip, leaking pre-cum like he couldn't wait to ruin you again.

The same cock that had broken you a hundred times before.

The same cock you dreamed about, drooled over, worshiped like it was your personal god.

"Sit on me," he said. "You know the drill."

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your ears. No matter how much you wanted to slap him for being an asshole—you wanted him more.

You were his cocksleeve, after all. His needy little thing.

You climbed onto his lap, one trembling hand gripping his collarbone for balance. The other reached down between your legs, pulling the soaked, buzzing vibrator out of your stretched hole and tossing it somewhere carelessly.

Lining him up, you sank down. It was like the first time all over again.

His cock was thicker than anything, harder, hotter—stretching your walls until they clamped around him desperately. Every vein of him dragged along your sensitive insides perfectly, the fat head of his cock pushing into your cervix with sinful precision. He filled you up like he was made for you—like he owned every inch of your tight, ruined cunt.

He was your naughty professor.

Your filthy god.

Your damnation and your salvation wrapped in one devastating man.

You started moving—bouncing weakly, trying to ride him the way he liked, but your legs were too shaky, too spent from the relentless overstimulation. You whimpered, grinding pathetically against him, barely able to lift yourself.

"Oh, baby," he cooed mockingly, hands resting heavy on your ass. "Is that all you got? After coming so pretty in front of the whole class?"

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you squeal, then soothed it with a rough grope, making you rock harder against him.

You tried to look away, humiliated, but his dark gaze pinned you in place—all-consuming. Inescapable.

"Shut up, Caleb," you snarled weakly. "Shut the fuck up—I—"

He gripped your hair tight, yanking your head back roughly. A broken cry escaped you, your back arching, pressing your tits flush against his chest.

"You don't get to order me around, baby," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. He bit down on your neck, hard enough to bruise, suckling dark purple marks into your skin like a man possessed.

"You're mine, Pip-squeak. My perfect little whore."

Your mind spun. Your body shook. You fell deeper into subspace—weightless, aching, desperate for him. He toyed with you, slapping your ass, groping your tits, biting your throat, until you were a trembling mess in his lap.

"Need help, my lovely top student?" he whispered against your ear, voice thick with cruel affection. You nodded frantically, tears clinging to your lashes, your body begging.

He chuckled low and deep—"could’ve said so sooner, Pips."

Then he took control. His hands grabbed your waist, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, merciless thrusts. Each movement drove him impossibly deep, splitting you open, pounding against your g-spot so viciously that your cries turned into strangled, high-pitched sobs.

You dug your nails into his back, leaving angry red trails down his spine. You wanted to brand him. You wanted him to remember how you fell apart on his cock.

The lecture hall echoed with the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin—your cries, his low groans, the obscene, squelching sound of your cunt sucking him in greedily. "Keep it down, baby," he mocked, voice a rumble in your chest. "Others might hear you begging to be bred."

Fuck him.

Fuck him so much.

But you were too far gone. Your second orgasm built fast, violent, white-hot, ripping through you with every devastating thrust. You couldn’t hold back—your body convulsed, your cunt squeezing him desperately, trying to milk every drop from him.

And he was close too. You could hear it in his ragged breaths, feel it in the way his thrusts became rougher, erratic.

"Baby," he moaned brokenly, forehead pressed against yours, "I’m gonna come—open up, please—"

You did—your walls clamping down, your legs shaking, your mind blank as you came undone together. He spilled inside you with a low, desperate groan—thick, endless spurts of cum flooding your sore, twitching cunt. You could feel every hot, filthy drop filling you, leaking out, dripping down your thighs in thick, sticky trails.

You collapsed against him, shaking, gasping, his cock still buried deep inside your pulsing heat. His arms wrapped around you tight, possessive, like he was afraid you might slip away.

"Mine," he murmured against your hair, voice rough and spent. "Always mine, Pip-squeak."

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stayed there—your body convulsing in little aftershocks, your pussy throbbing around him like it was the end of the world. He held you close, a suffocating, trembling embrace, like he needed to feel you breathing against him just to stay sane.

Even after the humiliation he put you through—after the teasing, the breaking, the claiming—you still loved him just the same. Your Gege. Your professor. Your ruin. Your home.

"Meet me after your classes end," he rasped, his temple resting against your bare shoulder, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Five p.m. sharp. As usual."

You nodded weakly, knowing full well—

professor caleb . . . who immediately noticed how pretty you are and suddenly found himself intoxicated with your apple perfume

professor caleb . . . who listens to your blabbers of an apology while you hide back your tears, wiping them away as you gather his papers

professor caleb . . . who found himself reaching for your hands instead of the papers on the ground, walking you to his office

professor caleb . . . who knelt before you and asked what's wrong. turns out you failed an exam. you have a good excuse, though! nothing he hasn't heard before.

professor caleb . . . who walked with you to your professor's office where he explained to them why you should retake the test

professor caleb . . . who had his hand on your lower back the entire time, loving how you leaned into him with that doe look in your eyes

professor caleb . . . who keeps his office door open with the hope you'll walk by some day

professor caleb . . . who is just about to give up on grading papers when he hears your voice in the doorway

professor caleb . . . who contains his smile and leans back in his chair, watching as you close (and lock) the door behind you

professor caleb . . . who takes the paper you give him. it's the test you retook with a perfect score!

professor caleb . . . who tells you that he's proud of you and that you're a good girl who deserves good grades

professor caleb . . . who watches as you get down onto your knees, setting between his legs under his desk

professor caleb . . . whose cock twitches at the sight of your innocent eyes while you rest your chin on his thigh

professor caleb . . . who listens to how you want to thank him for helping you, so you're going to help him

professor caleb . . . who tells you that you look so pretty with his cock in your mouth

professor caleb . . . who kisses your mouth clean while buried deep inside of you

professor caleb . . . who keeps his office and classroom doors open so he can see you walk by, always smirking whenever he catches you

professor caleb . . . who notices a new student join his class. it's you.

professor caleb . . . who asks you to stay after class because you obviously need to catch up on the curriculum

professor caleb . . . who keeps your hands on the wall and legs spread apart, fingers buried deep in you, while he stands from behind, explaining the particularly hard concepts

professor caleb . . . who doesn't let you cum until you get every single question right

professor caleb . . . who drives you home after, hand in your hair while you lean over the center console

professor caleb . . . who kisses you goodnight while you press your soaked panties into his hands before getting out of the car and running towards the doors of your apartment

professor caleb . . . who can't focus on anything unless his nose is buried in your red panties that has an apple design sewn into it

professor caleb . . . who wants to get a taste of you the next time he sees you

"Miss Zhang, I know these sorts of thing are hard for you, but don't worry about it too much." Zhang Mei's supervisor, Dr. Xun, tried to console her.

Mei and Dr. Xun were like each other's antithesis, in a way. While they were both accomplished in their own rights, Dr. Xun had a commanding energy, one Mei tended to avoid. That type of presence was usually the kind to draw eyes, not just to themselves, but to those around them—and Mei much preferred when the attention was firmly somewhere else. However, over the years, Dr. Xun had proven to be a kind and accommodating ally for Mei during her time in the Student Accounting department of Skyhaven University.

Mei pressed her lips together, swallowing before trying to speak up for herself in the busy breezeway. "Are you sure there are accommodations?" She managed to get out, her supervisor leaning a little closer to hear her soft voice, doing her best to give her subordinate her undivided attention. She began to nod in acknowledgement, her perfectly painted, red lips parting to reassure Mei once again.

But her attention was pulled away, and Mei watched, hands clutching the clipboard she held in front of her tightly, as Dr. Xun caught a glimpse of someone passing and made quick steps away from her.

"Oh! Dr. Wen!" Dr. Xun called, her heels clicking on the concrete as she trailed after an older gentleman. She spared Mei one last look over her shoulder, mouthing encouragement and waving bye, before she disappeared into the crowd of faculty and staff.

Mei stood frozen for a moment, panic rising in her chest with the sudden loss of her safe person.

Briefly, she let her eyes close, forcing herself to take slow, deliberate breaths to calm herself down.

She focused on the tension in her shoulders and willed them to relax, moving next to her arms and hands, allowing her fingertips to glide over the clipboard's smooth surface and help brush away the stiffness in her body and mind.

Finally, she opened her eyes again, tearing her attention away from the crowd around her and instead focused on what she had in her hands. She pulled the clipboard up, flexing her fingers, feeling the burn in her joints from how tightly she had gripped the piece of plastic. On the clipboard was a neat stack of papers, the first of which being exactly what she needed.

It had her name and department at the top, followed by her assigned group for the their Professional Development Day, as well as their schedule of programs and trainings. In Dr. Xun's quick, easy to read handwriting, there were notes next to each time block; some of them scribbled out altogether, with an alternative program penned in. She couldn't help but smile when she noticed the tiny good luck! and the hastily scrawled thumbs up in the corner.

She could do this.

She nodded to herself, taking a deep breath before heading into the crowd: first on the agenda was her group's welcome seminar.

--

Xia Caleb's morning started as it normally would have—despite the expected deviations later in the day. He awoke at four, went for his morning run, showered, made a quick breakfast, and then checked his email before heading in to the office. He knew today would be a little different, with the students of Skyhaven University having an off day for the schools Professional Development Day. That didn't mean he was any less busy.

"First things first," their department head started after everyone had arrived at their 6:30am meeting. "I know you already have a lot on your plate today, but I've had an abnormal request from Dr. Xun."

At first, Caleb was content to not pay much attention to the meeting. He was already going over his schedule, making sure he had enough time to balance his normal duties with the extra load from the days activities. That was, until he heard a particular name mentioned.

"…Miss Zhang Mei, from Student Accounting." Caleb's ears perked at that, his eyes shooting up from his laptop screen to their department head. "So, if any of you would like to volunteer, that would make this a lot easier."

Next to him, Gideon groaned. "We're busy enough already and they want to put something else on our plate?"

"Wait, what did I miss?" Caleb asked, brows knitting together. Just at the mention of her name, he could feel his heart rate increasing.

Zhang Mei had been a name Caleb had listened out for many times over his last few years at Skyhaven Uni., though until now, he'd gone out of his way to stay out of her way. Fifteen years ago, she'd broken his heart—unintentionally, he knew that, but that hadn't made it sting any less—and that had been the last time he'd seen her. That was, until a year after he'd started working at SHU and took a class of his first year students over to the Student Services building during a campus wide scavenger hunt.

She'd been covering the front desk at the time, her cheeks heating at the sudden influx of students in their waiting room. He'd watched from the other side of the room, unsure if he should approach her, but decided against it when he realized it might just make her situation worse.

So, he'd done his best to hurry his students along, resigning himself to watching as she nervously tucked hair behind her ear, or gnawed at her bottom lip, while she stamped the student's scavenger hunt cards, as well as manged the students that were there for normal reasons.

He'd heard through the grapevine that had been the last time they'd asked Miss Zhang to cover the desk while their normal secretary took a long lunch.

"Apparently some admin lady needs some accommodations—which I understand, don't get me wrong—but why does the burden fall to us?" Gideon groaned, "and today of all days. Couldn't they just reschedule her assessment or something? I don't really get why we're having to pick up the burden of—wait what?" Gideon's complaining was interrupted as Caleb raised his hand in the air.

"I can work it in," Caleb said, the eyes of everyone in the room snapping to him as he volunteered—perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

"Mr. Xia," their department head acknowledged with a raised brow, "while I applaud the enthusiasm, don't you have to be over at the middle school around that time?"

Shit. Caleb glanced down to the open calendar on his laptop, looking at the block of time titled Skyhaven Middle School Practice, which ended only ten minutes before he'd need to be back to do the assessment. Even at a jog, the time it took for him to get back was around 20 minutes… but he wasn't the type to let something like that stand in his way.

"Don't worry about it," Caleb nodded confidently, "when have I ever let you down before?"

--

With Dr. Xun's extra notes on what she should do, the morning was a breeze. Her seat was exactly as described, the quick meal breakfast items orderly and easy to access with minimal interaction—this was fine.

Next was a presentation on ethics, followed by a seminar on the University's newest archival collection, then the lunch break.

Mei found her way back to the table she sat at for breakfast, eating her lunch quickly as she looked over the rest of the days schedule. So far, her schedule had mostly followed the same as the others in her group, but after this lunch…

She paused mid bite, anxiety twisting in her stomach as she read over the next few activities and Dr. Xun's notes.

This is new this year! She noted next to an emergency preparedness presentation.

Following this, you'll have to do to a small first aid demonstration for certification purposes, but I've arranged a private session for you. When the presenter leaves, head to room 128 and the other instructor should be waiting!

She exhaled a soft, worried 'oh' at reading that, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she began ruminating on having to meet up with some stranger and then have to do what? Mouth to mouth on a dummy? The thought brought color to her cheeks. This was going to be humiliating…

She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. She shouldn't worry herself—Dr. Xun had gone through all the trouble of arranging this, and surely, surely, she'd picked a kind instructor that would be patient with her.

Regardless of what she told herself, the knot of anxiety still grew as she moved on with the day. Still, it was much more manageable that it would have been otherwise…

After the emergency preparedness presentation, she pushed through the throngs of people, her head light and nerves raw from the prolonged anxiety—life always felt so surreal when she got like this, like she was floating outside her own body. She was grateful when she reached room 128, opened the classroom door, and found the lab to be empty. The sigh of relief she let out felt phenomenal, the knot in her stomach immediately relaxed—she was free, if only for a moment.

She meandered into the room, the cool, still air felt great on her heated skin. She skimmed her fingers across the clean, metal lab tables, the cold touch sending a buzz up her arm, the sensation calming her to her core. She made her way over to the lab table with the equipment set up, careful not to touch anything too delicate, but taking the opportunity to examine everything to get an idea of what she would be doing.

There was a first aid kit, some clunky medical machinery, and an uncanny looking CPR mannequin. She couldn't help but stare at the mannequin, its weirdly smooth face and lifeless skin tone off putting—she really didn't want to have to do mouth to mouth on this thing….

Still, she was tempted to touch it, her finger prodding at the hard plastic of its cheek, following the seam on its face where the plastic met the rubbery material that made up the nose and mouth area. She grimaced at the texture—and good God, how many other people had had their mouths on this thing? It was probably gross.

--

"Coach Xia!" A kid yelled, the small group of middle-schoolers crowding to the edge of the soccer field, clinging to the fence as Caleb quickly threw his belongings into a duffel bag.

"Sorry, kiddos! I know we usually do a little more, but I gotta go somewhere important." He grinned at them, waving as they pouted and groaned. He turned to the assistant coach, a kid barely out of his teens, skilled at the sport, though not always excited to deal with the kids by himself. "Really, I am sorry about this." He apologized again as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

"Mr. Caleb!" One kid shouted extra enthusiastically, the use of his first name drawing his attention. "Are you going on a date?"

This line of questioning made the rest of the kids break out into giggles, some of them made gagging sounds, shouting how gross that was, while other cooed and proceeded to ask more questions.

Caleb didn't dignify the kids with a response, shaking his head at them and giving his assistant coach an exacerbated look.

He didn't expect the assistant to raise a brow at him, clearly wishing for an answer to the kids question. Caleb couldn't help but give a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his head.

"No, not really." He shrugged, "but maybe I will later." He followed hopefully.

"In that case," a teasing smile slid onto the assistant coaches lips. "Everyone wish Coach Xia luck on his date!" The assistant shouted, sending the kids into another round of excited yelling.

Caleb grimaced, "why would you do that?" He sent the assistant coach a pleading look. He only received a noncommittal shrug in response.

When he finally managed to leave the school, he had about seven minutes until he was expected to meet Mei. He slung his bag over his shoulder and broke out into a sprint. He was going to be a mess by the time he got there…

As he ran, he passed a pair of older women on a languid walk. It barely registered, but one of the women lifted up her sunglasses, head turning as he ran by. She gave a subtle whistle in his direction, her friend laughing and swatting at her arm.

…But maybe some women liked their men that?

--

Mei was ripped from her thoughts when the door to the lab opened suddenly. The rattling of the handle and someone's panting breath drawing a high, indignant squawk from her. She instantly felt her shoulders tense back up and her cheeks heated painfully. She quickly clasped her hands behind her back, turning quickly to face the newcomer. She stammered a quick apology and explanation, though her voice caught in her throat as she took a deep breath at the sight of who'd walked through the door.

"Sorry I'm late," he began, his breath coming out in huffs.

She felt the blood drain from her face instantly only for it to return in a rush as she stared at the man that had entered.

His own face was flushed slightly, his chest rising and falling in even, deep breaths, drawing her eyes to the way the white athletic shirt he wore clung to his defined pecs. She tore her gaze away, instead noticing the thin sheen of perspiration that clung to his skin, dampening his dark hair just enough that when he raised his arm and pushed it from his face, it stayed pushed back for just a moment. He was, for lack of a better word, hot—both literally and metaphorically—how had this somehow gotten worse?

And why did he look so familiar? This thought only exacerbated her anxiety—she was probably going to look rude now, not remembering who he was. She hoped that if they had met before, that he didn't remember her either. It was always better when she didn't leave any sort of memorable impression.

"I've been subbing in as soccer coach at Skyhaven Middle School—practice ran a little long today," he explained without missing a beat, closing the door behind him and making his way over to where the equipment lay. The closer he grew, the more she wanted to shrink away, but she remained rooted in place, even as he leaned back against the lab table, bracing his hands on the edge for support.

Her eyes trailed from those hands—long fingers gripping the edge of the table, the tendons in his arm flexing, drawing her eyes up to his muscled biceps, lingering just a little too long on the way the veins pushed against his skin, before snapping back to his face. His lips moved, but she hadn't caught what he'd said. He stared at her expectantly, head tilting minutely to the side as if he were waiting for a response.

"I—" she stuttered out, blinking away the confusion of her own making, she breathed deeply, and he seemed to wait patiently. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch what you said…" she said quickly, eyes cutting away from the small smirk that played on his lips, finding literally anything else to fix her gaze upon.

"Haven't changed at all, have you MeiMei?" She could hear the smile in his tone, the playful nature coming so naturally to him, how could he tease someone he just met so easily—

Then it hit her. Her wide eyes snapped back to him, "What did you just call me?" Her words came out in a rush, her nerves dying down to make way for her confusion.

"MeiMei?" He asked, a heart-melting smile on his face.

It was a common enough nickname, especially given her name, but she couldn't remember the last time someone had actually called her by it… except for Xia Caleb.

He tilted his head again, violet eyes twinkling with mischief, his tone suddenly turning in to mock offense. "I know its been a few years, but I didn't think you'd forget me that easily." He pouted, just a little, his bottom lip jutting out playfully.

"Caleb?" She gasped out, mouth agape, "What? When did you—?" She looked him up and down, he'd grown. A lot. Of course he had, but in her mind, he was still the lanky boy that lived on the same street as her over ten years ago.

--

They walked to school together everyday, usually meeting up at the corner before heading the rest of the way. Today was different, though.

Today was the day Caleb was going to tell MeiMei he liked her—not in the normal way. Not in the way that friends liked one another, but the serious way. The way that meant he wanted to walk with her every day, for the rest of their lives.

He'd gotten up at five, he'd been too nervous to sleep, and only picked at his breakfast that morning. His stomach knotted in anxiety, and of course, his Yeye had noticed. After only a little questioning, he'd told the old man his plan, which was why Caleb stood outside the gate to Mei's family home with his hair slicked back and cologne clinging to his school shirt.

It wasn't much, but he'd ran down to the grocery store the night before and bought the best looking discounted bouquet they had with the money he'd been collecting over the last few weeks.

He felt a little silly standing there waiting. Part of him worried their classmates would see him, figure out what he was doing, and tease her about it later. He'd beat them up if he had to, but Mei had never liked when he got into fights—especially on her behalf.

Finally, the door opened and Caleb straightened himself up, tugging at his clothes as he waited for the gate to open and Mei to come out.

Instead of Mei, her Popo stepped out. The elderly woman seemed in a rush, startling when she saw Caleb standing there, nearly dropping her keys.

"Caleb!" She exclaimed, clutching at her chest, and letting a small curse slip out under her breath.

"Sorry, Miss Zhang!" Caleb bowed, raising his head nervously to talk to the elderly woman. "I didn't mean to startle you, I was just waiting for Mei—she hasn't already left, has she?" He asked worriedly, peeking around the woman to look into the yard.

"Oh, honey," Miss Zhang sighed. "Did she not tell you? That strange girl—I told her she needed to tell you, but she was worried you'd be mad." The elderly woman mumbled something else under her breath.

Caleb's heart stopped. Had something bad happened? Was Mei alright?

"I guess there's no use beating around the bush about it—Mei has gone back to live with her mother." Miss Zhang shook her head. "I'm sorry she didn't tell you Caleb—I knew I should have let your Grandpa know about it too, but you know how persnickety little Mei can be about some things, and she asked me not to tell."

Miss Zhang rambled on a moment longer, but Caleb didn't hear a word of it. His face heated, his chest constricting, and breathing became hard—briefly, he thought he was dying. He knew there was the chance of coming here and her telling him she didn't feel the same way, but this? How could he have ever prepared himself for this?

His vision spun, his mind racing. He still had enough wits about him to look behind Miss Zhang again, to hope for just a moment this was a cruel trick, but that wasn't like Mei. She was soft spoken and kind—she'd never hurt him like that… But she was gone now, and it hurt so much, and how could she do this to him?

--

"I could ask the same, you know?" He teased, and she couldn't help but catch the way his eyes seemed to take her in, and she thought, just for a moment, his eyes lingering on her mouth, then her chest.

Her face heated again.

"I haven't changed that much," she said quickly, turning away from him, and crossing her arms over her chest. She placed her attention on the first-aid equipment instead of letting her eyes drift to him, trying not to think about the way his muscles flexed when he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

A small laugh left his lips. "Maybe not," he drawled out, turning as well, but letting his gaze linger on her for just a moment longer.

"Anyways," she brushed aside their conversation, her heart racing as the anxiety of having to demonstrate CPR to a stranger melted and was replaced by the indignation of having to do it in front of her childhood friend—who also happened to be hot. "We should probably get on with this, I have another presentation to attend soon."

She heard him shift beside her, moving to pick up the first-aid kit first. "I assume you paid attention in the demonstration then?" He asked, not missing a beat as he pulled out a few supplies.

"Of course." She always paid attention to things, which unfortunately was working against her as her eyes couldn't help but wander from those strong hands, up his arms, and to his broad chest again.

"This should be easy then," he noted, as he double checked everything.

She kept her head tilted down, not daring to face him fully again, looking through her lashes at the way his shirt shifted against his skin, as well as the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke.

He turned to face her, hand going to his hip, and her eyes snapped back to his. "I guess we should start with the easiest stuff first?"

Hesitantly, she nodded, her nerves from before rising as they got down to business.

He quickly named off some of the supplies, pointing to them in quick succession, but she couldn't help but notice the way his eyes mostly stayed on her. His bright violet gaze seemed to draw her in, her own eyes finding their way back to him, even as she tried to pay attention to both his words and what he was doing with his hands.

"Now some practical applications," he nodded at her, suddenly holding up his arm.

The abrupt movement startled her, and she took a half step back, blinking up at him. "What?"

"Lets see what you know," he said. "Lets say while visiting your office, I fell, and cut a big gash into my arm." He traced a line along his forearm. She couldn't help the small gulp as her eyes followed along, taking in the way those long fingers glided over his skin, bringing attention once again to the mesmerizing way he moved.

"Okay," she hesitated, eyes going back to his, searching for the answer he clearly wasn't going to give her.

"What do you do?" He asked.

"Call the emergency line," she said quickly, nodding in satisfaction to her quick answer.

The satisfaction faded quickly when he shook his head. "Of course, but lets say it'll take them thirty minutes to get there. In the meantime, I'm losing a lot of blood onto your office floor." He said, pushing some dramatic dissatisfaction into his voice.

"Oh," she mouthed, her eyes going to the supplies he had laid out. Right. She was here to perform fake first aid, of course that wasn't the answer.

Hesitantly, she reached for some supplies, hand hovering over the roll of bandages.

She spared hims a quick glance, judging his expression to see if she was going for the right thing. He gave a subtle nod, lips parting to encourage her, "sure." He looked back to the table, "but what else?" he asked.

Her hand hovered over a packet of ointment, glancing back at him again. He didn't give anything else away.

"Its bleeding a lot?" She asked, and he nodded.

"There will probably be blood stains in your carpet." He fake cringed, gripping the faux injured arm.

Her hand instead went to a roll of gauze. She picked both rolls up, looking at him expectantly.

"Now?" He asked, though she really would have preferred she was the one asking that.

She set the bandages down, opting to pull a length of the gauze off the roll. "I should…" she stepped forward, heart pounding in her chest as she did so. "Apply pressure to the wound?"

"Right," he reached forward with his free hand, fingers sliding over the back of her hand and guiding her to apply the gauze to his forearm. "Ideally, you'd want to use something clean like this that's not going to shed too much into the wound. In a pinch, you can use a paper towel, some sort of cloth, like a rag or even a sweater or some other clothing. If you don't have anything, you bare hands could work too, but that might limit your ability to provide further aid."

She barely heard any of what he said, her hands going into autopilot as the feeling of his touch lingered on her skin.

"If the patient is conscious, you can ask them to hold the cloth in place." He slipped his fingers under hers, lifting them from the gauze as he held it against his skin. "If they can't, you'll have to try to work quick to get the gauze in place and then secure it with the bandages." He nodded to the supplies on the table.

She followed his instructions, but even two handed, unrolling the bandages and beginning to wrap his arm turned out to be difficult. Her brow scrunched as she continued to wrap and the bandages folded, creasing oddly and didn't hold quite tight enough to keep the gauze entirely in place.

She chewed nervously at her bottom lip, her cheeks stinging from the flush that rose on her face. She didn't dare look up at him, humiliation at her inability to perform such a simple task taking over her.

But when he spoke, she didn't hear judgment in his tone. Instead, he patiently guided her, giving her tips that made the next wraps tighter, neater, and much more helpful looking.

She removed her hands from him quickly when she finished wrapping the fake wound, balling her trembling fingers up and holding them stiffly at her side.

"Not bad," he complimented, holding the arm up to inspect her subpar job. "There is room for improvement, of course, but no one gets things perfect on the first try."

Immediately, he began to unwrap the bandages, rolling them back up and then doing the same to the gauze.

"Here," he held out his hand and she finally met his gaze again, then glanced down at his outstretched palm. "Lemme see your arm," he gestured, "I'll show you how you can do it if your patient happens to be unconscious and can't help out."

Slowly, she raised her arm, heart jumping into her throat as he gently grabbed her elbow and held it.

He grabbed the gauze again, pressing the still warm cloth to her already heated skin with one hand. His hands were large, his fingers brushing up against her wrist while his palm pressed into the meat of her forearm near her elbow. His fingers were slightly calloused, but the feeling of them brushing against the soft skin of her wrist wasn't entirely unpleasant—quite the opposite, actually.

She stilled as a certain tension shifted from her stomach, instead, sliding lower, and she mentally berated herself for getting aroused so suddenly, and by such a slight caress no less.

He held his hand there, not seeming to notice the shift—though she wasn't sure it was something to be noticed, and she was thankful for that.

He grabbed for the bandages, keeping his hand firmly in place on her arm as he brought the roll up to his lips. They parted quickly, teeth biting at the edge of the roll, loosening it just enough to help him get the roll started.

Her stomach seemed to sink further at the sight. Her eyes lingered on his mouth, her own lips parting, tongue instinctively wiping over her suddenly dry lips. When her gaze flicked up to his, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes met hers, and, briefly, she thought that those bright violet eyes had darkened.

However he continued on, lifting a single finger to slip the free edge of the bandage under it, before quickly wrapping her arm.

The pressure around her arm was a bit uncomfortable, though she barely noticed it as his fingers seemed to continuously shift against her skin, each brush reminding her of the heavy feeling in her core.

"Like that," he said as he finished up, "you want it nice and snug. The pressure will help staunch the bleeding, hopefully keeping the patient from losing too much blood before the emergency responders get there."

Instead of moving his hand from her arm, it lingered. One hand encircled her wrist, the other tucked under her elbow, supporting her arm while his thumb gently ran over the neat lines of the bandages. The stretchy fabric and gauze damped the sensation a little, but she couldn't help but think of what it would feel like to have those thumbs running over other clothed areas of her body.

The sudden thought made her inhale quickly, his hand stilling as she began to pull her arm away.

"You okay?" Caleb asked, leaning, just a little, to meet her gaze.

"Of course," the words came out in a quick breath, her voice soft.

Concern briefly creased his brow, but he pulled his hands away. "I think you've got this well enough, we can move on to the CPR assessment."

Quickly, pulling his attention from her, he gathered the supplies back up, indicating to her to unroll the bandages and gauze and dispose of them. He set the first-aid equipment aside, pulling the CPR mannequin closer to the edge of the table and prepping to move on.

"So," he began, "CPR can be really physically taxing. Most likely, if there is an incident, the patient will be on the floor, which will give you a lot more leverage, but for now, we'll begin on the table, just to make demonstration easier. Recently, the University's health and safety department has mandated a certain amount of equipment be in staff areas and a certain number of staff be trained to use it." He placed his hand on the bulky electronic machine. "These will be in the break room, I'm sure they showed you where it was placed when they installed them a few months ago?" He asked and she nodded.

"Good, so, this is a portable AED," he quickly explained what the machine was used for and all the parts that came with it.

Briefly, the tension that had built moments before left, with Caleb focusing on instruction and her nerves calming.

He continued his demonstration, showing her how to lift the patients chin and use the provided bag and mask to administer air to the patient—explaining, that, thankfully, the use of mouth to mouth was outdated and rarely needed in most cases.

He then moved on to showing the proper way to give chest compressions. Only then did the the awkwardness that had slipped away fall back into place. Her eyes couldn't help but be drawn back to the way he moved, the way his muscles flexed with every press, and the way he made the movement look so effortless.

She appreciated Dr. Xun greatly for arranging something less crowded for her training… but why couldn't her instructor have been the spectacled old man that did the original presentation? Because now, she was focused on the entirely wrong thing, and her heartbeat was increasing for all the wrong reasons.

"Now you try it." Caleb's voice broke the daze she'd been in, and she blinked at him owlishly as she realized she hadn't heard the bit of whatever he'd been saying to her.

"Okay," she said as she looked between him and the mannequin, slowly moving to the side of the table. She spared Caleb another glance over her shoulder, hoping she remembered the steps correctly and wasn't about to make a fool of herself.

First, she checked for breathing and a pulse—of course there was nothing.

"Good, MeiMei; be quick, but make sure you know what you're working with before proceeding." When he complimented her, coupled with the use of the old nickname, she felt a sudden rush of want flood through her. Her hands stilled for a moment, a tremble running through her fingers at the feeling.

Where was all this coming from? Sure, Caleb had grown into an attractive man, but still, this was a bit much… Had feelings like this been there before? She chewed at her bottom lip, thinking back. That time of her life had been hard, to say the least. Mostly, she'd tried to forget about it. Leaving her Popo had been a lot, with the trauma of living with her mother and new step-dad nearly unbearable…

She shook the thoughts away, balling her hands together for just a moment before moving on.

She moved forward, her hips bumping into the edge of the table as she focused on the CPR mannequin. Her hands hovered over the chest before she settled them against the cold, hard plastic sternum. She pressed down, a small grunt leaving her lips at the effort it took to do a single compression.

"Here," Caleb said just behind her, his hand gently brushing her elbow, drawing the breath from her lungs as she stilled. "It's easier if you do it like this."

She felt him move behind her, the warmth of him engulfing her as his arms came around her. His strong hands plucked at her much smaller ones, his fingertips brushing softly over her skin as he repositioned them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him lean a bit forward, his solid chest coming into contact with her back, his soft breathing ruffling her hair. He overlapped his hands on hers, giving a gentle press to encourage her to try again.

"Now, press as hard as you can."

His voice was so near, startling an inaudible gasp from her lips. Instead of doing as instructed, she quickly looked up, his proximity too overwhelming to focus on the task at hand.

The crown of her head pressed into his chest as she blinked up at him, his face only a few inches from her own. She expected him to pull away, to realize she couldn't focus on doing chest compressions at a time like this. Instead he shifted around her. His gaze met hers, those bright violet eyes seeming to darken again and she felt his chest rise as he took in a deep, slow breath.

In the stillness of the room, she could hear his own heart beating hard in his chest, the rhythm matching the excited pace of her own.

Slowly, his hands shifted over hers, moving from engulfing them, to sliding up her wrists. An involuntary shiver ran through her and she couldn't help but notice the way his nostrils flared nearly in-perceptively, his pupils dilating.

She found herself trapped, his arms all but encircling her, his body caging her against the lab table… and she didn't hate it. Rather than her anxiety rising and telling her to flee to the safety of somewhere solitary, she felt her hands lifting from the mannequin, briefly bracing on the edge of the cold metal edge of the table, her back pressing further against his chest.

"Do you think…" He finally said, his voice low, hesitation in his tone, "that it would be okay for me to kiss you?"

--

Mei sat on the floor of her room, hands pressed against the doorframe to brace herself. She squinted out the small gap of her door, watching as her Popo brought out tea and some sweets for their guests.

Her mother was back in town, but this time, she brought a friend. It was a man. He looked much older than her mother, with lines already creasing his skin and his hair more gray than black. The two of them sat side by side, the man's hand on her mother's knee, giving it a gentle squeeze as her Popo sat down.

"We got married," her mother stated quickly, the man nodding along. "And we have a nice house now, its close to the good schools in Linkon—I want Mei to come live with us."

Mei couldn't believe her ears. She pushed away from the door, closing her eyes tightly, and pressing her palms to her ears before returning to peek out at the adults.

"I won't stop you…" her Popo said slowly, the old man nodding like she'd answered their unspoken question correctly.

"I don't think she'll like it though," her Popo kept going, her mother's brow creasing.

"What will there be not to like?" Her mother asked, defensively.

"She's a soft girl," her Popo explained, "she's not going to like the bustle of the city. It took her so long to make friends here—she's going to be lonely."

"It will be good for her," the man interrupted, "she'll learn more about how life really is in the city. Here in the country, she's barely even learning properly at school. She needs to socialize more." Her mother agreed.

Mei pushed away from the door again, crawling over to her bed. Emotions rose in her throat, breathing felt hard, her chest felt tight. She was going to have to leave? She felt her entire body tremble at the thought, her breath catching, eyes becoming bleary with tears as she her mother and the strangers words set in.

She couldn't leave.

She pressed her lips together, hands rubbing at her eyes. She heard movement in the other room, her mother calling her name. Panic seized her. She couldn't leave her Popo. She couldn't leave her school. She couldn't leave Caleb.

She scrambled, pushing herself fully to the floor and crawling under her bed, letting the darkness envelop her and keep her safe.

"Mei?" her mother called again, the door to her room opening.

Three pairs of feet flooded in, Mei breathed heavily—they'd hear her. They'd find her and take her away. She clamped her hands over her mouth and nose, choking back the sob that threatened to sound.

"She's probably outside," her Popo reasoned. "Maybe she's down the street at the Xia's house—she spends a lot of time there."

"Mr. Xia?" Her mother asked, sounding a little offended. "You let her go off to that old man's house alone? Mother, how could you?"

"She's friends with his grandson—he's a kind old man, you know that. Little Caleb is her best friend, and he's a good boy." Her Popo defended.

"Still, she's a growing girl, Mother, you should keep a better eye on her." Her mother turned, her and the man leaving the room. She heard the front door open and close, but her Popo stayed in the room.

Slowly, her Popo came to the edge of the bed, letting out a grunt of pain as she got down on her knees and lifted the blanket that hung over the edge. "I'm getting too old to get you from under here." Her Popo said softly, her kindly old eyes searching for Mei in the darkness.

Mei's voice came out shaky when she spoke, her sob finally breaking through. "I don't wanna go," she cried, her arms outstretching, reaching for her Popo, who pulled her out from her hiding place with a feeble groan.

"I know, Mei," her Popo pressed a kiss into her hair. "But it'll be okay, we'll see if you can come back during the summer—surely your Mother would let you do that."

"I don't wanna just come back for the summer—I don't want to leave!" Mei sobbed, her voice muffled as she buried her face in her Popo's shoulder.

Her Popo rubbed her back gently, trying her best to calm the crying girl, but Mei's sobs only grew. She didn't want to leave her Popo behind, to have to make new friends, or keep new bullies at bay. Who would keep her safe? Who would walk with her to school every day? Or hold her hand when the weather got bad?

How could she tell Caleb that she couldn't be his friend anymore?

--

"What?" She heard herself breath as she blinked up at him, too stunned to articulate the resounding yes her subconscious screamed inside her head.

Something flashed over his face—regret, maybe?—and panic rose in her chest as his fingers began to lift from her wrists, the warmth of his chest pulling away from her.

"Wait!" She blurted, pushing at the table and using the leverage to turn herself in his arms. He stilled, his hands bracing on the table, its edge pressed into her backside. He was still so close, the realization of their proximity when face-to-face nearly overwhelming, pushing the words she wanted to say back down her throat.

"That wasn't—" she started, hating the way her voice wavered as she looked up at him. His gaze held hers—steady and expectant—his lips parting slightly, waiting and ready to pounce at her word.

Another breath and she got the words out, "It wasn't a no," she said quickly, a flush rising to her face as the corner of his mouth lifted, the smirk on his face making her stomach flip in excitement.

"But was it a yes?" He asked, leaning just a little closer, forcing her hands, which were pressed between them, to shift, her palms flat against his solid chest.

"Yes," the word came out as a whisper, barely leaving her lips before she felt his fingers under her chin, tipping her face up a little more, and leaning to close the distance between them.

At first, she wasn't sure she was registering what was going on right. Surely, surely, she wasn't standing in a university classroom being kissed—and certainly not by a man she hadn't seen in years.

When his lips shifted against hers, their chaste kiss slipped away, replaced by something heavier, and altogether hotter, she was certain this was real—this was actually happening.

Her hands splayed across his chest, slipping up from the defined muscles of his pecs to his equally developed traps. She pushed herself up on her toes, his free hand pressing into the small of her back, bracing her against his body as he deepened their kiss.

She'd been kissed before—from soft, hesitant kisses at the start of a new relationship, to the heavier, needier kisses during the most intimate moments. But this? It felt different.

There was something desperate about the way his lips slanted against hers, the way his hand cupped her cheek, holding her steady while his lips parted, tongue slipping out to coax her lips to part for him. She gave in instantly, a small moan slipping past her lips as his tongue slipped into her mouth, the soft muscle pressing into her own.

She lost herself for just a moment, floating headily through the feeling of his body against hers, the taste of his lips, and the smell of sweat that clung to his skin.

Then, a moment later, and he parted from her. Her hands unwound themselves from the fabric of his shirt, their bodies pulling apart just a fraction, the loss of his warmth instant. With the sudden loss of his touch, her feet fell back to the ground, her eyes fluttering open to gaze up at him in a mix of awe and confusion.

Her heart hammered in her chest at the sight of him, a bright smile on his face, cheeks a ruddy red. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

--

It hadn't been his intention to kiss her, not yet at least. He knew he was taking things too far when he boxed her against the table, her soft warmth caressing his skin—it took a lot to control himself, especially at the feel of her soft backside against his thighs.

He was just here to do a job, that was all, he told himself. But he let his touch linger on her skin anyway, suppressing the need to drag his fingers up higher, to feel the soft skin of her arm again, or to encircle her in his arms and pull her fully against him.

He'd found his resolve, somehow, hands and mind focused on instructing her.

Until she looked up at him.

He felt that thread of resolve break, her eyes wide, looking up at him innocently, but with an unmistakable question in them—what next? He should have interpreted it as something professional, as if she were asking for guidance on the next step of chest compressions, but he wasn't level headed enough to trick himself into believing that.

But he made himself begin to pull away, or he tried to. His touch lingered on her skin, drawing a shiver from her, and a hitch in her breath.

He wanted to lean down and kiss her right then and there, but that would probably scare her away—and rightfully so. And what if she didn't want it? Would she be able to push him away? She'd always been so timid, so hesitant to push back against anything the world threw at her. All those years ago, he'd helped her with that, helped her tell the older kids to leave her alone, tell the teachers she couldn't take on any more afterschool duties, helped her come out of her shell and stand her ground—even if he'd had to hold her hand while she did it.

He couldn't start taking choices away from her now, not when he'd just gotten the chance to have her back in his life.

The words left his mouth without thinking, the shocked expression that flooded her features enough to draw a panic through him. He should have left it alone, let her get through this hurdle, and let them get to know each other again.

He began to pull away again, but stopped when she blurted for him to wait, turning in his arms to face him.

The urge to slink his arms back around her, to pull her flush to him was overwhelming, but he pushed it aside, his heart hammering in his chest as he let her speak.

"It wasn't a no," her voice was so soft, so low it was almost inaudible, but her meaning was clear. Still, he wanted to hear her say it.

He couldn't help the excitement that crept into his tone, "but was it a yes?" He drawled, leaning just a little closer, fingers itching to touch her.

Her hands on his chest just about drove him wild. He wanted to know what they felt like roving over the rest of him, pulling at his clothes, sliding over his skin—he was so lost in thought he barely heard her answer.

The soft yes coaxed him on, his hand instantly raising to brush along her jaw, resting just below her chin and tilting her head back. He descended on her without another moment to spare, taking it slow at first, feeling the tension in her lips melt away the longer his lips rested against her own.

But his touch quickly turned desperate, his grip on her chin tightening as his lips moved against hers. His tongue slinked out, pressing against the seam of her mouth, needing to taste her.

She pressed up against him further, her hands gliding over his chest, and he clung to her for dear life. His hand clutched at her back, bracing her against him, his fingers finding their way from her chin to her cheek, cupping her face and holding her steady as his lips and tongue explored her mouth.

He couldn't believe this was happening, and had to try hard to keep himself from going further, the small noises that escaped her lips driving him mad. He felt his cock twitch in his pants, the sudden friction of her pressed against him enough to snap him from the trance her lips had put him in.

Fuck, he grunted to himself, parting from her with a deep inhale. He let her slip off of him, his hands loosening from her and he took a small step back—God he hoped she hadn't noticed. He could still salvage this.

Her face was flushed, her lips already puffy from their kiss—and he wanted to dive back in, pull her against him again and delve deeper.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he finally breathed out, forcing a smile onto his face. And so much more… he wanted to follow it up with.

He was going to leave it here, get back to business, and not rush her any more than he already had. But she stayed clung to him, her eyes glazed with desire as she looked up to him.

"Really?" She whispered, his eyes drawn to the movement of her lips.

He gave the smallest nod, swallowing as his resolve began to break again.

Her tongue slipped from between her lips, wetting her lips as her gaze fell to his. They parted again, trembling as she spoke. "Would you…" she hesitated, and he felt his cock twitch again at the way her heady gaze met his, "would you do it again?"

He didn't respond with words, instead, he closed the distance between them. He grunted as she pressed flush against him once more, the friction of her stomach against his hard cock too much to bare—there was no way she hadn't noticed now.

She didn't push him away, choosing instead to wind her arms around his neck and pull him into a deeper kiss. She took more of a lead this time, her touch no longer as shy, her tongue meeting his in sloppy, wet kisses.

His hands found her waist, gripping and lifting her with ease, resting her on the lab table, earning a small gasp from her as he moved himself between her legs.

He never imagined this would actually be happening. He'd thought about what it would be like when they finally met again, when she realized he'd been there all this time—at the same gym, the same lunch room, waiting at the same bus stop. He'd lingered just outside her vision for so long. He waited and had been patient, but never had the time seemed right. She'd always been too busy, too anxious, or with too many other people.

He'd be lying if he'd said he hadn't fantasized about this, though. If she had bumped into him outside the gym and realized who he was, saw that his feelings for her still lingering beneath the surface after all this time. What he'd do if she returned those feelings. His mind had taken him down all kinds of roads, some soft and slow, others hot and heady—too much like this one. This all felt like a dream.

"Caleb," he felt her whine against his lips and he realized he'd stilled, lost in thought for far too long. But his hesitation allowed her to take the lead, her hands tangling in his hair, keeping him anchored against her.

"Sorry, MeiMei," he muttered, his lips pressing to the corner of her mouth, relishing in the small whimper that left her parted lips at the use of the nickname.

He planted hot, open mouth kisses along her jaw, her head tilting to the side to give him better access to her throat. His hands slid up her waist, fingers finding the edge of her shirt, slipping under the hem of the fabric and caressing over her soft sides.

She arched her back at his touch, her chest pressing further into his. He felt the low moan that escaped her just as much as he heard it in his ear, the needy sound encouraging him to do more.

Still, he didn't want to push her more than she could take, pressing a kiss just below her ear and whispering. "Do you want me to keep going?" He asked, punctuating the sentence with soft, fleeting kisses.

"Don't stop," was all she could manage out, her chest heaving as she lifted her legs, her soft thighs wrapping around his hip, pulling his clothed, twitching cock straight to her core.

He didn't need any more encouragement than that, his mouth moving down her neck, tongue lapping at her heated skin, lips sucking gently on her soft flesh—careful not to leave any marks. His hands snaked upwards, fingers meeting the edge of her bra, pushing teasingly at the elastic. His hand splayed across her ribs, relishing the feeling of the rise and fall of her every breath.

His touch clearly drove her wild, the small sounds from her lips growing more frequent, less controlled. He would do anything to keep hearing them.

But it was her turn to tease him, her hips rolling to meet his, the friction against his cock enough to make him stutter, his kisses faltering for just a second.

Were they really going to take is this far? He thought as he breathed her in, torn between pulling away and picking this up elsewhere or leaning in to devour her completely.

The decision was made for him when he realized her hands had snaked down his chest, gripping at the edge of his shirt, tugging it up.

He parted from her just enough to get the fabric over his head, his fingers itching to reach back under her shirt and resume their exploration. He tugged at her hem as well, pulling her blouse over her head with ease, pausing for a second, taking her in.

She seemed to be doing the same, and he couldn't help but feel a moment of vain pride as her hands met his hard stomach, fingers following the seams of his abs down to the lines that peeked from his pants. Her gaze met his and he knew there was no turning back now.

He leaned back in, his lips meeting hers. Her hands tangled back into his hair, tugging and pulling soft moans from him.

His fingers met her ribs again, caressing for just a moment before finally slipping under the elastic of her bra. He pushed the fabric up, fingers sinking into her soft breasts, rough fingers glancing over her stiff nipples.

She moaned into their kiss, arching into him again. He relished the weight of her breasts in her hands, committing the feel of them to memory before he removed his hands. He slid them around her back, quickly undoing her bra and letting it fall away.

He pulled her flush against him, their heated skin meeting, the feel of her soft breasts sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. She rocked against him, needy noises leaving her lips as she ground her clothed cunt against him. Her hands left his hair, going to fumble with the waistband of his pants.

He stopped her, his hand engulfing hers, and his heart almost broke when he pulled back and caught the pout on her face. In truth, there was little more in this world he wanted right now than to have her pull his cock from his pants, to feel her soft hands pumping over his length, to press himself inside her and fuck nearly two decades worth of longing into her. At that moment, he feared she'd get him out of his pants and he wouldn't last much longer than that—and where was the fun in that?

Instead, he brought her hands to rest on his chest, his hands going to work at the button of her pants, loosening them and slipping a hand inside her panties.

She was already so wet—it was painful to not be able to sink his cock into her waiting cunt, to feel the tight pull of her core around him. She jolted as his fingers slid over her clit, easily gliding between her hot fold, finding the tight little bundle of nerves quickly. She clung to him as he gave her clit a quick circle, drawing a moan out of her, needy pleas reaching his ears and begging him to do more.

He pushed his hand further into her pants, palm cupping her cunt as a single finger found her core. She bucked into his hand, his finger slipping into her opening with ease, her walls fluttering around the digit as he sunk into her, knuckle deep.

His palm pressed just over her clit, moving with small, even pressure as he let his finger explore her core.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her voice coming out in a whisper as she begged him to keep going. "Caleb—" she drew out his name, the sound of it on her lips enough to drive him wild. He wanted to give into her demands, but he wanted to prolong this and enjoy the feeling of her against him just a little longer.

He lifted the heel of his hand, pulling his finger from her core for the briefest moment.

"Wait," she gasped out, voice shaking from the sudden loss of him.

"Don't worry, MeiMei," he pressed a kiss to her temple, "I won't let you get away from me again."

--

MeiMei.

Fuck. How could he keep calling her that at a time like this? All this time had passed, everything was different, and yet, somehow it was the same. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought they'd end up like this, though.

Any coherent thoughts she had were ripped from her when she felt him shift his hand against her cunt, two fingers probing at her entrance this time. She couldn't help but roll her hips into his hand, his fingers gliding inside of her, flexing and stretching her walls.

His fingers were so long, reaching much deeper than hers ever could, curling in her just right, pressing into an especially sensitive spot and forcing a moan from her lips. She felt his chest swell beneath her hands, his breaths deep and labored in her ear.

"You'll need to be a little quieter," he said softly, his lips pressing to the junction just below her ear, trailing softly up her jaw. "I don't think I locked the door."

She expected panic to rise in her chest at the realization, but the idea of getting caught—along with the heel of his hand pressing into her clit—only made her core clench tighter around his fingers. Fuck. That shouldn't have turned her on as much as it had.

Another mewl of pleasure threatened to escape her, but he silenced it with his lips on hers. He took the moment to slip another finger into her, the stretch burning so good her vision went white. She whimpered into his mouth, his kisses swallowing them whole, their lips parting in wet, heated gasps.

He pumped his fingers inside of her, his mouth breaking from hers for a moment, going back to her ear. He swallowed and spoke, voice low and slow, "I've gotta make sure I'll fit MeiMei—be patient."

She was already so close, the pressure on her clit just right, his fingers curling into her and pulling a gasp from her lips. His low tone was just he icing on the cake—a whine ripped through her, her hands leaving his shoulders, fingers digging into his forearm as her orgasm wracked through her, keeping his hand steady. Her body jolted at every movement of his fingers, the overstimulation while she rode out her orgasm overwhelming.

He silenced her moans with another deep kiss, his lips shushing her softly, as he talked her through her climax.

He cursed under his breath, his chest rising and falling to meet hers as she eased up her grip on his arm. His touch remained a moment longer, his long fingers curling inside her one more time, flexing and stretching her walls before finally retreating.

The loss of him was instant, her walls clenching around nothing, the empty feeling overwhelming and drawing a needy sob from her. "Caleb," his name slipped off of her tongue instantly, the want in her tone palpable, "wait—" she begged, "I need you."

But he wasn't going anywhere, his hand only leaving her to return to her waist, fingers digging into her skin as he lifted her from the table. "Here," he said softly, her unsteady legs supporting her just enough for him to push at the waistband of her pants.

She helped as much as she could, kicking her shoes off and stepping out of her pants when he got them to her ankle. He lifted her again, a gasp tearing out of her as her ass met the edge of the cold, metal table. The sensation was quickly replaced, though, his hands pushing down his elastic waistband and finally freeing his cock from the confinement of his pants.

Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, she wasn't sure if she breathed the world out loud or not. That was what he meant when he said he needed to make sure he'd fit.

He slipped back between her trembling legs, a hand going to caress over her soft thigh as he settled himself against her core. He didn't press into her just yet, taking a moment to pull her to him, her breasts squishing into his chest, the rhythm of their breaths matching as he tilted her face to meet his.

He kissed her languidly, his lips moving deliberately over hers, his tongue tasting her slowly before he parted again. The head of his cock poked at her lower stomach, the shaft pressing against her naked cunt—hard and warm and twitching with every movement between them.

Still, he took his time, kisses traveling down her jaw one more time. His hand caressed up her thigh and to her hip, squeezing her flesh and holding her steady against him, stilling her rocking hips.

"Give me a second," his voice came out deep, almost strained, "let me savor this."

She did as he asked, willing herself to let him continue to take the lead, his hands exploring her body once again. Her breaths came out in soft pants, low moans falling from her mouth as he caressed her waist, his thumbs running rough over her ribs, his palms moving to cup her breasts again.

His head lowered, his kisses falling down her collar bone. He pressed her breast together, his lips leaving a soft, wet trail over the raised fat of her cleavage. He ran his fingers over her nipples, his calloused finger-pads drawing a shiver from her, just before he moved his hands out of the way and took a pert nipple into his mouth.

Her hands anchored themselves in his hair, holding him to her chest, moans falling from her lips as he laved the little bud with his tongue. His hands kneaded her all the while, his lips moving from one breast to the other, blowing gentle puffs of air over the tracks of saliva he left behind.

He sucked hard on the supple flesh of her breast, not being so careful anymore, tongue lapping over the patch of reddened skin he left behind.

"Now," he said, voice rough with need, as he raised his head. He kissed her one more time on the lips, disentangling her from his hair as he pulled back, just a little. "Are you still ready?" He asked, his hand leaving her, instead going to grip his cock, the swollen tip finally brushing against her sopping wet opening.

"Yes," she exhaled.

--

He didn't waste anymore time, the tip of his cock pressing into her, the head alone stretching her and earning him a soft mewl of pleasure from her. God, she was so tight around him. His head dropped to her shoulder, eyes unfocused, but locked on to where their bodies met.

She was divine—better than he had imagined, and boy had he imagined this. A lot.

He pushed himself in further, only pausing when the noises from her shifted, the pleasure mixing with a pinch of pain. He almost started to pull back, but she raised her legs, hooking them around his hips, locking him into place.

"Please, Caleb," she moaned into his ear. Those words alone were enough to wash away any of his doubts, but she kept going. "I need to feel you deep inside, of me, please, Caleb."

Did she know? Know how crazy her words were drove him? He thought, briefly, that maybe the shy, timid Mei everyone else knew was a facade. But then again, it had always been like this, hadn't it? She was quiet and distant with everyone else. But with him? She could be herself—she could be loud, and needy, and selfish. Nothing much had changed. He'd always give her what she needed.

He was thankful for how wet she was, it made the next move easy, even if it drew another gasp of pain from her lips. He pressed deeper, his hips snapping against hers, his cock burying itself deep inside her fluttering walls.

"Fuck," he ground out, "Mei, you feel so good." His words came out in pants, his breaths syncing up with her small gasps.

He stilled again, lips finding hers, as he let her adjust to the girth of him.

Her lips trembled against his, the feeling of her ragged breaths sending a pang of guilt straight to his heart—he should have gone slower, prepped her better—but all thoughts were ripped from his mind as she rolled her hips against him.

That was all the encouragement he needed, his hips moving reflexively, pulling his length most of the way from her before pumping back into her. The needy walls of her cunt nearly sucked him in, the pressure making his head lull down to her shoulder, mouth pressing into the crook of her neck as he fucked into her again.

He could tell, from the way her walls fluttered around him and her soft pants in his ear, she was enjoying this too—though perhaps not as much as he was. It took a lot to keep going, his rhythm interrupted with every pulse of her cunt, his balls already threatening to tighten and spill inside of her.

He couldn't, not yet, he'd waited too long not to draw this out.

He stilled again, hand slinking between them. His thumb found her clit, a single brush of it had her walls clenching around him. He grunted, stomach tightening as it took all of his willpower to keep from burying himself all the way inside of her and painting those gummy walls white with his seed.

"Wait," she whined, panic in her voice as he drew circles over the sensitive little bud. It wasn't long, him sealing off her pleas and whines with his lips, until she came again.

She convulsed around him, her core milking him for all he was worth. She still fluttered around him when he pumped into her again, his breaths heavy and labored, as he finally let himself bury his cock deep inside of her and find his release.

He shuddered with the strength of his orgasm, moan catching in his throat. He hunched over, burying his face in her chest, breaths coming out ragged and uneven as stars clouded his vision.

Reality seeped back slowly, the gentle touch of her hand in his hair soothing him and pulling him back from the daze of his orgasm.

"Caleb?" her voice was soft in his ear, questioning and hesitant.

He raised his head, eyes meeting hers, clearer than they had been all day. "Yes, MeiMei," he said softly, letting their bodies linger against one another, resting his forehead against hers.

"Was it…" she began, biting at her lip, nerves tinting her tone. "Was it good?"

He almost groaned in response. Was it good?

She was going to be the death of him.

--

She couldn't make her heart stop racing.

Had they really just done that? She blinked, watching as he pulled his shirt back on. They had—as evident by the soreness between her legs and the pile of napkins he'd used to clean her up.

He'd apologized profusely while he wiped the dribble of cum from between her legs, his hands forcing her knees apart as she insisted that she could get it herself.

Her face stung at the thought of it—because somehow, that had been the most embarrassing part of all of this.

He'd cleaned her up, helped her dress, and given her another quick kiss before he moved on to righting himself. It was… just like him, she thought, heart twisting as memories from all those years ago came rushing back.

"Alright, Mei." He finally turned back to her, "we should probably get the rest of this over with—I think you're gonna be late to your next presentation as is."

"Wait, what?" her mouth fell open, brows knitting as she looked from him to the CPR mannequin. "You're still going to make me do the assessment? After that?" The pitch of her voice rising with offense.

"Well," he scratched the back of his head, eyes cutting away from her sheepishly, "I hope you didn't have sex with me just to get out of your training." He hesitantly met her gaze, the implication of what she'd said not hitting her until he spelled it out.

"Oh," her face drained, the shame of even suggesting such a thing too much to bare. "No, of course not," she defended, hastily, "I'm sorry—that's not what I meant—I just…" She fidgeted in place as she tried to find the right words to explain her worries.

He smiled anyways, joining her beside the lab table once again. He touched her elbow softly, turning her to face the table—she let him.

"It would be negligent to not finish," he explained, his arms wrapping around her middle, pulling her back to his chest, just like before. "But don't worry about it too much," he said next to her ear, pressing a light kiss to her temple, "I'm right here to show you the way."

Thank you for reading!

Most of the other professors seemed to think of their students as a distraction from their own projects but Professor Widogast always turned up on time, bright eyed and eager, despite having more ongoing studies than any of them. He marked fairly, he spoke animatedly, he heartily rewarded any raised hands with candy from his pockets, regardless of whether the answer had been right or wrong. He loved a demonstration, wheeling bits of equipment into the lecture hall that probably weren’t meant to leave the labs, apparently perfectly willing to risk his eyebrows and fingertips as long as they’d have a big flash and bang to make a particularly tricky equation suddenly become exciting. 

And more than that, Professor Widogast seemed to remember what it was like to be one of them. His office hours were merely a suggestion, all of his students knew implicitly that his door was always open, if they were struggling with a piece of homework or deadlines were smothering them or exams hadn’t gone the way they wanted. They all knew if they started choking up, something they thought they’d all outgrown, Professor Widogast would have a gentle smile, a box of slightly stale biscuits and a spectral cat to curl on their knee and purr loudly until everything seemed better. Whatever they needed to get them through rough patches, extra credit or one to one sessions or just a pat on the back and an assurance that things would be alright, he had it in those numerous, cavernous pockets.

To the older students, Professor Widogast was the promise that the Soltryce Academy was changing for the better. To the new students, he was their reassurance that they belonged in this world of magic. They all would have loved Professor Widogast for that if nothing else.

But there was still one other reason, the one that was most prized on the face of it all as far as students pretended to be concerned. 

If you didn’t feel like doing any work that day, Professor Widogast of the long home made scarf and the scruffy ginger beard and the porcelain cat figurines on his desk was incredibly easy to distract, easy to divert towards an hour of anecdotes.

You just had to ask about his husband. 

“And then you can see how the two runes combine…these shapes here, the triangle from this one and the circle from the other…into the one for the new spell,” Caleb looked up from the receipt he’d been scrawling on, “Does that make a little more sense?”

He smiled warmly at the flood of realisation on Kyor’s face. He loved seeing that expression, that mix of relief and delight and pride that would light up his student’s eyes when something finally clicked.  

“Yes!” the young aasimar nodded eagerly, “I didn’t see how the different shapes came together until now.”

Caleb nodded, “That is the basis of most runic work but when they get more complex it can be hard to tease out…” he folded the receipt and handed it to his student, “Try the problem set and if you struggle, email me or drop in any time, okay?”

“I will, sir, thank you,” he took it and shouldered his backpack higher. 

“You can just call me Caleb,” he chuckled, the idea of that always took a little longer to sink in with his newer classes but they’d get there, “See you on Wednesday.”

He waved Kyor off then paused, staying behind the desk and sifting papers aimlessly, but no more students came forward with questions they hadn’t wanted to ask in front of the others. They’d either rushed off to their next lecture or were milling around in groups amongst the rows of seats, comparing their schedules for the rest of the day or deciding where to go for lunch. It was a pretty big group, the numbers for his Transmutation 101 course were climbing by the semester, and there was a pleasant buzz of chatter in the hall, even half full. 

Caleb wondered idly who’d won the bingo today.

He started shoving papers haphazardly into his satchel, telling himself he’d sort them properly later and knowing he was lying. There was a carpet of paper in the bottom of that bag at least two inches thick. As Caleb packed away, he tuned into some of the conversations around him. 

“Are they an art student or something? If they are, they’re super lost…”

“Gods, imagine if some of the professors see that many piercings, they’d have a heart attack.”

“They’re probably handing out fliers to a weird performance art thing.”

“Or for a cult!”

“Why’d you sound so excited about that?”

“Their ink is insane, do you think it’s weird if I go ask where they had it done?”

“If you do, ask where they got their skirt too.”

Caleb glanced up, catching the eye of the students near him, the group who’d warmed to him the quickest, who always sat at the front and could always be counted on for a hand in the air. 

“Who do you mean?” he asked with a wry smile. 

The closest, a drow girl named Bianca, smiled back if a little coyly, “Oh, the tiefling outside the lecture hall, sir. None of us have ever seen them before, is all.”

“A little colourful for our end of the Academy, are they?” Caleb chuckled, swinging his satchel over his shoulder and juggling his mug and the equipment he’d borrowed from the lab to show the students that he needed to get back before Essek noticed. 

“I guess so, sir,” Bianca smiled, “They just look a little too interesting for us.”

That made him laugh, moving to the door as he did so he could ensure their attention was still on him, “You don’t know how right you are. Have a good evening all, don’t work too hard, ja?”

That got him a ripple of good naturedly sarcastic laughter which choked off into stunned silence as Caleb caught the strange, oddly dressed tiefling’s running hug, spinning around with him before drawing back to kiss his cheek.

“Hello, liebling,” he beamed, “What brings you all the way over here?”

Molly gave him a lopsided grin and freed one arm to dig around in his pocket, eventually pulling out a slightly squashed plastic bag filled with even more squashed sandwiches. In his defence, they probably looked like that when Caleb made them this morning. And then, apparently, left them on the kitchen counter. 

“These!”

Caleb grinned sheepishly, “Sorry…if it helps I wanted to talk to you anyway? About something specific, not just in the way I always want to talk to you…” 

Molly tilted his head, tapping his cheek, “You’re adorable. Your office?”

Caleb nodded, sliding his arm around Molly’s shoulders, throwing a last wave over his shoulder to his students who all scrambled to pick their jaws up off the floor and duck their eyes. As soon as they were out of earshot, out of the lecture building across the sunny courtyard towards the office building, he gave his husband a teasing squeeze.

“You really need to stop doing that to my poor students.”

“I will when you learn!” Molly nudged him back with a hip, “All those stories you tell about me and you don’t even keep a picture in your office? Serves you right.”

“Fair enough…and it’s pretty funny…”

“And it’s pretty funny!” Molly winked, pulling him into the elevator as soon as they were in the cool of the faculty offices. 

They never took the stairs for two reasons. One, that Caleb’s office was a tiny space crammed into the very top corner of the building. He’d been offered bigger spaces as he published more significant papers, joined more councils, got increasingly positive student reviews and became generally harder to ignore in his stubborn way. But he rather liked his little closet, it meant people were less likely to bother him and he’d filled it full of so much junk that a move would take nearly a year anyway. 

The second reason for the elevator was they could give each other a proper hello behind closed doors. Caleb was looking more than a little rumpled by the time his office door closed behind them. 

“So,” Molly hopped up onto his husband’s desk, folding his legs under him, tail disturbing papers as it thrashed and betrayed the excitement behind his casual words, “You said you wanted to talk to me anyway? Was forgetting your lunch a carefully calculated ploy?”

“Wish I could say yes but no, I was just sleepy this morning,” Caleb sat down in his chair, making sure to angle his weight in just the right way so he didn’t break the damn thing, it was on its last legs. 

He shoved the sandwiches to one side, knowing they were going to quickly be forgotten. He shifted small paper mountains around, eventually finding the one notebook he was looking for, opening it to pages of scrawls, runes traced over and over again until they bled into the paper, lists of ingredients with some crossed out in red. That one little notebook, swollen with how many times it had been opened and folded and scribbled in, held a year's worth of work, snuck in around the edges of Caleb’s actual studies. It held more late nights that he could count, a good chunk of their savings, a few burns and scars on his hands from wrong turns or bad maths he hadn’t caught in time. And now it held an answer. 

Caleb turned to his husband with a soft breath and a gentle smile, feeling the weight one person felt when a joined life was about to change but the other didn’t know it yet. 

“I think I can make it work.”

Caleb slid the notebook over to him, open to a certain page. He knew the runes and formulae wouldn’t make any sense to Molly, it wouldn’t have to himself a couple of moments ago. It looked like a bizarre page from a biology textbook that someone had doodled on, a little transmutation, a little dumancy because there was a hell of a lot of luck involved with this. Though, Caleb supposed, that was true of people born with the right equipment too. 

But he knew Molly would understand the words written at the bottom of the page, circled over and over and given more exclamation marks than was really appropriate for a scientific notebook. Chance of conception: 95%.

That was enough to soften Mollymauk’s expression into wonder and flood his eyes with hope. 

“I’ve done some very basic test runs, not enough to fully manifest it yet, I didn’t want to risk using up too much of the materials. I know it will manifest, I know it will function, all the theory says it will. What happens after it’s worked, that’s…that’s a little hazier. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to take the risks, Mollymauk,” Caleb leaned in and laid his hand over Molly’s, searching for any doubt in his husband’s eyes. 

But they were clear as day past the tears when Mollymauk looked up at him, like Caleb was the man who’d hung the moons. 

“You did it,” the tiefling breathed, voice thick with tears, “You actually did it, you made it work!”

“In theory,” Caleb caught his Molly’s smile and his teary eyes. 

“Well, in theory, you are the best husband anyone could want and I fucking love you so much,” Molly pounced on him.

Of course that was the end of his chair, sending them both spilling onto the floor. Neither of them could truly say they cared, far too busy laughing and crying and clinging to each other tightly. Molly’s tail lashed in wild excitement, kissing every inch of Caleb’s face he could reach, his smile the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Ninety five percent,” he panted, laughing as Molly’s hair tickled his cheeks, “We’ve had worse odds.”

“Oh, we’ve done way stupider shit with way less chance of success,” Molly grinned, apparently completely content to lie on Caleb’s office floor, cuddling in.

“True,” Caleb allowed, stroking Molly’s hair, staring up at the ceiling where he’d tacked up maps of the sky, graffitied with mapping and calculating. 

Molly pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw, “Call me biased? But I think you’re the greatest wizard who ever lived.”

A brief smile flickered over Caleb’s face as his fingers traced Molly’s horns with a gentle thumb. The greatest wizard who’d ever lived. Just as he’d always wanted, though it had meant something very different back then. 

“Today,” Caleb murmured, “I kind of feel like I am.”

Professor Widogast was on a bit of a roll. 

He seemed to have forgotten about the spell on the board behind him, about the upcoming finals and the problem sheets he was supposed to collect today. Someone had asked a question and he’d followed it like a thread, unravelling the ideas they’d been discussing with abandon until he had the rapt attention of every mind in front of him. Until he was pacing along the front of the hall, arms waving and hands flapping in excitement and to illustrate his points, like the magic he spoke about was something that could be touched and felt. 

“So when people say transmutation, you understand, it is the magic of change,” his eyes were bright, “And this can scare people and no wonder! You do not like something, you change it, ja? It invites chaos, it invites the whole universe bending to the will of one individual with a grudge or a scar and the right spellwork. It is not the dependability of abjuration or the simple trickery of illusion or the connection to fate you get with divination. Change is the unknown. Change is fear. Change can be weaponised.”

He paused, hand opening like he was letting something go, his eyes far away, “But it’s learning this that will make you a true wizard of transmutation. Change can be all of these things but it is just one face of it. Change can bring good. Change can bring growth. You cannot use transmutation to change what has happened, however much it hurt you and might still hurt you today. But you can use it to change what’s coming, to make it better. Not in a ‘waving your arms and making all the solutions to your problems out of rocks’ way. But in a slower, surer way. This is transmutation. Ja?”

Professor Widogast paused suddenly, hands stilling, looking as strange as birds pausing mid flight. The students blinked, glanced at each other, wondering if he’d asked a question they’d missed and was waiting for an answer. 

But then they followed his gaze, to the back of the lecture hall. The tiefling from before- Professor Widogast’s husband- was standing there, having just crashed through the doors. He looked as though he’d sprinted there, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, cheeks bright, tail lashing and wearing something that looked a hell of a lot like pyjamas. And his eyes were streaming with tears, his face cracked into the widest, brightest smile. 

The students were more than a little confused but Professor Widogast certainly wasn’t. He had a look on his face like clouds had cleared. 

“Class dismissed,” he croaked, eyes flooding, his own smile growing, “Sorry.”

No apology was needed, the class immediately scrambling out, grabbing their bags, not in case Professor Widogast changed his mind but because it was immediately obvious that this was a moment they deserved to share in private. 

The Mollymauk they’d heard about in anecdotes and warm stories pelted down the stairs and into their professor’s arms. They stayed intwined, long after their audience was gone, a single still point in the middle of two lives changing. Because it had worked. 

After that, if you wanted to send Professor Widogast off on a tangent, you could ask about his husband.