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simpjaes · 2 months ago

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✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed. or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute.

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

due to safety concerns regarding the nature of this fic, it will be posted on patreon, ao3, and wattpad (links on pinned). i'm not sure about posting it on tumblr because i do genuinely expect to be bullied off the platform.

LAST UPDATED: 2.1.25

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 8k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: my tag list is now closed due to the length.

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined.

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going.

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people.

Do things without you clinging to him all the time.

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so.

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror.

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now.

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face.

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you.

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice.

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned.

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.”

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life.

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need.

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number.

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead.

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.”

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college.

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time.

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days.

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course.

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.”

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges.

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak.

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest.

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated.

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.”

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?”

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value.

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.”

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now.

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester.

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay.

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.”

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm.

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm.

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up.

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…”

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top.

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles.

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away.

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.”

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does.

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame.

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake.

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo. But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent?

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father.

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood.

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #wips

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febuwhump · 1 year ago

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FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through a suggestion poll (in which we recevied 2,281 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where over 1,000 people voted for their favourites. the top 29 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular - and this blog's personal favourites - have become the alternates

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, please check out the blog's faq before sending an ask, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: helpless

DAY 2: solitary confinement

DAY 3: "bite down on this"

DAY 4: obedience

DAY 5: rope burns

DAY 6: "you lied to me"

DAY 7: suffering in silence

DAY 8: "why won't it stop?"

DAY 9: bees

DAY 10: killing in self defence

DAY 11: time loop

DAY 12: semi-conscious

DAY 13: "you weren't supposed to get hurt"

DAY 14: blood-stained tiles

DAY 15: "who did this to you?"

DAY 16: came back wrong

DAY 17: hostage situation

DAY 18: too weak to move

DAY 19: "please don't"

DAY 20: truth serum

DAY 21: unresponsive

DAY 22: "you weren't meant to be there"

DAY 23: presumed dead

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you"

DAY 25: waterboarding

DAY 26: "help them"

DAY 27: left for dead

DAY 28: "no... not like this"

DAY 29: not allowed to die

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: human shield

ALT 2: "i love you"

ALT 3: found footage

ALT 4: human weapon

ALT 5: cpr

ALT 6: immortality

ALT 7: last words

ALT 8: killing game

ALT 9: lightning strike

ALT 10: last man standing

RULES:

SOFT RULES:

prompts should be answered in the form of whump

creators can produce whatever kind of media they want

you don’t have to complete all the prompts! you can create however much you want to

you can use the prompts after the event ends and can complete them in tandem with any other event

you can post on any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing those posted on tumblr

if you want to be featured on the hall of fame then you have until the 3rd of March to inform this blog that you completed all the days

if you have questions consult the faq before asking

HARD RULES: (specifically for being featured on the blog)

when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:

febuwhump (i’ll also be checking febuwhump2024)

the relevant day’s tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2…

nsfw (if relevant)

and any trigger warnings that may be important!

you can also tag the blog, @febuwhump

i cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog because I have no idea how many participants there will be. a random selection of works tagged in accordance to the rules above will be reblogged every day of february.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #prompts #whump #whump prompts

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celestie0 · 11 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.9 words you've been wanting to hear

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 15.6k (WHY DO THEY KEEP GETTING LONGER)

a/n. HELLO MY DEAR KICKOFF READERS IVE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH i am soooo sorry for the wait on this one. this chapter felt very vulnerable to write for some reason lmfao, but i really hope it was worth the wait :''') see you at the bottom!! if there are typos or some things don't make sense i'm so sorry i literally gave up on proofreading this i just ended up raw-doggin it and then posting it

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

an additional author's note. hellooo ellie here. there are some additional warnings/tags for this chapter, i added them to the tags above, so if you know you have any sort of triggers, please refer to them before reading! but if you don't have any and don't want to be spoiled ab anything then you can keep reading lol. thank youu <33

The restaurant address that Kai sent you was just a ten minute taxi ride away, save for the five minutes you spent trying to evasively maneuver through the hotel lobby in order to avoid running into people you’re not too keen on seeing right now, a list that stacks up to just one person at this moment.

It’s a Korean barbecue place, it’s been ages since you’ve been to one, probably since they’re way too expensive for any sort of outing you could afford these days, but the crisp sizzling sounds of the grills and the savory air has your mouth watering in a way that makes you indifferent to the cost. Anything to get this churning feeling out of your stomach.

It’s instantly brought to your attention that Hana’s tipsy off of Soju because she’s slid out of the booth the second you emerge to the tablestide, and she’s onto her feet to pull you into a hug. You hug her back.

“I’m ssssoooooooo glad you’re—hic—here,” she says, voice sounding loud near your ear, but her embrace is surprisingly calming to you.

Her face appears flushed when you pull away, and you give her a smile and a kind hold of her elbow. “I’m happy to be here, sorry for coming late, I just decided I wanted to have dinner with you all.”

Minato is pulling on Hana’s arm to get her to sit down, which she finally agrees to, and you glance to the left side of the table where Kai sat, meticulously turning over pieces of meat on the grill. His eyes are on you, and the seat next to him is empty.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes falling to your lap under the table once you’ve taken a seat next to him.

Your eyes fall to your lap as well. “Oh. Thanks. I wasn’t really trying to look any sort of way, though.” Just faded jeans with a few rips & holes you made yourself, way back in high school when that sort of thing was trendy.

“I know,” he says, smirk heard perfectly through his words, “I like that.”

You ignore him, a fleeting thought passing through your head of how annoyingly forward men are to women they’ve met within a day, just something you’ve noticed recently, and then you’re accepting the glass of Soju that Minato’s poured for you. Quick to tip it back, you feel a burn on your tongue that’s just enough to distract.

“Today’s game was pretty interesting,” Minato speaks up, picking up a few pieces off the grill with his chop sticks and placing them on Hana’s plate first before taking some for himself. You find the gesture sweet. “The first half was intense.”

Hana nods enthusiastically, elbows rested on the tabletop as she waves her hands around in the air. “Uh huh, uh huh, the boys kicked the ball like whoosh. Goes all over the place! Can’t get a—hic—can’t get a single shot. No, I mean me, I can’t get a camera shot. Not them, they can get the shots of goals. The goals of shots? Huh.”

“Alright, you’ve had enough,” Minato grumbles as he drags the glass of Soju that she was nursing away from her.

Kai lets out a laugh beside you, his knee bumping against yours under the table. “I’ve watched so many of these soccer games for this job, and I’ve still got no damn clue what the rules are.”

You blink down at your empty plate for a second before grabbing the silver chopsticks laid neatly on your napkin, and taking some food from the center of the table. “Really? I’ve only been to a couple, and I feel like I get the gist of it.” Maybe it’s because you had a personal interest, though.

Kai lets out a low whistle next to you. “Okay, you’re a smartass then.”

You give him a sidewards glance. “Maybe you’re just dumb?”

Your own words startle you a bit. Minato lets a laugh out, but under his breath, while Hana does absolutely nothing to conceal hers. Kai’s eyes just widen. You bite down on a carrot stick.

“Hey, hey, hey, y/n,” Hana chirps, tapping at your wrist, “do you know any of the soccer players? Utahime said you doooo.”

You swallow slowly to buy yourself time, but give a preliminary shake of your head before answering, “no, not really.” You catch a whiff of the cologne on your wrist when you lift your glass to your lips.

“Oh,” she sulks her shoulders and then sinks down into the booth again, her head falling onto Minato’s shoulder. The man stiffens a bit and then there’s a content smile playing at his lips. A hint of a smile develops on your face too at the sight when you put two and two together. What an adorable little crush. It makes you feel sick.

Kai pours you some more Soju the second you drink down the last of it in your glass, and you nod to him as a thanks. “Pretty sure most of my photos from the first half are fucked,” he says, dragging the opening of the bottle against the rim of your glass before pulling it away, “didn’t realize until way later that my aperture was way off.”

You bring the glass to your lips, inhaling before taking a sip. You’re about to speak up about that when Minato beats you to it.

“Are you serious?” he asks, disappointed, like they’re suddenly talking business now. “I better see some good shots. Your side was where most of the action took place. Like that through-pass, tight behind the defensive line, from Nanami Kento to Gojo Satoru before he sunk it a couple mins before the half ended.”

You choke a little on your Soju at the mention of Gojo’s name, and then all three of them are looking at you. You wave a hand in front of your face. “Sorry.”

Kai grumbles something under his breath and then stuffs a piece of pork belly into his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I’m pretty sure I got some good ones. Don’t worry.”

Dinner goes on like that, where you count the number of times Kai thinks that someone saying something funny across the table is an excuse to press his thigh against yours, but at least the cute way that Hana and Minato seem to inch closer to one another all night is enough to put you at some sort of bitter ease. But that unsettling feeling in your stomach from a couple of hours ago still lingers.

The four of you stand outside the restaurant, heels rocking back and forth in the cold as you all take up the last chance to debrief the day, and then Minato’s glancing at his watch.

“Alright, it’s probably time to head back. We can all share a ride to the hotel, it’s cheaper that way,” Minato says. Hana’s clinging to his sleeve.

“Oh, uh, I was going to stay here. There’s a cool camera shop around the corner. I was gonna check it out,” Kai says, pointing over his shoulder before glancing at you. “Wanna come? I saw they’ve got used film cameras.”

You twiddle with the hotel key card in your pocket. It’s cheap plastic, could break easily with just the right amount of pressure. Like your resolve right now. “Sure.”

He smiles at you.

“Alright, well I need to get this one back to her room,” Minato says with a sigh, pointing to Hana, “so I’ll see you all at the next game?”

You and Kai nod at him and then watch as he walks away with Hana on his arm towards the curb, pulling his phone out to call for a ride.

“Where’s this camera shop at?” you ask Kai once the silence between the two of you stretches out a little too long.

“It really is just around the corner,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He starts walking down the row of miscellaneous shops and establishments under dim street lighting, and you follow after him before the two of you circle to the adjacent end. A tiny shop in the distance catches your eye. The LED sign above the storefront was blinking sporadically, and read 17th St Camera & Rentals, except half the letters were extinct of any light. Next to it was a 24/7 liquor store.

It’s only when you walk right up to it that you realize the sign dangling behind the glass door that says closed.

“Oh. Bummer,” Kai comments in a flat tone. “I swear it was open before I got to the restaurant.”

You sigh, pulling your phone out to glance at the time. “Yeah, at 8pm? It’s past 10 now.”

He looks at you and taps the camera case still hung at his neck. “That’s fine. I’ve still got a camera to show you, anyways.”

You blink your eyes at him, suddenly feeling a bit exhausted and then glance over your shoulder at the curb of the street to see if Minato & Hana were still there waiting for a ride. You don’t see them anymore.

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

Kai seems to know the area better than you, since he walks down the haphazardly lain sheets of concrete across the ground with more confidence than a tourist would. The thought occurs to you that maybe the newsletter photographers have eaten here before during their time in Kyoto.

“What made you start working with the newsletter?” you ask, glancing at him as the two of you walk down further, into what seems like a neighborhood.

He shrugs. “First job I could find out of college. I had a lot of freelance experience, so I’m assuming that’s why they hired me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “What about you?”

“I’ve known Utahime for a while. She was impressed with my work.”

“Ahh, connections,” he muses, “smart. That’ll get you far as an artist.”

He suddenly stops walking and peers off to the right, into a darkness that you can’t really make anything out of until you’ve spent a few seconds staring too. He walks in that direction, the loud echoing stomps of his boots on concrete no longer audible once he crosses the threshold onto grass, and you follow behind to what seems like a deserted children’s park. You wish there were more trees in the city. There are a lot here in the countryside, and it makes you homesick for something you’re not even sure of.

A gust of wind brushes through, rattling the set of swings hung on rusty chains. The wood chips underneath your feet feel stale, with no snap to them at all as you follow Kai through the playhouses set up in connected fashion. There are two picnic benches, one looks like it’s been freshly painted with faux effort to improve its image in the line of sight of the street, while the other has red paint peeled back to reveal bronze underneath the moonlight, neglected and tucked behind a few trees. The latter is what he chooses.

He slides into the bench, and he shakes his head when he sees you try to take a seat on the other side before patting at the seat beside him. “It’d be easier for you to take a look at my side.”

He has a point, so you sit next to him instead. Although at this point in the night, you were feigning interest. He zips his camera bag open and you take a better look at the lens. There’s no way it was as cheap as he told you it was.

“There’s no way this was as cheap as you told me it was,” you say.

He laughs, pulling the camera out and handing it to you. “Yeah, maybe the guy cut me a deal since I’ve bought from him before.”

You’re smart enough to put the strap around your neck, even though you’re only holding it a few inches above the table, because a camera like this deserves the care and respect. The material is minimalist and sleek, and it’s heavy in your hands. You click the shutter button, screen coming to life with a few mechanic chirps. “Woah. Is it LCD or OLED?”

“LCD.”

“That’s nice,” you say, “paying for the OLED just seems silly to me.”

“I concur, Canon. Color accuracy is king.”

He shuffles to pull something out of his pocket while you continue to inspect the camera in your hands, and you see him fidget with said thing over the table in the corner of your eye. The flick of something and the light of something makes you turn your head to face him, and he’s pinching the end of a joint to his mouth, lighting the other end.

He gives you a glance when you stare for too long, inhaling from it before pulling it from his mouth. “What?” You can see the smoke leave his mouth in the chill of the air.

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

You blink at him, and he places his elbow on the table to lean closer to you.

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

“Wanna smoke with me?” Two fingers pinching the origin of smoke tilt towards you. “This is my good weed, though, so, I charge by the drag.”

“That’s ridiculous, and no thanks. It doesn’t suit me.”

He lets out a laugh, releasing whatever tension he was building in your space, and the smell of weed is nauseating, but at least it's a new sensation to you.

“You’ve gotta be the only film major on the planet that doesn’t smoke weed. How do you manage?” he asks, the orange flicker of his joint being the only color you can distinctly see under the similarly flickering street lights.

Your finger traces the rim of the camera lens and is careful to not smudge the glass. “I think I manage just fine.”

“Yeah. With delusion,” he says, coughing, scattering smoke into the air this time instead of a clean blow.

You turn a bit in your seat to face him more, placing the camera down. “You’re extremely blunt.”

His eyebrow raises in amusement and you close your eyes with annoyance at the pun. You brush it off.

“I mean, seriously, I get you’re probably just looking out for me, I guess. I appreciate that. But do you really think my dreams of becoming a filmmaker are that far-fetched?” you ask. There’s a crack to your voice at the end that you didn’t like.

He sighs, setting his wrist down on the table. There’s a long pause where he thinks about what to say. Probably the most you’ve seen him consider what words leave his mouth next. “I was in the same shoes as you, y/n. A couple years ago. I, too, had big dreams of making movies. I was going to apply to film grad school as well, although you’re shooting higher than I was at the time. There’s no way I would’ve gotten into UTokyo’s.” He tilts his head to the side a few times while looking straight off ahead. “I sent scripts in everywhere. To every fucking production company, creative agency, you name it. Never got a callback, not even once. While all my fellow grads were landing decent, respectable jobs.” He brings the joint to his mouth again, but he doesn’t inhale, just bitterly bites it. “I could’ve went on like that, but,” his brow furrows, “I’ve seen my peers torture themselves for years for those dreams of theirs. I swore I wouldn’t be one of them. Because they’re all delusional fucks.” He finally glances at you. “Are you one, too?”

Your shoulders drop a little and your lips purse. “I don’t know yet. It’s too early to say.”

“It’s never too early to say, if the outcome is all the same,” he tells you.

You consider his words for a moment. It’s the easy way out. You should consider yourself lucky. Everyone wants a reason, a sign, to turn away from the one thing they’re scared to think about. And here he was, giving that to you on a silver platter.

But if what you wanted was really all that fragile, then it means there’s nothing to show for any of it. For all the effort it took you to get here, and all the effort you’re still willing to give.

“I’ll keep going until I fail,” you say, “or until I succeed.” It’s not really something you say for him, but for yourself.

He juts his bottom lip out and raises his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head, like he’s impressed by you. But his posture remains lax. “I mean, you’re working this job. You’ve got some sort of plan, at least. It’s not like I’m your parent to tell you what to do and what not to do.” He finally takes another drag, eyebrows pinching together at the same time his fingers pinch close to the burn of his joint to pull it away. “What’s that one saying? You can take a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“Wow. You don’t sound a day older than sixty-five.”

He smirks at you. “You’ve got a lot of attitude, Canon. Where does it come from?”

You sink a little in your seat, turning away from him to look down at your hands that were still messing with the features of his camera. “My annoying feelings lately.”

“Feelings about what?”

You consider telling the truth. But you don’t. “My car is in repair and I’m not sure I can afford to pay for the bill, since things keep coming up with it.” It was the thing at the top of your mind at the moment though, for some reason, so partially truthful.

He laughs. “Yeah, cars have a way of doing that when you’re finally getting caught up on bills.”

“At what point does spontaneously picking up random, obscure jobs go from omg I’m so excited to have this opportunity to I just need the money?” you ask.

“You mean you’re not already at that point yet?” he says with a scoff. “Soon, then.”

You sigh.

“Y’know I used to work at this lousy cinema a few miles away from Central,” he tells you, hand tapping the table with a rhythm that makes no sense. “Busted my ass working minimum wage on night shifts because I thought I’d catch a big break in conversation with a director, as if Martin Fucking Scorcese would choose to host his opening night at a random Edwards in Tokyo.” His tapping on the table stops. “Tell me that isn’t pathetic as hell.”

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

“The things you’ll do for money,” he says with a sigh. He sounds detached, like it’s really just a message for you.

You lick your lips, skin feeling dry from the wind that occasionally brushes by, and when you glance at Kai again, there’s a grit to his jaw.

“Should’ve been born as one of those damn college athletes,” he grumbles, sucking in fast through the joint that was close to withering away. “Those fuckers don’t pay tuition.”

The harsh colors of the soccer team’s color-coded practice schedule on your phone are visible when you blink, as well as the exhaustion under Gojo’s eyes in the warm lighting of the hotel lobby earlier tonight. “They work hard.”

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

“You work hard as well.” Just to include you.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, you can’t tell me that it’s fair.”

Your mind wanders to some of the people you’ve met on that team, who have been nice to you. You think of Gojo, and the memory of him makes you wish you were with him right now. Despite everything.

“I guess it’s not fair,” is all you say, a tactic to diffuse the conversation, one that you’ve had to use twice with him today. The sound of the swing chains clinking together from the wind in the distance runs a chill down your spine.

You feel heavy in your chest, and you glance at the joint pinched in between Kai’s fingers. He’s not keeping an eye on it, so it’s easy to steal, and you bring it to your lips before sucking in. You instantly let out a few coughs. He’s looking at you with surprise. And you’re still in desperate need of that distraction you’ve been craving.

“How long does it take for it to kick in?” you ask, coughing again and pressing a hand to your chest.

“Super long when you can barely stomach a single drag.”

You try again. He watches you. You swear you feel a buzz this time, and you hand the joint back to him. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

“No, really,” you sigh it. Even if it was, maybe your mind was just blessing you with a single moment of reprieve. “I feel…really good,” you say with your head in a haze. “Best I’ve…” you don’t know why you have to blink back tears, “best I’ve felt this whole week.”

Kai’s silent next to you. You look over at him, and he’s got a scrutinizing expression on his face. His eyes are glazed. “You seeing anyone right now, Canon?”

It’s the savory question you know has been on the tip of his tongue. Ignorantly asked, as if you would’ve been sitting here with him right now in the dead of night if the answer was yes.

“No.”

He’s leaning towards you, and you’re dazed and also sleepy. His face is close now, there’s an urge to giggle, which means there’s no way this is all just placebo, and when his lips dip towards yours, you’re conscious enough to push him away by a weakly fisted hand pressed to his collarbone.

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

“What?” he asks, eyebrow raised, still close to you.

“No. No thanks.” Because it felt wrong.

He fully pulls away from you, and runs a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving him. “Alright.”

You’re breathing faster now, surroundings feeling vague, like you’re in sweltering heat but the air only bites cold.

You stand up suddenly. “I…I want to go back.”

“Go back where?”

“To the hotel. To my room.” You pause. “I mean, by myself. Not with you. We can share a ride, though.”

He stands up too, hands reaching for you, gripping the straps of his camera still hung around your neck and he pulls it off to place it back into the case. You feel like you’ve lost favor with him somehow. “Okay. Sure.”

“But not with you.” You felt the need to clarify again.

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

“Maybe you just need to fuck him aggressively without mercy.”

“I beg your finest pardon?”

You’re sitting in a booth inside this streetside KFC with Mina sitting across the table, waving a fry around in the air, and with Nobara next to you as she tries to open a packet of ketchup with her teeth. The hangout the three of you have been hyping up all week, just to be sat in the same place you always go to. You were about to take a bite out of your sandwich, but you set it back down on your tray.

Mina points the fry at you and shrugs. “I’m saying. Maybe you’re having such a hard time getting over Gojo because you got so close to fucking him in that bathroom, but you didn’t, and now you’re in, like, this constant state of edging.” She bites down on the fry. “The clit knows what the heart doesn’t.”

“Your theories never fail to amaze me,” you mumble, sinking further into the booth.

“Perhaps it’ll take the edge off.” Mina sucks through the straw of her Diet coke. Nobara finally succeeds in opening her packet of ketchup.

“I doubt it. Besides, I technically already gave him an invitation to,” you say, fingers rubbing at your eye with a swipe as you wince from the memory, “and he rejected me, so, still swimming in the self hatred from that one.”

Mina hums. “There’s no way he’s not foaming at the mouth for it, y/n. Men never let a meal they were craving go unfinished,” she states, dramatically stabbing a chicken nugget with a fork.

“What kind of pigs do you guys associate yourselves with?” Nobara asks. She’s a lesbian, by the way.

“I raise another question. Why are we talking about this in a public restaurant?” you offer.

“Listen, babes,” Mina continues, like your words fall on deaf ears because she’s got some point to make, “it’ll either poof. Make your feelings go away like the drop of a hat because you find out he’s a bad lay. Or it’ll be so good that you realize you’re never getting over him and you’ll be thinking of his dick instead of your husband’s on your wedding night.”

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

Mina steals a biscuit from your tray. “If it ends up being the first outcome, then the whole thing was my idea. If it’s the second…then just know that Nobara has steered you wrong.”

“Why the hell do you have to drag me into this?” Nobara asks.

You’re about to take a bite from your sandwich again when you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone in your purse. You pull it out and glance at the caller ID, then let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you mumble, slipping out of the booth and towards the restaurant’s exit, pushing the tense door open with a gust of fresh air brushed through you.

“Hello?” It’s the car repair man. “Really? I thought you said it was fixed.” Apparently something else came up. “Okay…how much longer will it be in repair?” Much longer than you had thought. “And how much will it cost?” Much more expensive than you had thought. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, really, I feel as though every time I’m on the line with you all, I have to wait longer to get my car back, and the bill just racks up higher.” They’re trying their best. “I know. Is it necessary to fix in order to drive, though?” State laws require it. “Okay…thanks for the update.” And then you hang up without another word, and with all the frustration in the world.

You head back inside and grumble about your car woes to Mina and Nobara, who try their best to respond with interest.

“Why can’t your insurance cover it?” Mina asks.

“Apparently they can’t claim it’s because of those rocks I drove over,” you sigh, “since it looks like it’s been a problem for longer than that.”

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

“Not really,” you say. “I’ll just have to postpone having my car for a bit.”

You sigh with a glance out the window of this fine dining establishment, into the blue skies just beyond, head drowning out the voices of Mina and Nobara as they continue to grill you about all sorts of questions that you don’t have the energy to answer right now. You had another student loan payment to make once you got home today, and just the thought of it makes your heart drop a little. And you realize you just can’t afford to be picky about your financial situation anymore.

—

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” you say, footsteps over familiar grassy hills as you head towards the UTokyo’s practice field, your digital Canon EOS hanging from your neck.

“Sure,” Kai says as he keeps pace next to you, “why the sudden mission, though?”

You’re gazing off straight ahead, a nervous pit in your stomach since it’s been a while since you’ve walked across this landscape towards the field.

“I just feel like I need to diversify my income somehow,” you sigh, the buzzwords leaving a bitter taste in your mouth as you say them but it was the reality of your situation, “to make ends meet. When you mentioned freelance work during our conversation last week, it made me think it’s time for me to pick that up too.”

Kai hums. “Yeah, it’s a good plan. I’ll try to show you what I know.”

Once you’ve made it to the top of that hill, the one that oversees the field, your eyes instantly scan the field for familiar silhouettes, and your breath catches in your throat when you spot Gojo passively kicking a ball back and forth between one of his teammates for warm-ups.

It’s the second time you’ve seen him since that argument the two of you had in the hotel lobby, the first being at the post-game conference in which you did everything in your power to swiftly avoid him, and you plan on keeping that up. There’s also an urge to run away, but you’re starting to realize that’s not much of an option anymore.

“Honestly, you don’t really need to worry too much about shutter speed with freelance like you do for shooting sports,” Kai is mumbling next to you as he messes with the settings on his camera, the two of you making your way down the hill towards the field, and you’re not really listening because your eyes are on Gojo, who’s yelling something across the field to his teammates with a look of concentration on his face.

“Uh huh, I see,” you say. You see Kai glance at you in his periphery.

“You again!” you hear a familiar harsh voice call out, and you turn on your heel to face Coach Yaga who’s standing a few feet away in his custom UTokyo tracksuit with his arms crossed against his chest. “Why are you on my field?”

You hold your breath for a second. “Hi, Coach Yaga, so sorry, but I’m just here to take some more photos.”

He lets out one of his hmphs, unrelenting. “You’re a distraction. Get off my field.”

“D-Distraction?”

“Coach!” Suddenly, Geto’s in your line of sight as he emerges with a light jog up to your side. “You should really be nicer to our photographers, they give us a lot of publicity for our games. And publicity means funding.”

Coach Yaga narrows his eyes. “I need all my players focused right now. Even during practice.” He gives you a disapproving glance and you’re still confused, but also weirdly angered.

“Excuse me, Coach Yaga, but last time I checked, this field is technically open for all students. And I’m a student,” you say to him, crossing your arms across your chest now. “So, I can be here if I want.”

You have no idea if that’s true at all, but sometimes you’ve just gotta fake it ‘til you make it.

Coach Yaga grumbles something and then waves his hands in the air. “Fine! I’ve no bandwidth to argue about this anymore! Just don’t distract my players.”

You’re shocked that it worked, and Geto nudges you with an elbow to correct your expression so that Coach Yaga doesn’t catch on to the bullshit you just spewed.

“Are you here to take some photos?” Geto asks, facing you. He’s got his hands on his hips, breathing slightly fast, some of his hair falling onto his forehead.

“Yeah, I am, just for practice though. I’m here with—” you glance at Kai, who’s standing with his fists shoved into his pockets, “Kai. He’s also with the newsletter.”

There’s a moment where Geto studies the two of you for a second before speaking. “I know,” he says, extending his hand out for Kai to shake, which he does, “I think I’ve seen you around. Not sure if we’ve formally met, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Kai’s hand is then shoved back into his pocket.

You feel awkward suddenly, and then quickly say something to Geto about how he should probably get back to practice, which he agrees to, and then you’re standing at the chalk sideline with Kai as he shows you the ins and outs about digital photography.

“Have you tried shooting in burst mode?” he asks, switching the feature on your camera and then handing it back to you. You sling the strap around your neck.

“Hm…” you start, pointing your camera across the expanse of the field to multiple areas. The trees off into the distance, the goal posts, Coach Yaga’s yapping Pomeranian. “Not really…” The grass beneath your feet, the sky above your head, and then blurrily focused before settling on Gojo who stood in the distance straight ahead.

You see through your viewfinder that he’s caught sight of you too, a look of surprise on his face seen only by the level of zoom, and you glance up from the screen to make eye contact with him in reality. He’s fully staring at you, and you can barely see the way his expression relaxes from that one of athletic concentration to something wistful and strange that you’ve had a hard time reading lately.

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

“Huh?” you snap out of it and look at Kai. “Sorry. Could you repeat that?” You quickly glance toward Gojo again, and his line of sight points towards Kai now.

“I was asking if you’ve tried panning before,” he says, reaching for your camera, pulling it towards him, but the strap around your neck means you’re pulled closer to him too.

“Satoru!” Coach Yaga yells in the distance. “Eyes on the ball!”

“Just got to set your camera to manual mode first,” Kai mutters, confusion in his voice. “Where the fuck is it?” He’s turning your camera in his hands, which only has you stumbling with another small step towards him, your chest pressed flush to his arm, and he looks down at you for a brief second with a smirk on his face.

You hear the sound of a ball being kicked on the field, followed by the shout of one of the players.

“Ah, here, found it,” Kai says, handing your camera back to you, and just as you’re about to say thanks and you hold your camera up, you’re hit straight in the face by a flying object and fall backwards onto the grass with a painful thud.

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Okay, that’s dramatic, it wasn’t that bad.

There’s shouting in the distance as you hold your head with a groan, eyes shut tight with images of your life flashing behind your eyelids, and when you open your eyes again from where you’re sat up on the grass, you’re surrounded by soccer players.

Gojo’s suddenly in your line of sight, knelt down beside you and he’s holding your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him but you’re still blinking away the stars you’re seeing. “Fuck, y/n, are you okay?” he asks, and you register the concern on his face.

“Dude,” one of his teammates kicks the heel of his cleat, “where the fuck were you looking? It was clear as day I was tryna pass to you.”

Gojo grumbles something to him, his brow furrowed, and he’s lowering his head to try to make eye-level contact with you but you’re still holding your head with a wince.

“Oh shit,” Kai comments, “she’s bleeding.”

You pull your hand from your face to glance down at the wetness that you feel, and bright red color stains the tips of your fingers.

The next thing you register is Gojo picking you up off the hard grassy ground into his arms, and starts carrying you away down the field.

“W-What the hell are you doing?” you ask, his pacing across the grass is fast and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from getting dizzy.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says, voice strained in his throat, and you’ve never seen him look so worried before.

“The hospital?! Please don’t, I don’t have health insurance right now.” His face is so close and you’re distracted from the pain of your headache.

“You’re bleeding on the face, I’m taking you whether you like it or not,” he grumbles.

You dig your nails into his shoulder through the nylon of his shirt, and he hisses from the pain before stopping in his tracks. “I don’t need to go to the hospital, Satoru, I just need a fucking bandaid.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“A concussion?!” You kick your feet for him to let you down but his grip on you only tightens. “You’re being ridiculous. Let me go, or I’ll bite you.”

He scoffs at that and continues walking forward. “You’re gonna bite me? That’s the most threatening thing you could come up with?”

“I’m being so dead serious, Gojo Satoru. No hospital.”

He grumbles something under his breath at your use of his full government name, and then says “fine” but he’s still walking down the grass until his cleats begin to tap on concrete, and then on what sounds like tile as he carries you into a building a few yards from the field.

He seats you on a cold counter, your hand gripping the faucet of a sink, and you finally take a comprehensive look at your surroundings. light blue, faint scent of chlorine in the air

“Is this…a locker room? The men's locker room?”

He sighs, bending his knees a bit to look at your face closely. You flinch when his hand reaches out, and he pauses, but you relax slightly and then he rubs his thumb over your cheek. You feel the smear of a droplet of blood. “Yes. I need running water.” He turns the faucet of the sink on to run his thumb under.

“For what?” you ask. His thumb is running over your cheek again.

“To take care of this cut.” He disappears behind a tile wall for a moment. You can hear metal clanking, probably of a locker opening and closing, and he re-emerges with a first-aid kit.

You slide your butt across the counter to the edge, about to hop off and make a run for it when he grabs your hips and puts you back into place. “Don’t even think about it,” he grumbles. He leans forward, grips you strongly, and you see that he’s still breathing heavily from practice, strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and you can practically taste the salt on his neck.

You press your shin to the front of his thigh, desperate to put some space between the two of you. “I don’t wanna be in here. Men are scary.”

“Well I can’t take you into the women’s locker room,” he says, ripping the packet of an antiseptic wipe open with his teeth, “I’d get registered as a sex offender.”

You attempt at an escape again, and he’s quick to get his hands on you to stop it.

“Quit manhandling me, or I’ll scream,” you threaten through gritted teeth, because you’re still mad at him. For everything.

“Go ahead,” he says, using his knee to spread your legs apart, then finds a place to stand between your thighs to get closer to you. “I’ve got a lot of ways I could shut you up.”

You blink at him, breath catching in your throat, and the expression on his face tells you he’s not interested in dealing with your stubbornness anymore.

“Just hold still,” he grumbles, placing the packet down on your thigh and then stepping off to the side to wash his hands under the sink.

“What exactly happened?” you ask, watching him dry his hands off with a few paper towels. One moment, Kai was trying to explain good digital photography to you, and the next you were dizzy from being knocked back onto the ground.

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

“I know, but how?” You remember your camera hit your face from the impact too, and now you’re worried about it.

“I…wasn’t paying attention when my teammate passed it,” he admits with a sigh, finding his place in front of you again, the knuckles of his clean hand brushing across your cheek, caressing. Your expression softens slightly. He uses a hand spread across the small of your back to push you forward to him, then he gently passes the wipe over your wound.

“Oh okay so, you failed to protect me from a flying soccer ball.”

He pulls his hand from you to read the lettering on the back of the packet. “I’m patching you up now, aren’t I?” he says, annoyed. “…oh fuck, I was supposed to go in with water first.”

“So glad to be in such good hands right now.”

He gives you a pointed look, but you ignore it and turn your torso to see your reflection in the mirror for the first time. You had a small wound on your cheek, right over the bone, with some bleeding and it’s wider than it is deep. But when you look at Gojo again, who’s putting some ointment onto a Q-tip now, the look of guilt and worry on his face makes you feel satisfied for some reason, and you wanted to make it worse.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, brow furrowed, applying the cold gel to your cheek.

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he sighs, head dipping towards you slightly to get a better look, “can you feel this?”

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

His other hand is placed flat on the counter next to where you’re sitting, and you allow it when his thumb starts to run soothing circles over your hip.

“Hmm…” you start, wide eyes looking up at him as he seems to lean closer and closer to you with every word that leaves your lips, “I really wonder if it’ll leave a scar.”

He looks tortured. His hand that was maneuvering the Q-tip in his hands drops to the counter now, and he brings his other one to your face, cupping your cheek. His eyes dart from the wound, thumb pressing at the plush of your cheek, and this time, it hurts a little so you wince. His expression is tense, some sort of inner turmoil you could read across his forehead, and then his jaw hardens.

“Who was that guy you were talking to earlier?”

You blink a few, then tilt your head slightly. You feel like you’re on a game show, where there’s four options and only one right answer. New boytoy, gay best friend, fuck buddy, or— “He’s my coworker.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

You almost roll your eyes. “No, dad, he hasn’t.”

“Woah. Say that again but make it daddy.”

“Hey just a quick question for you. Where do you get the audacity?”

His bent index finger finds a place under your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to look at him. “It’s your fault, really. I can’t help it sometimes,” he says, voice lower now. You’re squirming a little, wanting to push him away but his lips get close to your cheek, brushing near your wound, like he wants to make it all better somehow. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, near your ear. There’s a whimper you have to stifle in your throat. He pulls aways just enough to where he can look into your eyes. “A cut…” he starts, thumb now passing over your bottom lip, “on your pretty face.” He sighs. You shouldn’t, but when he prods, you tuck his thumb under your front teeth and your tongue presses slightly against the padded skin of it. He looks like he’s being driven to insanity, and his other hand has no shame at all in pulling you towards him, to seat you at the edge of the counter, and you miss the texture of his thumb on your tongue when he pulls it from your mouth. But it’s so he can dip his head down to kiss you instead.

Of course the sensation of his lips on yours only lasts for a second, because the universe really fucking hates (or loves?) you, so the loud clanking of a metal water bottle against tile interrupts with harsh reverberation throughout the locker room walls, and he pulls away from you when you jump at the sound.

You both turn your heads towards the origin, located at the curved end of the entryway hall, and one of Gojo’s teammates is standing there with his duffle bag slung around his neck and hanging heavily to his thigh, his water bottle clutched in his hand. He blinks at the two of you.

Oh. It’s the one you kissed at that party a few weeks ago.

“What—…Why is there a—” his teammate starts, panicked, turning his head to double check the sign on the locker room wall as if he’s hallucinating, and when his eyes land on you again, they widen with recognition. His gaze shifts, and his chin tips down at the sight of Gojo’s irritated side eye from where he was still all up in your personal space. “…you know what. Nevermind.”

His teammate’s eyes are on you again, and you give him a shy little wave, just a fluttering of your fingers in the air paired with a small smile, legs swinging back and forth under the counter. He lets out an amused scoff from the entryway, lifting his hand to return the gesture, some cheeky grin on his face as he then scratches the back of his head before turning on his heel to leave the locker room, out of sight. You let out a sigh, hand dropping to your lap, and you don’t need to look at Gojo to tell that he’s staring at you with disbelief.

“What the fuck was that—”

“You,” you interrupt him, finger jabbing at the center of his chest, “have seriously got a lot of fucking nerve,” you hop off the counter, “to not only allow a soccer ball to sock me in the face,” he’s taking a step back with every harsh jab of your finger, “but to also hold me hostage in a mens’ locker room,” his back is pressed up against cold tile wall now while he just looks down at you with wide eyes and something akin to fear, “and then, oh my god, the audacity to kiss me?”

“I—”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” you yell, which shuts him up. “You really are just a fucking player.”

He’s stiff, not wanting to catch a punishment from you right now.

“But it doesn’t matter,” you grumble, still drilling your finger into his ribcage with the intent to cause pain. You didn’t need to be this close, but his body is warm, probably due to the blood pumping from practice, and it feels nice to be pressed up against. “Because I don’t have feelings for you anymore, so just fucking get over yourself.” It was a lie if you’ve ever told one, but you wanted to believe it so much that it could come off as the truth.

His eyes narrow down at you, eyebrows flattening. “You don’t have feelings for me anymore?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

You roll your eyes. “Why? Because you want me to keep suffering?”

He grabs your hips, then makes a motion that is evident of his desire to pull you flush to him, but he stops himself. There’s a moment where he just takes a few deep breaths and looks at you with a hardened expression, then a split second where his eyes fall to that little cut on your cheek, and every single feature of his face softens, and then he lets you go.

You take a small step back, breathing heavily of your own, and you feel the ghost sensation of his fingertips wrapped around your hips. It makes you feel dizzy, and your thoughts are a mess.

He sighs. “Sorry. For the soccer ball, and this locker room. But I’m not really sorry for kissing you, and if that makes me a jerk, then so be it.”

Your heart is beating fast. “You are a jerk, Satoru,” you say. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want you. A mantra played over and over in your head that you’ve started to hear it at night. “A real fucking jerk.” And you leave him standing there in a way that feels like the hundredth time.

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

2:34pm kaito (work): i had my guy look at your camera

2:35pm kaito (work): it’s pretty fucked up

2:37pm you: :( oh okay isee. does he have an estimate for the fix? the lens is okay though right?

2:39pm kaito (work): yeah lens is fine, you should really count your blessings on that.

2:40pm kaito (work): but nah, fix would be around the same as the cost of it, so you’re better off getting a new one

2:42pm you: i don’t have thousands of yen laying around unfortunately. my car bill has sucked me dry

2:44pm kaito (work): well let me check with him. maybe he can hook you up with a good deal on a used one

2:45pm kaito (work): i got a 50% off on one of my canon cameras i bought from him a few years back. maybe he’s still got some like that

2:46pm you: yes could you check with him please? thanks so much, really

2:48pm kaito (work): sure. although i think the guy that kicked the ball to your face should be paying for your camera replacement

2:51pm you: they were just practicing. it’s their field

2:56pm kaito (work): alright. btw, you free tonight?

You blink at your phone screen from where you were sprawled across your bed. Before you have a chance to type out a response, your phone lights up with a phone call from kaito (work). You accept the call.

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Oh uhh, I was just about to check my schedule.” You shake your head at your inability to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“Okay,” he says on the other line. You hear the sounds of cars honking in the distance. “Well let me know. I just left my camera guy’s shop, and he was telling me about how one of his friends does visuals for a short-film director, and that the director is looking for an assistant.” Kai grumbles something about someone he walked past being rude. “I think the director’s agency is Verve Films, so.”

You sit up in bed, eyes wide at the mention of the name. “Oh, oh wow. That’s insane.”

“Yup,” he says, “anyways, apparently the director is busy as fuck, so he left the hiring process up to my camera guy’s friend. I told him I knew someone that might be interested. Are you?”

You take a deep breath in and out. “Yeah, I am. Most of my experience on my resume lines up with short-film, so I’d be able to—”

“Alright great,” he interrupts, “so we can hold the interview tonight.”

“We?” you ask.

“Well yeah, me, my camera guy, the hiring guy. Maybe go for drinks or something.”

Your brow furrows. “That hardly sounds like an interview.”

Kai sighs. “Well, it’s not an interview for a desk job or something. It’s more of like—well, like building connections. I know you know all about that, since Utahime got you the newsletter job.”

Well, yes. She put a word in for you, which helped get the interview, but you still went against qualified applicants. “I guess.”

“It’ll be like that. Most opportunities you’ll get if you still want to pursue filmmaking are going to be like that,” he tells you, “if it feels informal, it means you’re doing it right. You might not think so now because you’re still in school, where they practically serve opportunities to students on platters, but it’s going to be different in the real world.”

You lay your head back onto the pillow, feeling like you’re receiving a lecture you didn’t ask for, and your first instinct is to pretend that you know better than he does. But when you think about all the stress recently, all of the not knowing, and the unsure, you question if you should start leaning into the advice of the people around you, and start to accept this career path for what it’s known to be. Unruly, unconventional, and a lot of times, unfair.

“I see. Well, can I think about it? Tonight is too soon, I’d need time to research the director, put a portfolio together, and also do some interview prep,” you say, pulling your phone from your ear to glance at the time.

“Well, tonight’s the only night that works since their team’s shooting abroad for the weekend and they leave tomorrow morning,” he says.

You purse your lips together.

“But also,” Kai says, “it’s the nice thing to do, y’know, since my camera guy is taking the time to look at your camera for free, you could at least help his friend out. By the way, he just texted me, he does have some used Canons available at discount.”

You close your eyes for a second, just trying to process this conversation right now. Kai was speaking too fast, hardly enough time for you to even think.

“So do you want to do the interview tonight?”

“Yes, sure. Okay. Just— just send me the details. I’ll be there,” you say.

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

A few hours pass by, where you spend some time putting together a flash drive of a couple of your best short films you’ve worked on in the past with other directors, as well as a portfolio of some recently developed film photography. The last thing to do was grab your emergency stash of print outs of your resume, and then you stuff it all into a folder before glancing at the mirror to take in your reflection. It felt extremely weird to show up to a job interview in something as casual as what you were wearing right now, but Kai insisted to not wear anything business. But at least you opted for jeans that don’t have any DIY holes in them.

Your face is glued to the navigation on your phone screen the second you get out of the taxi, and you walk down the bustling nightlife streets of Tokyo to get to this bar that Kai sent you the address of. But just as you’re about to turn the corner to your destination down the bar strip, you bump into someone’s chest due to lack of paying any proper attention.

“Ah— I’m so sorry,” you say, your grip on your phone tightening when you realize it was about to get knocked out of your hand, and then you look up to see a familiar face.

“Oh!” Geto exclaims from where he’s standing right in front of you, “You’re everywhere, y/n. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, and then continue. “I’m here to…get drinks with some of my friends.”

He gives you a smile. “That’s nice. I am too.” He points over his shoulder to behind him. “Nanami got into his MBA program earlier this week, so, Satoru, Choso and I are buying him a few rounds. Or possibly a million. The plan is to incapacitate him as punishment for giving up on playing in the national league with us.”

You humor him with a laugh. “That’s sweet. Or not? Well anyway, tell him I said congrats.” Your heart starts to beat a little faster, because from the direction Geto came from, it meant Gojo was likely just around the corner somewhere. “Where are you heading to now?”

“We’re bar hopping, and I think I forgot my phone at the last one we went to over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “So I’m going to go look for it.”

“Oh alright,” you say. “Good luck with that. I’m going to go find my, uh, my friends.”

Geto tilts his head at you and had a slightly more serious expression on his face, glancing at the folder in your hands. “Thanks. And stay safe.”

You nod at him and then walk past him to round the corner onto the street that had groups of people loitering in front of restaurants, bars and all sorts of establishments as they wait in the cold to get inside or be seated. You recognize the name on one of the signs hanging as the one Kai sent you in his message, and when you’re a few feet away from it, you spot Kai. He’s wearing his typical street photographer wear, with a red flannel over a gray shirt and pants that are possibly a size too big for him, but that’s likely the style he was going for. He’s standing with two other people.

“Hey,” you greet Kai first, who has a pleasant look on his expression before he greets you back and gestures to the two people he was with.

“Yo, this is Junichi, my camera guy,” he says. “Don’t bother shaking his hand, he’s a germaphobe. Gotta keep ‘em clean for the electronics.”

“Oh,” you say. Junichi is a big man, broad shoulders and thick muscles. His neck is almost as thick as his bicep, and he has no hair on his head. His arms are crossed. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for taking a look at my camera.”

He nods at you in acknowledgment. “Sure thing. Pretty Boy here says you want to buy one of my used Canons. I don’t refurbish them, so you’d better know how.”

Kai sighs, nudging Junichi a little with a fist. “Relax, dude, we can talk about that later. Also, stop calling me that.”

Your eyes flicker to the right, where another man stood, who you assume was Junichi’s friend and this Verve Films director’s visual effects specialist. He’s similar in stature to Kai, with that casual artist look, and he has a scuffle of facial hair littering his jaw in less of an intentional fashion but rather a five-o-clock shadow fashion. You vaguely register the scent of weed, familiar to the one that lingers in the photo lab on campus after class hours. He reaches his hand out to you first.

“Hi, I’m Ren. I work in visual effects for director Akira Ko at Verve.”

Your eyes widen as you shake his hand. “That’s amazing. I’ve studied a lot of his contemporary works, I’d love to learn more about his process.”

Ren lets a fast exhale out through his nose. “Yeah, you’ll learn a lot under him.” He pauses to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Most of his assistants always do.”

“We’ve been waiting for too damn long,” Kai interjects before you could ask any questions about the assistant position, and he glances at his watch, “and there’s still a lot of people ahead of us.”

You glance around to the small groups of people gathered in front of this bar on a lively Friday night, eyes jumping from one area to the next, until a familiar silhouette catches your eye.

You see Gojo standing with Nanami and Choso a few strides away, near the lamppost. He’s mostly turned away from you, Nanami nudging his arm annoyed at something he said, and the sound of his laughter in the air makes your heart feel like it’s at stray. Like that was where you were supposed to be right now, not here.

You watch him from the distance as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders up and down slightly before crossing his arms when Choso gestures towards the entrance of the bar, and so he looks in that direction too. He’s frowning slightly and he brushes some of the hair fallen over his forehead away from his eyes, in that boyish way that makes your heart skip a beat, and you know he’s just doing it to see a little bit better, but it makes you want to cry.

Geto walks up to them and rejoins their little circle, and holds his phone up in the air, and then there’s the melody of their voices bouncing off one another’s again. Geto rests his elbow up onto Gojo’s shoulder, leaning in a bit closer to tell him something, and when Gojo hears it, you see his entire body tense before his wide eyes are searching his surroundings, until those eyes land on you.

Your breath catches, and you hold his eye contact for only a moment before you look away, because it almost felt like too much to bear.

“What’s that folder in your hand?” Ren asks you, and you turn completely to face him so you can’t see Gojo in your periphery at all anymore.

“I just brought some of my work, for your—er, I guess Mr. Ko’s—reference if he’d like to see it after today’s…interview,” you say. “There’s a flashdrive, too.”

Ren has an amused look on his face and he shoves Kai’s shoulder with his palm. “Dude, you didn’t tell her?”

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

“What?” Kai asks, starting to sound annoyed.

Ren tips his chin up slightly to study Kai’s face, and then his look of amusement dissipates into one of understanding. “Nothing.”

“Tell me what?” you prod.

“Just that you didn’t really need to bring all of that with you,” he says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, but if you could still give it to him—”

“I’m surprised Kai suggested someone when I asked if he knew anyone,” Junichi jumps in, “I’m used to him grumbling on and on about how shit the work is in filmmaking. Would’ve thought he’d convinced you to look the other way by now.”

You blink at the gruff man, then look at Kai, and he’s just staring down at the dirt of his shoes. “Well, we had a conversation about it. But I’m pretty set on what I want to do,” you say.

Kai lets out a scoff. “Yeah, I don’t really know how else to warn you about the shit show you’re in for, but if you want to be in debt to grad school for the next couple decades of your life, then it’s up to you.”

“Hey, jackass, try to be a bit nicer,” Ren speaks up. “She’s got some goals. Big fuckin’ deal.” He turns to you. “Although, he’s got a point sweetheart, school’s not going to get you anywhere in this industry.”

You frown. “A lot of directors I look up to went through graduate schooling. Most, I would say. I don’t understand where this rhetoric is coming from.”

“It’s coming from real people with real experience,” Ren says, and you dislike the way he takes a step closer to you to reiterate his point, “honestly, you should save yourself some time and give up on applying. It’s not worth it.”

“I’ve already put my application together,” you say, brow furrowing slightly, “I’ve asked professors for my references, spent the past four years working on my profile—”

“But working under a director, I mean really getting to work under one, beats all of that. Which is why you’re here, right?” Ren asks, but it’s not curious, it’s testing.

You feel a sheen of sweat build at your forehead, even in this cold, and you clench your hand into a fist once, twice, thrice. You’re breathing fast, and the three sets of eyes that are staring so scrutinizingly into your soul right now have you faltering, like if they took another step forward, tried to intrude what you thought you knew one more time, you’d fall backwards over the cliff.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your upper arm, and when you turn your head to the left, you see Gojo standing there.

“Hey,” he says to you, sparing one single sidewards glare towards Kai, who immediately averts the eye contact, before Gojo’s eyes are on you again, “can I talk to you for a second?”

You look at the three men in your circle, who suddenly adopt skittish body postures, and Gojo doesn’t really wait longer than a few seconds before he’s pulling you away from them over towards the edge of the curb towards the street.

“What?” you ask once he lets go of your arm.

“What are you doing here with those guys?” he asks.

“I’m—…why does it matter to you?” you ask.

“It matters to me because of the fucking absurd conversation I just overheard,” he says, “now answer me.”

His tone annoys you, and you cross your arms. “Are you eavesdropping?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, taking a step forward to you, “who are those guys, and why are you here with them?”

You blink at him, furrowed brows relaxing slightly as you drop your crossed arms to your side, and you stare straight ahead at the blankness of the white t-shirt he’s wearing, as your mind runs blank to his question. Why were you here with them? Was it because you had no other plans? Was it because the opportunity sounded too good to be true, and you just had to see for yourself? Was it because you’ve been unable to sleep at night from all the stress, the financial worries, the rejection, and you just want to finally feel like you’ve done one good thing for yourself? To feel like you’re at least making one step in the right direction, no matter the cost?

“I’m here for a job interview,” you say to him. Your tone is flat, and you feel numb.

“A job interview?” he asks, with just about as much incredulity you would’ve expected to hear from him at that answer, “At a bar? How does that make any sense?”

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

“This doesn’t concern you, okay? I’m—…I’m just trying to make my goals work for me, Satoru, and I really don’t expect you to understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” he asks. There’s confusion in his voice, and maybe even a little bit of hurt.

“Because you can’t even understand how unfair and painful it is for me that you keep—” you have to purse your lips together briefly to fight back the knot in your throat, “…that you keep interfering with my life everywhere I go.”

His expression softens, and he silently stands in front of you for a moment. His eyes dart across your face, and then he reaches out to grab your hand. “Listen, if you still want to get drinks tonight, then just get drinks with us. But don’t hang out with those guys. They’re bad news, especially the dude with the flannel, and I don’t think you’re in a good place right now to see that.”

Your eyes see white fury at that, and you all but snap. Because the irony of this whole situation, is that you’re not in a good place right now because of him. Because of all the pain that he’s put you through, for promising to stay away but then always being near, for saying he doesn’t want you but then acting like he does.

“You know what I think, Satoru?” you ask through gritted teeth, yanking your hand from his grasp.

He’s looking at you, studying. “What?”

You take a step forward, threateningly, and he takes a step back so that he steps off the curb and onto the road, and you’re at eye-level with him now. “I think that you’re jealous,” you say, eyes glaring daggers into his.

He blinks at you, almost dumbfounded for a moment before he says “what?”

“You’re just fucking jealous that I seem to be moving on after you rejected me, because for some weird reason, you think it’s okay to not want me, and yet not want me to be with anyone else,” you say, practically hissing the words. “You don’t like seeing me with any guys other than you? You don’t want to believe me when I say that I’m over you? You’re not sorry for kissing me? Even after knowing,” you take a pause to breathe, because you feel like you can’t, “even after knowing that I like you,” eyes blinking fast because you don’t want him to see you cry right now, “you know that I like you so fucking much, and that it’s hurtful, and that it’s wrong— and even after all of that, you act the same, and still won’t promise me any commitment of your own.”

He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read, but you’ve lost all interest in trying to understand it anymore.

“You don’t want me hanging out with them?” you repeat after him, “I’m not listening to that. Because it’s possessive. And it’s wrong.”

At the mention of them, Gojo clenches his jaw. “That has nothing to do with you and me, right now. What they’re trying to convince you of doesn’t make any sense, and it won’t help you achieve your dreams either, y/n.”

“You don’t know anything about my dreams, Satoru,” you say, just to hurt him. But you think about the sincere expression on his face the first time you met him when you told him that you wanted his help with your assignment. You think about the playful nudge of his elbow that night he stayed with you on the curb, and told you that you just had to try to put yourself out there, because you couldn’t accomplish anything without facing your fears. You think about how he’s always the first to like every single one of the slideshows you post of your pictures on Instagram. You think about the adoration in his eyes, reflected off the moonlight through the hotel window, when you told him about a little cottage on the countryside, one you’ve always wanted, and those eyes told you that he was really rooting for you. “You don’t know. Because you—” there’s an echo of words in your head. Someone else’s words, not yours, “Because you’re a college athlete. And—” you let out an exhale, “and you don’t pay tuition.”

His brow furrows. There’s a beat of silence as his confusion settles in. “What?”

“You were born blessed with talent, and you’re popular, and people adore you, and you don’t have to worry about internships, or jumping from job to job just to make something of yourself,” you say, picturing your life in your head along with all the strife, “or about all of the sinking debt, and the worry, and the— and the car repair bills,” you say, almost with a scoff, eyes sheening with tears, like you’re losing your mind, “all of the fucking car repair bills.” Your chest is heaving as you shake your head. “Because you’re set for life as long as you kick a fucking ball.”

His lips purse together, like he can tell there’s more on your tongue to say, more hurtful words, and he wants to hear you say them. And so you do.

“You’ve never had to suffer or worry about a single thing in your life. So don’t pretend like you understand what I’m trying to do here tonight,” you say, inflection signing off on the end, to tell him that you’re done.

He stands in front of you, practically motionless except for the slow movement of his chest as he breathes. His expression, tense and hurt, softens slowly, and you see him digging his nails into the skin of his palms through fidgeting clenched fists at his sides. And then he relaxes them, too.

“Does that make you feel better?” he asks.

His question confuses you, and for some reason, regret washes over you. “What?”

“Does thinking of me that way—…does it make you feel better about all of this? Between us?”

You’re breathing fast, eyebrows pinching upwards to look at him, and the defeated expression on his face makes your heart ache. He’s waiting for an answer, and so you give him one. “Yes.”

He glances down at the ground for a moment, then at your collarbone, before meeting your gaze again. “I’m sorry. For everything. And I—” the words catch in his throat briefly, “I’ll try to leave you alone tonight.”

His use of the word try doesn’t escape you, but you give him a furtive nod, and he studies your face for a few moments before he steps back up onto the curb and walks past you. You watch him walk all the way, no longer with that confidence or conviction you’re so used to seeing in him, as he steps back into his circle, to Geto’s side. Geto gives a small glance over his shoulder to look at you with discerning eyes before looking at Gojo again, and then he’s turned away from you.

Heavy feet drag you back to Kai, Ren, and Junichi, and you feel feverish. They mention something about the table being ready, and you nod. The bar is rustic, with more tables than barspace, and the four of you are seated and then presented with a small food menu. You’re seated next to Kai, Ren is right across from you, and Junichi is to his right. You watch a waitress usher Nanami, Choso, Geto and Gojo to one of the tables as well, two away from yours, and you forcefully blur your vision so you don’t have to catch sight of the expression on Gojo’s face.

“So,” Ren speaks up as his eyes peruse the food menu and Junichi waves the waitress over to order a round of sake, “tell me more about your experience, sweetheart.”

You blink at him, eyes feeling heavy, heart feeling heavy. “I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

Ren lets out a coo, and you briefly glance at Kai who’s shaking his head with a sigh. “My bad, y/n. Your experience?”

Your hands play with the folder sitting in your lap. “I started writing screenplays for small-scale directors when I was a freshman, and was greenlit on a couple into my sophomore year. One of the films I worked on, I had directing credits for, and it was nominated for best screenplay at Etoile Film Festival the year following.”

Ren swallows slightly, shifting in his chair and pushing his shoulders back, like he’s trying to establish himself now. Kai is clenching a fist on the surface of the table.

Ren clears his throat before speaking again. “Wow, okay, so you’ve actually got some serious shit going on.” His voice is a faux octave deeper. “What do you know about being a good assistant? Ever worked in customer service? Secretary?”

“Oh, I mean I have worked in customer service, but I wasn’t done sharing about my experience—” you try to say but Junichi cuts you off.

“First round’s on me,” he declares, “for bringing her out here.” He tips his chin to you and then sends Kai a glance.

A waitress brings by a bottle of sake, and Junichi begins pouring drinks into the glasses, then slides them across the table. Kai gives Ren a pointed look.

“Don’t get too wasted,” Kai says to him as he brings his glass to his lips, “you start running that mouth of yours a little too much when you do.”

Ren grins at him and immediately knocks down the glass Junichi barely finished pouring from him in one go, and the gruff man beside him is grumbling. “Whatever you say.”

Something had been bothering you since you came here. “Wait,” you say, pointing between Kai and Ren, “do you two know each other already? Because,” you turn to look at Kai, “on the phone earlier, you sounded like you didn’t.”

Kai’s eyebrows raise in surprise, as though he’s discovered you have some skill for foresight. You glance at Ren, and he gives Kai a puzzled look.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve known Kai for years,” he says, “we go way back. We went to highschool together.”

Kai shifts a little in his chair. “Sorry. Probably forgot to mention it.”

You glance down at the glass of sake in front of you, and the way it twinkles under the lighting of the bar. You slowly bring it to your mouth, taking a small sip, and the way it coats your tongue is less than pleasing.

“Can you tell me more about the assistant position?” you ask Ren, who’s emptied out the bottle of sake and waving someone over to order more. He already has a slightly flush to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, will do,” he says, “but first, let me tell you about what I do in visuals.”

Another round of sake is dropped by, and then another, followed by another, as Ren continues to ramble on and on about what he does for work, and how it’s entirely integral to the final piece of the film, although you’ve never really had a terrible level of appreciation for visual effects in short-film craft, since it’s hardly much work. But you wouldn’t say that, you just continue to nurse your one glass of sake as the three men surrounding you knock back more and more, and there’s slurs to their speeches now.

“Sooo, I’m so sorry, sweetheart—I mean y/n, for cuttin’ you off earlier,” he says, “but what was that experience you wanted to talk to me about?” Ren asks from across the table, and his eyes are all traveling over you.

“I…” you start, “well, I started to work with one of my professors last year, she’s a two-time Cannes Film Festival winner, and she let me under her wing for one of her projects last year.”

“Who is she? Oh wait, nevermind, probably wouldn’t have heard of her anyways,” Ren says, but when you fail to laugh, he waves his hand in the air. “Joking, joking. What’s her name?”

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

“Oh shit. I have heard of her,” Ren says, followed by a shallow hiccup. Junichi shrugs his shoulders, and when you look at Kai, he’s nodding slowly and toying with the rim of his glass with a finger.

“Yes. Well, anyways—” you start up again, before Kai sets his glass of sake down particularly loud.

“This is all bullshit. Really. I told you, filmmaking is a waste of time. Just focus on your photography, and your freelance or whatnot,” Kai says, grit to his jaw, face looking red with possibly something other than just a tipsiness.

Ren lets out a laugh. “Fuckin’ Kai. What a pessimist. Don’t listen to him, sweetheart,” he says, slurred, and you furrow your brow at him with a glare, “sorry. Don’t listen to him. Trust me, you’ll learn a lot under Mr. Ko. He’s a suuuper nice guy.”

“What’s the compensation?” you ask. It’s a brazen question, one you’d never ask so soon in a formal interview process, but this table was hardly anything formal.

“Real good. Mmm I think like…5200 yen an hour, and then also, you get your foot in the door.”

“Oh,” you sit up a little in your chair. It was higher than most entry-level anything for undergraduates or even new grads.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he drawls when he sees you’re more interested. “Good stuff. Kai used to pick these kinds of jobs up, too, back in his college days. I remember. Although, he’s hardly Mr. Ko’s type, so I doubt he’d be any good for this one.”

Your head snaps to Ren again at his words, face tensing.

“Tell her about what a job like this—hic—entails,” Ren says as he extends his glass out for Junichi to pour him another.

Kai glances at Ren once, and you watch him grind his teeth for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Oh. Y’know, clerical work. Stuff like printing scripts out,” Kai starts, Junichi filling up his glass and then he raises it into the air to watch the liquid swish around, “grabbing him coffee. Making sure his trailer is stocked.”

“Blowing him in said trailer,” Ren says. It’s something quiet, under his breath with a small laugh, where you could barely hear it across the table. But you heard it nonetheless. And your heart sinks to the core of the earth.

“Excuse me?” you say. The benefit of doubt sitting on your shoulder, watching in disbelief as well.

“He’s joking,” Kai says, quickly, “runnin’ his mouth.”

“Oh fuck off, Kai,” Ren says, throwing his hands up in the air, “don’t act like that’s not why you brought her here.”

Your head slowly turns to Kai, who can’t meet your gaze. Your eyes flicker to Junichi, who looks amused.

Ren leans over the table, elbows resting on top, to look you straight in the eyes. He’s got a sleazy smile, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath, and he dips his tone down low enough to where you can hardly hear it over the sounds surrounding you in the bar. “That’s how you’ll make it in this industry, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not, you’ll be working under those directors until you make it.”

You stand up so fast that your chair falls behind you, hand raised in the air, and you swiftly slap the man across from you so hard across the cheek that it leaves his skin even more red than the flush from before, and your palm is stinging.

There’s gasps all around the bar, hushed voices, eyes on you, but you don’t care. There’s not a single thing in the world you care more about right now than the anger swelled in your chest.

Ren holds his cheek, surprised, blinking like a pathetic animal. He almost looks like he’s about to cry, and you let out a scoff at the sight.

You turn to face Kai, whose eyes are wide and he’s staring up at you. Your fists are clenched at your side.

“Is this why you brought me here tonight?” you ask. Your voice is trembling, anxiety at the wake, the white anger spotting your vision. But there’s also pain. So much pain, and you’re just so fed up with all of it. “Because your belittling, condescending words weren’t enough to tear my hopes apart, so you had to humiliate me in front of your friends instead?”

Kai holds his hand up. “Woah, Canon, relax. He was just joking—…” Kai glances at Ren, who’s still holding his cheek and biting down on his lip, and then his gaze hardens. “Y’know what? It’s about fucking time you get this wake-up call, y/n. I’ve been trying to do the nice thing to steer you in the right direction, and the least you could—”

“Steer me in the right fucking direction?!” you’re yelling now, registering the way your voice echoes in the bar. “You know what I think this is all about, Kai?” You grit your teeth, “You’re a sick, stupid, sexist fuck who didn’t have the balls to go after what he wanted. So miserably pathetic that you’ve got no other fucking business than to pull people down to your level.”

Kai pinches his eyebrows together, hand on the table clenching into a fist.

You lean down closer, an exasperated scoff leaving your lips. “Why don’t you go be his assistant instead? Since I’m sure you’re good at taking it up the ass.”

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

You grab his glass off the table and throw the alcohol into his face, eliciting another round of noises around the bar, and his mouth falls agape in shock before he gets up out of his chair, hand reaching out to grab for you. You close your eyes shut with a flinch to expect pain. Any sort of pain. But you don’t feel anything at all.

When you open your eyes, you see Gojo standing to your left, veins of his arm tense with the tight grip he has on Kai’s forearm, and you can see he’s practically shaking with rage. He steps in front of you, guarding, and you can’t see the expression on his face, but the fear in Kai’s eyes is enough to say it all.

“That’s enough,” he says, the clench of his jaw evident through the strain in his voice, “try to put your hands on her again, and I’ll split your fucking face in half.”

You can see Kai’s breathing pick up from where you’re peering over Gojo’s shoulder, and then Gojo shoves him backwards right as Choso kicks the fallen chair to his feet so he trips over it backwards then hits the ground with a loud and indignant thud.

Gojo’s hovering over Kai, his hands shoved in his pockets as he glares down at him, while Geto and Nanami put space between you and the other two men at your table. You feel a searing flush to your cheeks. You’re breathing fast, the peering eyes all around you are scrutinizing, looking at you with surprise, confusion, shock, and pity. Your mind is racing, and you wonder what your parents would think of all this. What your friends would think of all of this. What the people who support you would think of the fucked up situation you’ve found yourself in, and the humiliation courses so deep through your veins that you just want to run away and hide. The ground could swallow you whole right now, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You take one step back, then another, before you turn on your heel to rush out the door into the night, and you barely register that it’s raining. You can feel your heart thumping fast in your chest and in your head, that familiar knot in your throat twisting tight as you walk fast down the street and ignore Gojo’s call of your name from behind you.

You don’t want to see anyone right now. You don’t want to be seen by anyone right now. Especially Gojo, of all people, because he was right about everything, and the fact that you had shut him down about it, and the way that you had shut him down about it makes your head numb and your breathing pick up fast.

“y/n,” you hear him call out from behind you, his pace is getting faster and so you’re resorting to longer strides as well, puddles of water splashing under your feet with every step, “just wait—”

“I’m seriously,” you start, and the tears begin to fall, “I’m seriously so, so, so, so, so fucking embarassed right now,” you gasp out the words with no air left in your lungs to breathe as you continue to run away from him, “so please, just leave me alone.”

You can picture it all in your head. Something like I told you so from his lips, because after what you’ve been put through tonight, you just want to assume the worst in people.

But just as you round the corner into an alley, feeling lost with the sight of a dead end, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and then you’re being pulled into an embrace.

Your eyes are blinking with tears streaming, your face buried in a chest that is warm, with a heart beating so fast that it’s keeping time with your own, and the fragrance that surrounds you is so painfully him that it makes you sob even more.

Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and Gojo rests his chin at the top of your head. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you can feel the rumble of his voice, “I just needed to stop you from running.”

Your arms are weakly raised, an outline over his torso but not yet grabbing on, until you hesitantly do. And when you hold onto him, it’s so tight and strong, and you realize that after everything between the two of you, it’s the first time you’ve been wrapped in his arms.

“I feel so stupid,” you start, already hating the words because you want to be stronger right now, but you can’t.

“You’re not stupid,” he quickly corrects you, “those guys are fucking insecure losers. You’re just trying your best. You always have, for as long as I’ve known you, and it’s something you should be proud of yourself for.”

You don’t know what to say to him, you just cling to the damp fabric of his shirt in the rain.

“Things are going to work out for you, no matter what, because I know you’ve got what it takes and you’re willing to work hard for it,” he says, his chin nuzzling so you’re tucked into him even further, “and if things don’t work out, that’s okay, you’re strong and you’ll always get back up. And I want to be there to help you through everything.”

You pull your face from his chest to stare up at him, droplets of rain falling to your face and making you flinch occasionally. “I’m confused.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, swiping at a tear on your cheek, or maybe it was rain. “I thought that—” he starts, his thumb briefly running over the small cut still healing on your cheek, his brow furrowing, “I thought that I’d be okay with watching your life from afar, through cropped pictures on a screen,” he says, a chill running through you, “but I can’t. It’s killing me. And I’m really sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but I like you so much and I really want to be with you.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and you don’t know how to feel. You push your face into his chest again. His thumb runs circles at your side through the dampness of your shirt.

“There are a lot of reasons I didn’t feel like I could date you, or show up for you,” he says, “but the pain of not getting to be with you, of not getting to hold you, and just share my life with you is way worse than whatever reasons I kept trying to convince myself of.”

You nod slowly, because there was a part of you deep inside that knew that all along.

His grip on you relaxes slightly and you take that as a request from him for you to look up at him, so you do. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of pain, and I’m really not a perfect person, but if there’s room in your heart to forgive me, I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make you feel happy and cared for.”

Your eyes study his face for sincerity. They’re words you’ve been wanting to hear, words you could’ve pictured in your head, but the adoration in his eyes makes you realize you never could’ve imagined the true sweetness of those words when they’re said from him.

You press your cheek to his chest again. You’re not crying anymore. “I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier. About kicking a soccer ball, and having it easy,” you bite down on your lip, because now there’s tears in your eyes again, “I didn’t mean it.” You sniffle a little, “I know you work hard. And it was a really mean thing to say.”

He sighs, holding you flush to himself. His cheek presses against the top of your head. “That’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But I do.”

There was no grudge at all. There was nothing withdrawn from you, nothing taken away as punishment. He just held onto you, exactly as you are, and you felt so safe in every second you spent in his arms.

You look up at him again. His hair is damp, strands clinging to his face in all the places they usually fall over, droplets of rain falling from his fringe onto your face and he does everything he can to wipe them away. “It’s too late,” you tell him, and he immediately knows what you’re referring to.

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

“I don’t have feelings for you anymore,” you say through a sniffle.

He knows you’re lying, and that you say it just out of spite, but he holds your head to his chest. “I know.”

“You’ll have to beg and grovel, and even then, I might not like you ever again,” you say, gripping so tightly onto his shirt for purchase, your voice sounding muffled as you breathe in the scent of him. “That’s your punishment.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. A firm press of his lips, lasting as he takes a few deep breaths. And then he kisses the same spot again, staying still in that position as he repeats himself.

“I know.”

a/n. phewww thank you for reading, i swear, this chapter felt like a goddamn war to write. my emotions were all over the damn place, i think cause i wrote from a place of bitter experience lol. i dedicate this chap to my lovely friend she’s a film major (she inspired me to create this story) and i srs wouldn’t be able to write kickoff without her 😭💕 dear M♥︎, i thought of you sm while writing this chapter, i can only hope i’ve captured even the slightest bit of the understanding i will always aim to have of you, and that you feel seen. i’m incredibly proud of you, always rooting for you, so often thinking of you, and terribly missing you so much rn (plsssssss visit meee😩💔 ) dedicated w sm love 💕 -bitchasshoe this chapter is also dedicated to anyone who’s going through a hard times n maybe just trying to figure themselves out :”) i am so proud of you, you should be so proud of yourself, there’s still so much to live and learn, and i hope the universe blesses you w everything you’ve ever wanted!! big thank u to my lovely m00t @quinnyundertow she pulled me out of my writers block for this chapter and also beta read a lot of it for me there’s only three chapters left for kickoff (i’m gonna cry just thinking ab it :”)) which doesnt sound like a lot but there’s still a lot i’ve got planned 😭 i’m just noticing that i very poorly planned the second half of this series. chapters 1-6 combined have less words than chapters 7-9 combined 😅✨ sooooo i may increase the chapters from 12 to 14 by splitting them up to make it easier on me, or just stick to the plan and come out with long chapters like the last two. idk. i’ll figure it out. thank u to everyone for reading i love you all dearly 😭💕 i’ll see you in the next one!!

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd @ronniebird @bloopsstuff @mwtsxri @witchbybirth @tetsuski @fffinskye @gh0ulkz @beabadobeee @mandysfanfics @erencvlt @laviefantasie @sukunamylovexoxo @girlkissersco @itzjuliana @yell0wdreams @1dimas7 @strayedjeno @mo0nforme @yungbloode @sullybrothersmate @oaooaoaoaoa @swagangelllamawolf @banenemilk @inniesblog

(hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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tusks-and-claws · 2 years ago

Text

I’m Not What You Need (But I Am)

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: “When you sit there/acting like you know me/acting like you only brought me here to get below me”

You have a concern to bring to Miguel, but when he hears what you really think of him, he doesn’t let you off so easily

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, kind of missionary idk what to call it, dominant Miguel, brat taming, orgasm denial, dirty talk, choking, sort of strangers to lovers, maybe a little bit of a hatefuck if you squint, reader is a Spider person, def a bit out of character

Wordcount: 3.5k

Find on Ao3 here :3

"Why are you coming to me with such trivial annoyances?" Miguel O'Hara asked you from the platform of his lab, at least ten feet above you. He was tapping on various screens, not giving you eye contact. It felt purposeful, pointed.

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to know when fights broke out. Keeping the peace and all that." You felt yourself growing warm, anxiety fluttering in your stomach.

"What I want," he said, his tone growing short. "Is for people to sort out their own bullshit, so I can worry about what's important. Which, if you haven't noticed, is much bigger than you and I and some stupid fight in the lobby."

As soon as he said it, you knew he was right. But he was still being an asshole. You were only trying to help.

You put your hands up in defense. "I just thought you'd wanna know." Then whispered under your breath "douchebag," as you turned to walk away.

But your progress was halted by something tugging at your wrist. You looked down to see what it was, and closed your eyes, quietly cursing yourself. Neon red webbing.

"You wanna run that by me again?" Miguel asked.

You swallowed a lump in your throat. "Nothing, it was nothing. I'll just leave."

You tried to pull free, but he was reeling you in, like a helpless fish on a hook. "Oh, no," he said, sounding somewhat amused. "No, I heard you. 'Douchebag,' eh? Not very creative. But…" he paused when you were closer, close enough that he could look directly down at you. "I want to hear you say it again. Face to face, this time."

You frowned. "How can we be 'face to face' when you're so high above me?"

He wagged a finger at you. "You've got a point there." In a sudden flash of tingling, your Spider sense triggered. But Miguel was too fast, he'd been doing this for far longer than you had. In an instant, you were wrapped in neon red and being hoisted upward onto the platform. He planted you right in front of him, putting his hands on his hips and leaning down so his eyes were level with yours. "Happy?"

You huffed. Why was he like this? A self-satisfied grin played at the edges of his plush lips as he scrutinized you with bloodshot eyes. Finally registering how close he was, and how huge he was, you started turning red. He could throw you around like you weighed nothing, couldn't he? He had just lifted you up here with hardly any effort. You'd never thought about another Spider like this. Sure, you were all strong, but there was something in Miguel's upper body that you couldn't free from your thoughts, something in those massive shoulders, something-

"Well?" He asked, breaking your trance. "I don't have all day."

You met his eyes. They looked so tired. You didn't want to insult him anymore. You wanted to leave and pretend like the thoughts you had about him never existed.

But you knew what he needed to hear.

"Douchebag," you repeated.

He smiled, and it was humorless. "It's nice to know that this is what people think of me. That I did this for all of us, and everyone in our worlds. And the word that comes to mind when people talk to me is…?" He raised an eyebrow prompting you.

"...Douchebag."

"That's right!" He pointed a finger at you. "I don't ask for much. I ask for people to listen and respect the operation. And that means respecting my time, too, eh? No more coming right to me with petty fights that people can solve on their own."

You just stared back up at him, hardly registering his words. Respect time, no more fights, whatever. His hair looked so soft.

"Got it?" He asked, starting to sound frustrated again.

You nodded.

"I need to hear you say it."

"G-got it."

"Good." He patted your shoulder. What an odd gesture. It was very nearly caring. "Let's get you out of here." He flexed his hand, talons coming free. He quickly swiped at the webbing he had wrapped you in, the strands snapping and falling to the floor in shreds.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. His brow furrowed. "Listen, I know I'm scary, but I'm just doing my job."

You shook your head. "I'm- I'm not scared."

"Are you not? Dios mio, I can hear your blood pumping."

His heightened senses were going to be your death sentence. The longer he stood staring at you, the worse your thoughts became. But you couldn't bring yourself to move away from his attention. You crossed your arms, trying to make yourself small so he would stop looking at you.

He raised an eyebrow. "What, do you wanna be friends or something?"

No, you thought, I want us to be something different.

Despite your best efforts, you blurted out, "no, in all honesty, I've never really liked you that much." Why did you say that? What was wrong with you?

He cocked his head, his eyes widening, processing what you just said. He started to nod. "Oh, wow. Great. Thank you so much. What a productive conversation. And you're still here because…?"

"Because you getting the last word in is infuriating to me." You couldn't stop yourself. You knew this was bad, but you couldn't stop.

"How do you think I feel? You came here for the sole purpose of bothering me and now you won't leave me the shock alone." He pointed at you again, forefinger lightly jabbing your collarbone. "You. Can. Leave. This is my lab, you little brat." He spoke the words through gritted teeth, and you could just barely see his elongated canines, gleaming and sharp in the light of the lab's computer screens.

Oh no.

You stood there, just blinking at him. You've never seen someone so annoyed looking so attractive at the same time. It wasn't fucking fair.

He suddenly started, the anger from his face vanishing, confusion taking its place. "Oh yeah?" He asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "That's why your heart is pounding?"

Fuck.

"What, uh… what do you-"

"Don't play dumb with me.” He placed a gloved finger under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. “I can smell that you're turned on. Is that why you came here to bother me? So you could gawk at me? And maybe I'd fuck you if you were lucky."

You backed up, nearly slipping off the edge of the raised platform. Miguel reached out and caught your hand, pulling you in close to him. Unconsciously, you splayed your hands on his chest to steady yourself. His body was so warm and inviting, and you were drawn into it like a little planet circling a blazing sun.

What was happening, what were you doing?

"Is that what you thought?" He asked, seeming to echo the questions you asked yourself, his voice growing more quiet as he looked down at you.

You quickly raised your hands away from him, closing them into loose fists and crossing your arms again. "No," you said, truthfully.

"But you're thinking it now." He nodded. "Aren't you?"

After a pause, you nodded too.

"I really need to hear you say it." He probed.

"I'm…. I'm thinking about it now."

"Oh, are you? Thinking about what?"

You swore under your breath, doing a poor job of hiding a scowl. You should've known he wasn't going to make it easy for you.

"Thinking about you fucking me." You grimaced after admitting it, waiting for him to mock you and disown you.

He smiled. "That's funny. I thought I was a douchebag."

"Fuck you, man!" You threw your arms up into the air, turning around and preparing to hop down from the platform.

“No no no, come on, now,” he said, grasping your wrist with a large, warm hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle. “Why don’t you give me a chance to change your mind?”

You looked him in the eyes, and there was a small spark there. You sighed, unable to deny the reaction your body had to him. You wanted him. And he was offering himself to you. What reality was this where that was even possible? Not ten minutes ago, you were hardly closer than strangers. “Okay,” you said, offering him a small grin. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Oh, I won’t.” In another swift movement, he swept you up into his arms and laid you down on your back on the lab floor. He was above you, arms on either side of your head, boxing you in. You could hardly see anything past those vast shoulders. You swallowed. He raised one hand to your head, petting your hair. “Look at that. You really are so pretty. Couldn’t help thinking it even when you were pissing me off earlier.”

You furrowed your brow. “I thought you wanted to change my mind, asshole, is this-”

He cut you off as his hand lowered, skating down your side and brushing against your breast before traveling even further. You exhaled shakily, trying to prepare yourself for this. Miguel O'Hara was touching you. Miguel O'Hara was going to fuck you.

When he reached the curvature of your hips, he fondly squeezed, humming to himself. "Soft… so soft. You wouldn't want an asshole like me to eat you out, would you?"

Your brain short-circuited at how blatant he was. "No, I- I would, I really fucking would, Miguel."

"Oh, are we on a first name basis, now?" He hooked a clawed finger into the fabric of your suit, ripping a huge gash into it so he could access you. That… that was your good suit. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself from quipping back at him as he scooted downward, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lining himself up with your pussy. You threw your head back in anticipation, screwing your eyes shut. How was this real? How was-

You gasped as his tongue made gentle contact with your sex, slowly and carefully licking a long swipe from your opening to your clit, like he was savoring the first taste of you.

"You taste even better than you smell, amor."

Fuck, he was savoring you. You trembled beneath him, your hands tentatively reaching down to tangle with his hair. And it was even softer than you thought it would be.

"That's it," he encouraged. "Hang onto me."

You listened, your grip on his hair tightening. As if that were his cue, he brought his tongue back to your aching pussy, lapping at the wetness that was all but dripping from you. Your body immediately felt too hot on the metal floor, and you were convinced that you were beginning to melt under the warmth of his tongue. The almost-penetration was sending you spiraling; he was giving you nothing that you needed while somehow simultaneously answering your every secret desire. You needed that mouth on your clit. Your greedy, aroused body needed more, more. You had him all to yourself and he was teasing you. It wasn't fair.

You whimpered as you gripped soft locks of his hair, waiting for him to take the plunge. Waiting…. And waiting. But he just kept lapping contentedly at your entrance, just barely dipping his tongue inside. The feeling was pleasant but infuriating. What was he trying to do? Did he want you to beg for it?

Oh.

…He couldn't be serious.

But that was the only conclusion you could reach. After all, he'd been asking to hear you say things this entire encounter, prompting you to be vocal. All you had to do was swallow your pride.

"M-Miguel…?" You asked, your voice quiet.

He stopped, picking his head up slightly, looking at you from under his thick brows. "Mm? What is it?"

"Please, um… please…." Your voice caught in your throat. Why was this so difficult?

"Oh, you're begging me now? What could you possibly be begging for… Isn't this what you wanted?"

You narrowed your eyes as he held your gaze with that lackadaisical expression.

"Please," you started, feeling humiliated. "Please suck on my clit."

"Good girl. All you had to do was ask." In no time at all, his mouth was back on you. He zeroed in on your clit, taking the sensitive bundle of nerves into the wet warmth of his mouth, sucking on it just as you needed. The feeling was so intense and you couldn't suppress any of the noises that escaped you. And the noises he made didn't help in the slightest. He was humming as he worked your clit, the gentle vibrations of his voice adding to the overstimulation. He stopped for a moment to instead use his tongue, and the pointed attention was delicious.

"How are you feeling, amor?" He asked without fully pulling away from you, his voice slightly lisping from the contact.

"Good," you gasped, feeling like you were getting close to the edge. "So, so good. Please keep going."

"Tell me when you're going to cum."

"Yes, yes I will."

He continued his efforts, mercilessly devouring you, a cacophony of wet sounds rising to meet your ears. You could feel your orgasm building, your body singing. He was playing you like an instrument. That warm, pulsating feeling was building deep inside your core, threatening to burst apart with every second.

Your grip on his hair tightened. "Miguel, I'm- I'm gonna-"

Your back started arching and you closed your eyes as… nothing happened. He pulled his head away from you. You opened your eyes to see him looking at you from between your legs, one of his eyebrows raised.

"Wha- what?"

He smirked. "Oh, this? It's nothing... It's just that douchebags usually don't care about making women cum."

Your jaw dropped open. This again? You gritted your teeth, your clit swollen and thrumming with your pulse. You needed release.

"I'm sorry." You said, your voice desperate.

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "Oh, wow, that was fast." His tone was so matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry for calling you a douchebag and an asshole, I was wrong about you. Please let me cum." You spat the words out so quickly that you hardly registered what you were saying.

"How could I say no to that?" He returned to you, gripping your thighs more firmly than he had before, shamelessly moaning into you as you started to curl up off the hard metal floor. Your orgasm was so close, it was right within your grasp. Your breath started going ragged as you held onto him for dear life. In a white hot burst of pleasure, you came, swearing loudly as Miguel drank up every bit of you, letting you ride your orgasm out on his skillful tongue. He slowed down right as you did, matching your pace perfectly until you were a heaving mess on the floor in front of him.

"My turn, now," his voice came through the fog, it sounded distant. But you could feel strong arms lifting you up and all but dropping you onto your back on one of the lab's computer consoles, its screen turning off in response. He dismissed a section of his high tech suit, his manhood coming free. You couldn't help but gawk at him. His body was unreal. From the small window he created, you could see hard lines of muscle carved into golden skin. Your head started spinning again.

He began pumping his hard cock as he looked down at you, spreading your legs further open with his free hand. "See how easy it is to get what you want when you aren't being a brat?" The way his muscles flexed through his tight suit while he worked himself was maddening. You wanted- no, you needed him to fuck you. You needed him inside you.

You nodded your head, answering his question.

"So, tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me," you answered, still panting from your orgasm. "I want to feel you so badly. Please, Miguel."

"You're a fast learner," he purred, bringing his cock to your folds and lubricating himself on the mess you two had made. He slid over your slick entrance, his head touching your aching clit as he moved up and down. "I'll fuck this pretty cunt for you, since you asked so nicely."

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed himself inside of you, inch by thick inch. You moaned, the feeling of finally being full was luscious, he was pressing at your walls from all angles. At last, when he was in up to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment while his large hands found your waist.

"My God, look at you. You took all of me, and so shocking well. You," he exhaled, seemingly taking a second to compose himself. "You feel so good."

"Thank you," you whispered, breathless. He was praising you. It was… nice to hear. Stubbornness be damned.

He chuckled to himself. "Please and thank you? You really do learn fast. You've earned this, amor." And with that, he pulled himself out of you, slamming back in with a hard slap. Over and over, he fucked you with the entire length of his cock, hitting spots inside of you that you weren't sure even existed. "Lemme hear you, I wanna hear it all."

You obeyed. "O-oh my God, Miguel, fuck. It's… it's so good. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you."

Thanking him fueled his fire; his grip on your waist tightening, red eyes sparkling wildly. "Good girl, that's it… watching my cock disappear inside of you… it's making me crazy. You like getting fucked by someone you hated before all this? You wanna get filled up by someone you don't even like?"

"Yes, please." Your back arched into him, the pressure from his unwavering thrusts overwhelming you. The feeling was impossibly perfect, your body tingling from your head to your toes. He really did fit inside of you so well.

"You'll get it, baby. Keep being good for me, you'll get it."

As he continued, his hands roamed your body. Groping at your breasts, resting on the soft slope of your stomach. You grabbed one of his traveling hands, a rogue feeling overtaking you as you brought it up to your throat.

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Y-yeah? You want me to choke you?” He sounded excited.

“P-please,” you huffed, grabbing onto his forearm.

“Holy shit, you’re something else.” He began applying gentle pressure to your airway as he kept fucking you. It was the perfect amount of constriction; suppressing your breath intake just enough for your head to feel pleasantly airy. He was good at that, why was he so good at that?

Between the way he was pounding you and the way he was choking you, your muscles started to bear down on him.

"Yes, yes, squeeze that cock. Good girl. You’re gonna get what you want.”

You clenched down on him, your orgasm rocking you to your core as he fucked you through it. It hit you in giant waves, crashing over you and pulling you into the undertow. You felt completely drunk on it. The warmth of it was everywhere in your body, all the way up to your fingertips. Your head swam, your eyes rolling back into your head. Miguel swore to himself, his tempo becoming more irregular. He released your throat, hands flying down to grip the console. You thought you could hear it cracking.

“God, you’re tight. I’m gonna fill you up.”

“Yes,” you rasped, your body shaking.

He growled as he came inside of you, bearing his fangs in clenched teeth once more, and you could feel his cock twitch followed by the heat of his seed as it stuffed you full. He lingered over you, his eyes looking frenzied as his gaze flicked over your face, his chest heaving with every recovering breath.

You released a deep sigh, smiling tenderly at him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

“You, uh,” he started awkwardly, running his hands through his hair. He still hadn’t even pulled out of you yet. “You earned it,” he repeated.

He took a short, unsure step back, as he pulled his length free from you. You could feel his cum leaking from you upon his release. There was so much of it.

He held his hand out to you to help you up, and you grasped it, smiling again as you got to your feet.

“I’ll clean this mess up, but you.…” He scanned your frame. “...I’ve got a pair of pants on one of the lab chairs down there.” He pointed toward a particularly cluttered section of his space. “Bringing them back would be a much better excuse to see me than a fight in the lobby.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #smut #my writing #ive got another one for you you sick bastards #this one was not beta read in the slightest so bear with me pls #hope you enjoy!#i will not stop the metalcore title/summary naming convention anytime soon so my condolences

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hayakawalove · 6 months ago

Text

Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater

Summary: You're happy with your husband, you swear. Except you actually aren't. You're so unhappy in fact, that you find yourself in a cheap bar late one night. Two men find you, and it leads to a night of fun.

A/N: Yeah. It goes without saying that I DON'T CONDONE CHEATING! I don't know why I wrote this. I actually used to really hate cheating fics, so much so that I would filter the tag out. They used to trigger me super bad. I'm not sure why I wrote this. Maybe as a way of doing exposure therapy, maybe just to practice writing things I normally don't write. Whatever the case is, here you go. I hope y'all enjoy! As always, I appreciate your guys comments so much, seriously!

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Cheating (You Cheat on Your Husband), Hand Jobs, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Protected Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Praise Kink, Cum Swallowing, Hook-Up, No Strings Attached, Reader Feels Bad (Doesn't Last Long), Hair-pulling, Female Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 6,154

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

You’re happy.

You really are.

Those are the words you find yourself repeating like a mantra, a self assuring prayer on a loop in your mind.

You have a great life.

A wonderful job, a nice house, the perfect husband.

People live their entire lives searching for what you’ve been so graciously dealt.

So why did it feel like you were lying to yourself when you repeated that mantra?

The words felt uneasy in your mind at first, the weight of them feeling unknown on your tongue. You’d never really thought about it before. Were you happy? The more you told yourself that you were, the more the saying turned your stomach sour.

You were happy. You were happy. You were happy.

You weren’t happy.

At first, it began like a tingle in the back of your throat. Not disruptive, but most certainly there, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of it. It was the most obvious when you felt like you should be grateful for something.

Before going to bed at night, finishing a big project at work, when your husband kissed your cheek.

The doubt simmers in your gut, barely a blip on your radar.

It was hardly noticeable, until it wasn’t.

The thought became a raging forest fire, drowning out all your other senses. Every day was the same. It was so boring. Nothing lit a spark in you.

You weren’t sure how to even remedy it. Not only that, but you would listen to your friends talk about their lives, and how it was monotonous for them as well. Maybe life just had to be like this.

There’s a pit in your stomach as you walk to your car. You really didn’t want to go home tonight. Not when you knew your loving husband would be waiting for you; not when you knew you had all the reasons in the world to be happy, but you just weren’t.

“Hey, sexy lady!” A man’s voice rings out around you.

When you flick your head around you see a man who’s much older than you sizing you up. Your knee jerk reaction is to be disgusted, but you aren’t, not fully at least.

You’re flattered.

When was the last time someone paid you a compliment like that? Your husband told you you were beautiful all the time, but it felt rehearsed, like the words had lost their meaning. Sure, a stranger calling you sexy was a bit half assed, but at least it was real.

“Thank you! But I’m married-“ you reply, even though the man is long gone by now.

You straighten your shoulders and open your car door, accepting the fluke.

~~~

You’re craving the attention again.

You feel like an addict craving their next hit. You didn’t want anything else, other than a bit of attention from a stranger. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Over the next couple of days you craft a plan. You were going to get dressed up and go to a bar, nothing major. You just wanted to put yourself in a situation where you could receive attention, maybe get a couple of compliments. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Your husband texted you to inform you that he would be at the office late tonight. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that shoots through you when you tell him that it’s okay, you wouldn’t be doing much anyway.

Liar.

The dress you’re wearing feels a bit too tight, fitting to your form like another layer of skin. You hadn’t worn it in years. There never was any need to. You and your husband didn't go on dates much anymore, instead choosing to settle down for movie nights or dinner.

Your makeup is more extreme than usual. It highlights all your favorite features, and the colors are a bit dramatic. Even though it felt different, you had to admit that you looked good.

You fiddle with your ring, watching the way it catches the light. Reluctantly, you pull it off and put it in your purse. You feel naked not wearing it. Hopefully, more people would compliment you if you didn’t have it on.

You sling your purse over your shoulder and turn your phone off, you wouldn’t be needing it anyway, sliding your high heels on.

The bar you decide on is on the furthest edge of town, in a much seedier neighborhood. On any chosen day you wouldn’t be caught dead on this side of town, and neither would any of your loved ones. Which is precisely why you chose to be there in the first place.

Nobody would recognize you. Not that it would be a problem if they did, you remind yourself. You weren’t doing anything wrong.

The bar is loud as you enter, eager voices discussing a variety of topics over cheap alcohol. The smell of liquor is strong, the astringent scent nearly burning the inside of your nostrils.

You slide over to the counter and take a seat on one of the rickety stools. It’d be a miracle if it doesn’t break under your weight, it looks like it’s two seconds from collapsing on its own.

You order a mixed drink and smile as the bartender passes it to you, your heart fluttering at the way he grins back.

Validation springs throughout your body. It feels like you’re being rejuvenated, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

See? What you were doing wasn’t so bad.

“What's a fine young thing like yourself doing over here?”

When you turn around to catch a glimpse of the man shamelessly hitting on you, you feel your stomach turn. You had never seen someone so attractive before.

A head full of soft white hair, messy in an almost endearing way. You can’t catch a glimpse of his eyes due to the sunglasses that rest on his nose. On anyone else it would come off as douchey, it was dark out and you were inside a bar, but for him it seemed oddly fitting.

There’s a cocky grin on his face as he leans against the counter where you sit. He’s close enough that you can smell the soap he used to scrub himself with. An intoxicating scent, cedarwood and bergamot.

“Enjoying some alone time.” You reply, deciding on playing hard to get.

It would be nice to see him continue to try, even if you didn’t make it easy.

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just had to tell you how gorgeous you were.”

He didn’t sound sorry, didn’t look it either.

“I know.” You take a small sip of you drink, staring up at him as you do so.

You would never be so forward in your day to day life. You much preferred to be humble. Humble was cute, humble was safe.

You were tired of being safe.

The strangers lips spread even further and you catch a glimpse of him running his tongue along his teeth. You can’t see, but you feel like he’s staring down at you, gaze assessing your features. You hope he likes what he sees.

“Sir, can I get another one of these for her?” He flags down the bartender and motions to your drink.

“I didn’t tell you I wanted another one.” You reply, stirring the drink you’re currently nursing.

The man beside you raises a brow, before sliding out a wad of cash. He hands it to the bartender without looking away from you, confidence leaking from his pores.

“You shouldn’t have to. A gentleman should be able to notice.”

You feel a heavy weight drop on top of you. He was right. True gentlemen should take note of the small things, right?

Your husband hardly ever did.

The crack inside your heart begins to deepen; you know there’s not going to be a way back from this. Do you mind that you won’t be able to recover?

No.

You don’t.

You grin at him and toss back the rest of your drink before taking the new one from him. It’s cold against your hand, a sickly sweet scent wafting up from the cup.

“Who’s your little friend?” A second voice enters.

You flick your eyes from the man beside you to see who’s talking. Long black locks and chestnut eyes.

“Suguru. This is…” The first man talks.

You state your name, nerves beginning to take hold in your chest. When it was just one of them it was fine, but two of them?

“I’m Satoru Gojo, and this is Suguru Geto.” The original man says. “Pleased to meet you.” He finishes, dipping his face down to look at you above his glasses.

Electric cerulean greets you, nearly taking your breath away.

He smirks and pushes his glasses back up before tossing a look over his shoulder towards his friend.

Suguru circles around you, and you can’t help but let your eyes follow his movements. It feels like he’s sizing you up, a dark gleam in his gaze as he settles in the spot beside you.

It feels a bit like the walls are caving in on you, except the metaphorical walls are in the form of two bulky men.

You wanted attention, that much was true, but you weren’t sure you were ready for this amount.

“What brings you to this dive bar?” The one called Suguru questions.

You take a sip of your drink as you ponder a response. What should you tell them? You were here with friends? The truth?

“Needed to get out of the house.” You decide on.

Well, it wasn’t completely wrong.

“So you decided to come to this shit hole?” Satoru says.

“You decided to come here too, didn’t you?” You reply back.

Satoru looks away, his bottom lip pouting out. It was a shit hole. The two men looked oddly out of place. Their clothes looked to be worth more than half your rent, and there was an effortless elegance flowing from them. You were sure that they belonged anywhere else.

“We were just passing through town, and this was the first place we found.” Suguru responds for Satoru.

You wonder how true that statement is.

Could it be that the both of them are also running away from something in their personal lives?

You could only hope.

Maybe it would make you feel less guilty.

Suguru’s nursing a whiskey now, lips shining in the low light from the tantalizing liquid. It’s a bit hypnotizing, watching the way his lips pucker as he takes measured sips.

You feel like nothing can break you from the trance you’re in, nothing that is, until something brushes your thighs. It’s Satoru’s fingers, skimming your skin under the guise of tugging your dress down.

“I like your dress,” Satoru murmurs, his knuckles causing goosebumps to erupt along your thighs.

You watch as he slowly drags his fingers back, letting your eyes trail up until you reach his face, only to see that he’s already staring at you.

“Yeah?” You ask, breathless.

Satoru hums and flicks his gaze back down to your legs. There’s lead in your stomach as you watch his pupils flicker. You can only guess what’s on his mind.

“Say, do you have any plans for the night?” Suguru questions, settling his arm around the back of your chair.

His thumb brushes against your shoulder, making your breath stagger. The ambiance is more than heavy, a thick understanding settling over the three of you.

“No, I don't.” You take one last sip of your drink before looking at the boys once more.

“Want to go have some fun, then?” Satoru asks, an evil glint in his eyes.

You begin to understand how Eve could not resist the temptation.

“Please,” you all but plead.

You reach a hand out and Satoru laces his fingers in yours, tugging you along until you’re forced to navigate through the crowds in the bar. There’s a heat behind you, and you register it as Suguru’s presence shortly following after you.

There’s something bubbling up in your stomach, anticipation you think, as you watch the back of Satoru’s head.

He’s so tall.

You briefly wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through his hair. Would it be soft? Would he like the way it feels?

Satoru pushes the bar door open, a gust of wind whipping your face. The sensation almost shocks you to your senses, but Satoru doesn’t allow it.

He slows down and stops beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. You’re being tugged beside him, smooshed against his lean frame as he walks you to their car.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he comments, whispering into the crown of your head.

Your stomach flips. You think he may be right.

Suguru walks ahead and spins keys around his fingers before unlocking the car. You’re unable to recognize the brand, only able to see that it’s expensive.

Satoru opens the passenger door and you’re greeted with fine black leather. It dawns on you that someone’s going to have to sit in the back.

How was this going to work?

Were you supposed to sit in the back?

Wouldn’t that be weird?

When you come to, you see that Satoru’s already sitting in the front seat, his hand holding yours as he looks up at you with an expectant gaze.

“Come on.” He murmurs.

He pulls you closer, spreading his legs to make room for you. He wants you to sit on his lap?

You look around, noticing how empty the parking lot is. You were already making bad choices, so you figure you may as well go all in.

You inch in the car, settling on top of his lap. His thighs are warm beneath you, your exposed legs shifting back and forth. He shuts the door, settling his hands on your body while Suguru starts the car. You never once stop to think about how this may be considered dangerous, all you can think about is how you want more of it.

“Ready, princess?” Suguru’s voice is like velvet as it comes out.

As ready as you’ll ever be.

“Yes.” You fake confidence, shining a grin that feels entirely too exaggerated.

Suguru chuckles and reverses the car, the action fluid. Satoru’s still holding onto your thighs, the proximity to him causing your heart to race. You don’t know who to focus on. Even their hands have you in a trance. Suguru’s fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles making your mouth water, while Satoru holds your legs, his palms suspiciously moving further up.

You can feel the outline of something beneath you, and you think you know what it is, but you want to be sure.

You shimmy your ass a bit, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Satoru. There’s a dangerous grin on his face as he looks at you over his glasses.

“Careful there, baby.” He warns.

Your mouth immediately dries, desperation crawling up the back of your throat. The outline below you is much thicker than it was several minutes ago. He was hard.

The engine stops, and your stomach turns over. You’re stopped at a hotel. It’s on the nicer side of town, luckily the part of the city none of your friends ventured to. The building in front of you is at least twenty stories high, the air of wealth floating over to you.

Just what did these guys do for a living?

“Come on.” Satoru says, patting your thigh twice.

You snap out of it and hop out of the car, eyes drawing to the two men next to you. Suguru stuffs his keys in his pocket and slides beside you, snaking his arm up your back. His hand rests against the nape of your neck, softly holding you. The act feels borderline protective.

You peer up at him and he grants you a smile before leading you next to him, guiding you by your neck towards the hotel entrance. It’s even nicer on the inside than it is on the outside.

A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, you know that it must be made of glass but at first glance it looks like diamonds. There’s little dots along the walls from the reflection of the fine material, hypnotizing you. A soft tune echoes in the background, Mozart you think, that lulls you into a sense of relaxation.

“Good afternoon.” The check in attendant nods at Suguru.

Does this scene look weird to him?

Suguru acts as though it’s completely normal, dipping his head down in response before facing forward again, heading towards the elevators. Maybe it was normal for Suguru.

Maybe they’d done this countless times before, and you weren’t special. You have to remind yourself that that’s the point. You weren’t any better. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re objectively worse. Tonight wouldn’t mean anything. Just a quick, nasty fuck.

Out of your periphery you see Satoru jab his finger into the elevator button. He seems a bit impatient. Excited, maybe.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking up as the numbers on the screen decrease, indicating the elevator was inching closer and closer.

He’s a bit beautiful.

You knew that before. But his beauty looks different under the fine chandelier light of the hotel. The way he looked in the dingy bar, although still incredibly attractive, was a far cry from how he appears now. Almost ethereal, you’d say. The warm glow of the lights above make him look like a painting.

Suguru’s the same as Satoru. The lighting and surroundings of the hotel are making him appear even more stunning than before. When you peer up at him, he glances down and grins back at you. It feels like you’ve been caught red handed. You look away quickly, just in time to watch the elevator doors slide open.

Satoru hops in and waits for you and Suguru to enter before pressing ‘18’.

The music inside the elevator is much more quiet, yet you’re still grateful for it. You’re nervous, your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. It was hard to believe that you were really doing this. The soft piano helps soothe your nerves, as you will your mind to stop racing.

Suguru’s hand slides off your neck and you find yourself almost missing the sensation. The warmth from his palm fades away, along with the sense of protection it provided.

You only have a moments reprieve before the other man jumps at you.

Satoru’s mouth is on yours in an instant, his tongue smoothing along your bottom lip. You groan in surprise before following along, letting your hands slide up his shirt.

He’s muscular.

Images flash in your brain of what he may look like shirtless. Your mind paints up a mouthwatering scene, full of hard lines and bulging muscles.

Your mouth opens to accept him, his tongue quickly entangling with yours. It’s hot and messy. Spit dribbles from the sides of your lips, and you can hardly catch your breath.

“Don’t be so greedy, Satoru.” Suguru chides.

Shit, you had almost forgotten he was there.

Embarrassment fills your veins instantly. It suddenly hits you that you were going to have sex with both of them. How was this going to work? The idea seems daunting.

Satoru grunts in retaliation and you almost think he doesn’t want to share. The man proves you wrong though, when he tugs you forward towards him. His body crashes against yours, and you have to hold his firm biceps to stabilize yourself. Suguru glides behind you, his hands quickly finding your hips.

You’re trapped.

Satoru parts from your lips, a thin string of saliva snapping once he removes himself. Your mind is crowded by lust as you look up at him with heavy lids.

You want more.

It’s a good thing there were two of them.

Suguru grips your chin from behind and turns your head sideways, pressing his mouth against yours. His lips aren’t as sweet as Satoru, but it makes your knees weak all the same.

Suguru is more methodical in his approach. He waits until you’re reaching a hand down, squeezing his arm against your waist. With a chuckle he parts his lips, sliding his tongue along your mouth, the movement painfully slow.

Satoru has moved his focus to your neck now. He’s kissing and biting down the column of your throat, the heat from his breathing making you shiver. You use your other hand to glide through his hair, urging him forward to continue his attack on your throat.

Only when he starts sucking do you realize the severity of his actions.

“N-no hickeys.” You tear yourself away from Suguru to say.

Satoru looks at you for a second before chuckling, dragging his tongue up your throat. “Sure thing, princess.”

Your shoulders sag in relief as you feel Satoru begin to go easy on you, only licking and kissing your tender flesh. You’re grateful you caught him in time.

Suguru kisses you once more and you moan, a sound that spurs the two men on. Satoru raises a hand to paw at your breasts through your dress, and Suguru’s grip has tightened.

The elevator dings just in time.

Your entanglement felt longer than a life time, but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. Suguru reluctantly tears himself away from you, watching as you catch your breath. Satoru is a bit more stubborn, only stopping once you say his name.

Luckily the hallway in front of you is empty. The three of you step out, and you let them guide you to their room.

“Here we are.” Satoru murmurs.

Suguru, apparently master of the keys, lifts up a card and unlocks the door. When it opens he pushes the door in, letting you and Satoru go first.

The room is huge.

There’s a living room with a decent sized kitchen, along with two doors that can only lead to what you assume to be bedrooms.

“Home sweet home,” Satoru lifts up a hand, waving it towards their hotel room. “Well, I guess hotel sweet hotel-“

“Satoru.” You all but plead, looking up at him desperately.

His eyes flick down to you and he grins before stepping closer.

“Sorry baby, you need something, huh?” He crashes his lips against yours again.

The kiss is even more urgent this time around. Satoru lifts his glasses up blindly, before walking backwards to lead you further inside.

You reach behind your back and pat around, trying to feel for your zipper. You need your clothes off now. When you don’t feel the flimsy tab, you turn around and look over your shoulder as if that will help any.

“Keep having your fun, princess.” Suguru murmurs, his fingers expertly finding the elusive zipper.

You whine and face forward again, kissing Satoru once more. Suguru carefully pulls it down, a cool rush of air grazing your back once it’s open.

He leans down and kisses your spine, slowly making his way up while you shove your tongue down Satoru’s throat.

The room’s spinning, you’re sure of it.

Suguru takes his lips off your back so he can slide the dress off your shoulders, his hands grazing your skin causing you to break out in goosebumps.

The dress falls to the floor, leaving you exposed in only your bra and underwear. It was an expensive set, one you had bought years ago yet hadn’t gotten much of a use out of.

Satoru pulls his lips away to glance down at your figure before looking back up at your face. Your lips are swollen, eyes fluttering in need.

“Shit…” he whispers to himself before kissing you again.

Suguru’s hands roam your body, letting you have your playtime as he explores your skin. His palms glide against your stomach and thighs, moving slowly.

You must be soaked already.

Satoru tears himself back again, hands reaching for his shirt. He undresses in a matter of seconds, leaving himself only in his underwear. His body is even more amazing than you had conjured up in your mind.

He was muscular without being overtly so, leaning more towards the body of a runner. His skin is pale, matching the tone of his hair.

You run your hands up his stomach to his chest, letting your fingers dance along the grooves of his muscles. His head hangs low as he watches you drag your nails against him.

Suguru stands next to you as he pulls his shirt off his head, the action catching your eye. You turn around and allow your gaze to float down to his chest. He looks just as perfect as Satoru.

You tug Suguru closer and kiss him, his slow pace allowing you a chance to recuperate.

“Want you to sit on my face.” Satoru says, his hands skirting along your body.

So much for recuperating.

“O-okay.”

Satoru leads you and Suguru into one of the bedrooms before making himself comfortable on the bed. His form takes up the whole length of the bed, head at the end as he looks up expectantly.

You look over your shoulder to see Suguru watching you. His lids are heavy as he stares at you, desire unmistakably falling over his features. He dips his head as if he was comforting you, or giving you permission. You slide your underwear off before tossing a leg over Satoru’s face, lowering yourself just above his mouth. You’re facing the end of the bed, Suguru standing in front of you.

“So fucking wet.” Satoru mumbles to himself before sticking his tongue out, tugging your hips down until he meets your pussy.

“F-fuck!” You moan, your hand latching onto his white locks.

“That feel good?” Suguru asks.

You bite your lip and look up at him, watching as his hand reaches down to unbuckle his pants. The sight makes you flustered. He maintains eye contact as he tugs them down, his cock still contained behind his underwear.

“Open.” He says in a hushed tone.

Your lips part, jaw dropping open at his order.

“Atta girl.”

Suguru eases his thumb into your mouth, watching as your lips wrap around him. You suck softly, bobbing your head as you lick the sides of his thumb.

He looks delighted as you perform for him. You try your best to focus on the task at hand, but Satoru is making it increasingly difficult. His tongue is sticking out, flicking against your swollen clit. He drags it down before teasing your entrance, poking in several times before retreating to suck on your nub.

You tug at his hair, grinding your body down against him. His hands have a tight grip on your ass, helping you hump against his mouth.

“There you go, ride my fucking face.” Satoru growls below you.

Your eyes roll back in your head, the pleasure coursing through your body.

Suguru uses his other hand to pull down his boxers, allowing his cock to jump free. Everything feels too good. When you look back down, the sight makes you lightheaded. His cock is hard, tip leaky with anticipation as he watches you.

He pumps it several times before reaching down to grab your free hand. Suguru wraps it around his cock, giving you free reign to pump him.

His thumb never leaves your mouth. You’re sort of glad it doesn’t. If it did, you aren’t sure how loud you would be moaning.

Suguru looks at your face as you begin to jack him off. He’s far more interested in watching you suck his thumb.

Satoru sucks on your clit, his eyes closed as he focuses on your body. You can feel yourself drip into him.

“You gonna cum for us? On Satoru’s face?” Suguru coos.

You moan around his thumb and squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck, you were going to cum on Satoru’s face. Soon, probably.

Your palm slides down Suguru’s cock as your fist fucks him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, his precum making the glide that much easier.

Satoru speeds his actions up, his lips wrapped tightly around your nub. Your body tightens up in response, and you begin to cum.

Satoru aides you through your orgasm, sucking the entire time as you twist above him. Your hand slows against Suguru’s cock as you pant around his thumb.

Satoru flicks his tongue against your clit slowly before removing his mouth from you, allowing you to slide off his face.

He sits up once you’re off, his chin completely covered in your essence. You’re almost embarrassed. Satoru looks unaffected, letting his tongue clean the cum on his lips.

“Let’s go baby.” Satoru says.

Suguru eases his thumb from your mouth, chuckling at the whimper you let out. You were really starting to get into it, too.

Satoru helps you get onto your hands and knees, facing forward towards Suguru. Suguru reaches down to unclasp your bra, pulling it off your body before tossing it to the side. Your nipples instantly harden from the cold air.

Satoru smoothes his hands down your back while admiring your trembling form beneath him. Aftershocks from your previous orgasm were still racking through your body. He tears his gaze away to look at the bedside table, grumbling before he finds what he’s looking for. You hear the sound of a condom being opened as you stare at Suguru’s cock.

Would you be able to fit that in your mouth?

“Alright,” Satoru mumbles, sliding the condom on before lining himself up with your entrance.

You part your lips, waiting for Suguru to slide himself in your mouth. Satoru’s cock pokes at your entrance, pushing past as he sinks into your pussy. You groan, your walls rushing to accommodate the stretch.

Satoru’s jaw is clenched as he looks down, watching your pussy greedily accept him, squeezing his cock until he’s finally all of the way in.

He pauses for a moment, and you slip Suguru’s cock into your mouth. His tip eases past your lips, precum dripping onto your taste buds as he pushes himself in further.

You gag a bit, nose flaring as you try to breathe around his cock. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, drool sliding down your chin as you go as far as you can.

Satoru begins to shallowly pump inside you, while Suguru starts to rock his hips.

It doesn’t take long before Satoru is fucking you properly, the slick of your cum making it easy to glide inside you. Suguru lets you control the pace, bobbing your head against his cock as you swallow around him.

Satoru pushes against your gspot with each thrust, the sensation making you moan around Suguru.

This felt so good, you were left wondering why you didn’t do it sooner.

Satoru groans behind you, feeling like his cock was being choked by your pussy. He reaches down and his fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You moan and your pussy tightens around Satoru in reaction.

“Thaaaat’s it.” Satoru sounds almost breathless. “Bet your husband doesn’t fuck you this good, does he?”

You stutter around Suguru, confusion sparking inside you.

Husband?

How did he know?

Satoru laughs loudly, continuing to fuck into you.

“What? You didn’t think we’d notice?” Suguru inserts himself into the discussion. “There’s a tan line around your ring finger, darling.”

Satoru thrusts into you even harder. “No hickeys? Come on.” His fingers speed up around your clit, making you moan against Suguru. “So I’ll repeat myself, your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?”

The humiliation was almost suffocating, yet it turned you on so badly you could hardly stand it.

Suguru pulls himself from your throat, watching as you loudly gasp for air.

You feel ruined. But you like it.

“N-no,” you moan out.

“No? That’s right.” Satoru mumbles under his breath.

With each thrust it feels like he’s knocking all common sense from you. Your fingers dig into the sheets below, hoping it will relieve some of the pressure but all it manages to do is crumple the bedding.

Suguru presses himself back into your throat, throwing his head back as you bob your head along him. You run your tongue down the sides of his cock, stroking him as you suck.

“Can tell you aren’t happy with him, you just needed to be fucked properly, is that right?” Satoru continues.

You moan around Suguru, unable to reply. Satoru understands the sentiment, pressing harder against your clit. You tighten up around him again, unable to control the way your cunt squeezes him. He keeps filling you up, his cock somehow pressing into all the right places. You’re getting close to cumming again, body begging for the sensation once more.

Satoru’s hands are gripping your hips hard, so hard that there’s a voice in the back of your brain telling you he may leave marks, but you’re in too deep already. Drool is seeping from your lips, hanging in strings down your chin as you swallow Suguru’s cock. You wonder who’s going to cum first.

Your orgasm inches closer, made possible by the strum of Satoru’s fingers against your needy clit. He’s groaning behind you, the sounds spurring you on.

“Come on, come on baby. Cum on my cock.” He urges with a groan.

Your pussy clenches around his cock hard and you release, cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Just like that, just like that.” He talks you through it, a whimper breaking his voice.

Suguru makes good use of your slack jaw, pounding so hard into your throat that you surmise it’s going to bruise. There’s no oxygen in your brain, no thoughts in your head, just pure bliss as you cum on Satoru.

“You’re gonna make me-“ Satoru lets out a long moan, hips jerking against you, his cock twitching as he fills the condom with his cum.

You’re trying to breathe heavily through your nose as you come down, allowing Suguru to use you as he sees fit. His face is concentrated as he stares down at you, admiring the mess you’ve become as he fucks your throat. He swears under his breath before coming to a stop, spurting hot cum in your mouth.

You struggle to swallow it all, briefly feeling like you were drowning in the fluid, before you gulp it down. It’s messy, some of his cum paints your lips as he slides his now softening cock out of your mouth.

The room is filled with the sounds of your mixed panting, bodies all entering a state of relaxation. Satoru eases himself from your pussy, inhaling sharply as he slips out. He removes the condom, tying it before tossing it into the bin beside the bed. You’re in complete bliss, fucked out from every orifice.

Suguru smoothes your hair down and finds a washcloth to wipe the filth from your lips, smiling to himself at your expression.

“You can stay the night, if you’d like.” Satoru says as he relaxes on the bed.

He glances at the clock and ascertains that it’s much later than you were intending. You mumble to yourself and nod, not fully comprehending what ramifications may be waiting at home for you.

Satoru opens the blankets for you, waiting as Suguru cleans between your legs. The actions are a bit sweet. Everything is. You were expecting them to kick you to the curb after you had sex, so you’re pleasantly surprised when they slide in bed next to you, laying on either side.

Satoru’s arms are wrapped tightly around your frame as you nod off, and you feel truly happy for the first time in years.

~~~

You aren’t sure what wakes you up in the morning. Your internal clock, maybe. Your body is sore as you groan, flipping onto your back. The hotel ceiling greets you as you crack your eyes open. A brief bit of panic courses through you.

So last night was real, huh?

You turn your head and notice the bed beside you is completely devoid of anyone else, both men seemingly having vanished. You aren’t sure if you feel more sad or relieved. Sad because you enjoyed their presence, but relieved because now you could pretend like nothing happened.

Is that what you wanted to do?

You were having a hard time believing that that would be easy, that you could go back to your old life and be content when you knew there was so much more out there.

You sit up and look towards the clock. You were in deep shit. There’s a note on the beside table that catches your attention. You lift it up, reading the words on the page. It fills you with a deep sense of satisfaction once you notice a phone number on it.

“Call us if you want to have a good time. -Satoru and Suguru.”

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak, @sad-darksoul, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothicwhore666, @bunviixo

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willows-escape · 6 months ago

Text

My Angel - 1990!Erik x Reader

Pairing: 1990!Cherik x AFAB!Reader (gender neutral pronouns/language)

Summary: You woke up that morning expecting a peaceful, regular day, but you were quickly proven horribly wrong as things began to travel down south. Fortunately, Erik is there to try and relieve some of the pain - even if it is excruciating.

Warnings(/Tags?): menstruation, descriptions of extremely painful periods (adenomyosis/endometriosis), erik is dramatic but its okay he has an excuse, nausea, mentions of vomit but no actual vomiting, early 1900s appropriate period shame, blood and heavy bleeding, brief mention of reader not eating all day but it's only due to lack of appetite, reassurance, fluff!!!!, like TOOTH ROTTING sweetness!!!!

Words: 6.9k

Notes: this isn't what i originally planned to post today, but i have adenomyosis and when my periods come they come bad and the pain is making me feel very sorry for myself. and i did promise something soon. so this is just self indulgent fluff in the mean time.

the other thing i was writing will be entirely gender neutral, so people who do not at all identify with menstruation or just don't want to read about it will hopefully enjoy that when it's done!

DISCLAIMER - this is based off of my experiences with periods, which will not look like most because I have a gynaecologic condition. but if you do 100% relate to this, go see a doctor! like, yesterday!

The morning began like any other, with a restless night's sleep behind you. As you stirred awake, you found yourself alone in bed, but a smile crept across your face as you noticed the lingering warmth on the sheets beside you - a subtle reminder of a certain someone’s recent presence.

Succumbing to the lethargy that clung to your limbs, you reached for the nearest available outfit. The garments were wrinkled and well-worn, but they served their purpose of preserving your modesty. You slipped them on, grateful for the barrier they provided against the cool morning air, despite their less-than-pristine condition.

As you emerged from your bedroom, you stumbled, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing thud. Your body felt leaden, each limb weighed down as if filled with concrete. Shafts of light piercing through the stone crevices assaulted your eyes, intensifying the dull throb that had begun to pulse at your temples.

"Erik?" your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. The name came out as a hoarse, groggy mumble, hardly recognizable even to your own ears.

Despite your feeble attempt at calling out, Erik appeared before you almost instantly, as if summoned by your whisper.

"Y/N! You're up," he said joyfully, his body adorned in one of his special going out outfits, "much earlier than usual, may I add. I was in the middle of preparing us a picnic before you have to go back up but-"

His gaze finally narrowed onto your hunched form, his previous relaxed expression shifting to one of concern. Your dishevelled appearance was evident - your hair in disarray, your eyes glazed over, bloodshot, and unfocused. It was clear that you were far from your usual self, and to put it lightly, appeared extremely unwell.

"What is the matter?" he asked. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the picnic basket he had been holding clattered to the stone floor, forgotten in an instant as his full attention focused on you.

As though his question was the trigger, a wave of nausea crashed over you. Your chest constricted, forcing you to hunch over even further. Your skin flushed hot in an instant, beads of sweat forming and quickly multiplying across your skin.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Erik's voice trembled, his words tumbling out in a rush. Had you been more lucid, you might have felt a pang of guilt for causing him such distress.

"I'm fine," you mumbled unconvincingly. His hand gently rested on your shoulder, and instantly your body betrayed you. The comforting touch seemed to signal to your system that it was safe to let go, and suddenly, you felt overwhelmed by a surge of nausea and dizziness.

A dull ache blossomed in your lower abdomen. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively pressed a hand against your stomach. The discomfort flooded your senses as your face contorted, a grimace etching itself across your features as you struggled to maintain composure.

Within moments, the discomfort escalated from a mild annoyance to an all-consuming agony that left you immobilized.

Shivers began to wrack your body. Your legs turned to lead, a numbing sensation creeping up from your toes. Simultaneously, a searing, deep-seated ache took root in your lower back.

If Erik was worried before, he was panicking now. His eyes widened with alarm, his breathing quickened, and his usually steady hands began to tremble visibly. The calm composure he typically maintained crumbled in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and urgency.

Your legs buckled beneath you, your vision blurring as you felt yourself wilting towards the unforgiving stone floor. Erik sprang into action, his arms shooting out to catch you. The world spun as he scooped you up, your body limp in his grasp. A sharp cry escaped your lips as the sudden movement sent a jolt of agony through your core, the comfort of his embrace overshadowed by the searing pain that threatened to consume you.

With swift strides, Erik navigated the winding halls, cradling you protectively in his arms. He retraced your earlier path, arriving at the door you had just exited moments ago. With a forceful kick, he flung it open, revealing the familiar sight of your shared bedroom.

"I'm going to set you down onto the bed," he explained slowly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I’ll be as careful as I can."

When he gently pulled back the blanket on your side of the bed, you felt a slight jostling. Your attention, however, was abruptly drawn by a sharp intake of breath, his gasp cutting through the silence of the room.

"Erik?" you mumbled weakly. Your words were abruptly cut off as another wave of pain tore through your abdomen, causing you to cry out involuntarily.

Once more, you felt yourself being moved, this time to Erik's side of the bed. Confusion clouded your mind - why the change? But as you weakly lifted your head, the reason became starkly clear.

"Oh god-" you gasped, your eyes widening in shock at the sight before you. The vivid crimson stain on your side of the bed was impossible to ignore, its stark contrast against the pale sheets making your stomach churn with a mix of embarrassment and dread.

“I need to go find Gerard, you need to be seen by a doctor,” he declared, voice urgent and desperate.

He finally lowered you onto the clean side of the bed, and your eyes instinctively sought his face. It was then you realised his mask was off, likely because he hadn't anticipated you waking so soon. Without the barrier, you could clearly see the stark pallor of his unmarked skin and the unmistakable fear etched across his features. His typically composed demeanour had given way to raw, unfiltered concern that was both touching and unsettling.

He turned to leave.

"Erik, wait," you gasped, your hand shooting out to grasp his arm. "The pain is... excruciating, I won't lie. But I don't think—"

Your words were cut short as another wave of agony crashed over you. A strangled whimper escaped your lips as you curled into yourself, your body trembling uncontrollably. The pain was all-consuming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You clenched your eyes shut, willing the torment to pass, knowing all you could do was endure until it subsided.

"Where's the pain? Can you pinpoint where you're bleeding from?" his eyes darted across your form, taking in your dulled complexion and the sheen of sweat on your skin. "You're burning up. Do you have a fever?"

His questions came in rapid succession, but his touch remained gentle as he brushed your damp hair away from your forehead.

"I... um..." you hesitated, struggling to articulate through the pain. The situation presented a dilemma: discussing such a private matter with a man felt improper, yet the severity of your discomfort and the alarming amount of blood made it impossible to simply dismiss. You found yourself caught.

Another intense surge of pain rose in your stomach, but this one more overwhelming than the last. Your ability to speak fully vanished as your eyes clenched shut. Soft whimpers escalated into frantic, muffled cries as the relentless throbbing in your lower abdomen intensified, twisting your nerves and leaving you gasping for breath.

"Angel, please, tell me what’s going on," Erik pleaded, tenderly taking your hand in his. The desperation in his eyes was palpable as he watched you struggle to form words. “I really believe you need a doctor, please just let me-”

"No, please," you winced, your voice barely audible through gritted teeth. The words came out strained, a mixture of pain and embarrassment colouring your tone. "It's... it's not something I can easily explain," you paused, taking a shaky breath before adding, "it's rather private."

"Private?" he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Forgive my being impolite, but you are currently writhing in agony and bleeding profusely- how on Earth is that private!?"

"Erik," you implored, your eyes silently conveying your discomfort with the subject. However, his concern for your well-being trumped any social niceties. Undeterred by your unspoken plea, he persisted with his questions, determined to understand and help.

"If you explain what's happening, I might be able to help," he insisted. You gave him a sceptical look, but he pressed on, "my years in isolation weren't idle, I've acquired a vast array of knowledge from the countless books that have kept me company."

"It's just not appropriate for me to discuss this with you!" you cried in refute, your voice strained with both pain and embarrassment. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, your tone came out sharper than intended.

You silently prayed he would forgive you, considering the fact that you were enduring mind-boggling amounts of pain. Not only that, the fact you could distinctly feel the familiar warm leakage of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the bedsheets below was driving you utterly insane.

Shame coursed through you as your eyes fell upon the stark evidence of your debilitating pain staining the otherwise white sheets. Averting your gaze, you felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. An overwhelming desire to shield yourself from Erik's concerned stare gripped you, making you wish you could simply disappear.

However, your discomfort eased as Erik's touch changed. His firm grip on your hand softened, his fingers now tracing gentle patterns on your skin. Despite the worry in his eyes, you sensed his effort to stay calm for your sake.

Your heart tugged in your chest at the realisation.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tender yet hesitant as he tried to hold himself together. His gaze locked onto yours as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Please, put your shame aside for one moment and let me in- if only so that I can help you. It kills me to see you like this."

His ignorance of the situation was evident in the way his chest heaved and how he chewed the inside of his cheek with a vengeance. It was clear he believed you were in grave danger. You knew you needed to say something to ease his mind, even if it went against everything your instincts were telling you to do.

"Oh," you breathed, wincing as another wave of pain crashed over you. "It's... it's a delicate matter. Not something typically discussed in polite company."

"Do I look like polite company to you?" Erik's sarcastic retort was accompanied by a growing urgency in his previously calm ministrations. His eyes started to dart frantically between the blood staining your skin and your tired, visibly distressed face.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for Erik's potential upset. Despite your fears of his disgust or anger, of him calling you dirty or telling you to leave until you return to normal, a small part of you hoped he might be more understanding than expected. It was this glimmer of optimism that gave you the courage to finally speak.

"Erik," you began hesitantly, "are you familiar with the concept of... menstruation?"

The prolonged silence following your question spoke volumes. When Erik finally shook his head, it only confirmed what you had already suspected.

"Well," you began hesitantly, searching for the right words, "it's a process that occurs in people with uteruses. It involves bleeding and a lot of pain, typically happening monthly for one week out of the month. I don't really know much about the biological reasons behind it, but-"

Your explanation was abruptly halted as another shock of excruciating pain engulfed you. Erik, sensing your distress, quickly offered his hand. You latched onto it, your grip surprisingly fierce. As the agony intensified, your body convulsed against the sheets, and muffled sobs escaped your lips. You desperately willed the torment to stop, but it seemed endless despite your determination to endure.

"Fuck!"

Erik looked taken aback by your cussing, but seeing as you were squeezing his hand so hard he felt like your aim was to tear it off, he didn't focus on it too much.

Eventually, the pain faded back to its baseline ache - which was still extremely unpleasant, but manageable.

"I apologize," you coughed through your tears, your voice strained as you brushed away the beads of sweat trickling down your forehead.

"There's no need to apologize," he reassured, his voice filled with compassion. "I'm deeply concerned for your wellbeing, but I trust your understanding of this situation. If you say it's not life-threatening, I will trust you."

“Yeah, I'm definitely in no life threatening danger," you assured him, "but the pain is so intense, it almost feels like I am."

"It hurts so badly," you whimpered, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Ever since I was young, I've had to live with such excruciating pain and such heavy bleeding that I can barely function or even leave my bed. It's so exhausting and I've lost count of the times I've passed out on dirty floors, lying in my own vomit because of this."

"I know, I know," he murmured, not truly understanding and internally slightly horrified but wanting to comfort you regardless. He gently wiped away your tears as they fell, his touch tender and reassuring.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This is terribly embarrassing. You shouldn't have to witness this. You tried to regain composure, but the combination of physical discomfort and emotional vulnerability made it impossible to stem the tide of tears.

Suddenly, Erik began to move. Your attention was so focused on the hurricane of emotions swirling around your body that you barely noticed him shifting to your side of the bed. It wasn't until he began to lower himself onto the mattress beside you that panic set in, causing you to react instinctively.

"No, wait!" you exclaimed, your sudden outburst causing him to recoil in surprise. Realizing your tone, you softened your voice. "I'm sorry, but please don't sit there. I... I don't want you to get dirty."

"Dirty?" Erik repeated, his eyes flickering to the stain beneath him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "It's just blood, I mean really- it's not like I haven't been covered in my own fair share of the stuff. This small spot is hardly cause for concern."

"Erik, please, it's not just blood!" you insisted, the shame taking over as you looked at the spot where you'd bled. It didn’t help that you were in too much pain and felt far too weak to even do anything about it!

He raised an eyebrow at you. "How can it be 'not just blood'? Does your blood contain arsenic?"

You couldn’t help but groan at his sarcastic retort.

"Menstrual blood comes from a person's private areas," you grumbled, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to convey the gravity of the situation.

He paused for a moment, then replied, "well, that certainly wasn't the answer I expected, but it doesn't change my opinion. Blood is blood, no matter where it comes from. Besides, fabric—and people—can always be washed. You don't need to be moving around for the sake of preserving meaningless things, you need to rest."

"But!-"

"Now that that's settled..." he shrugged off the jacket he’d been wearing and eased himself onto the mattress, inching closer to your awestruck form.

You were utterly speechless. He just- and then he- and he said-

"May I hold you? I won't if it causes you pain," he asked, his voice earnest and gentle. His tender concern only added to your bewildered state.

Words failed you as Erik gently pulled you into his embrace. The warmth of his body enveloped you, offering a comfort you didn't realize you so desperately craved. Despite the momentary twinge in your abdomen as he carefully adjusted your position, you found yourself melting into his arms. In that moment, his presence was a bandage to your pain-wracked body and troubled mind.

"Is this position comfortable?" He inquired. His arm gently supported the back of your neck, while his other hand rested lightly on your upper arm, providing a comforting presence without applying pressure. You managed a small nod in response, grateful for his attentiveness.

"Good. Now, where does it hurt?"

As his hand began to drift lower, more particularly towards your thighs, you suddenly realized the direction his thoughts were taking. Your eyes widened in a mix of surprise and mild alarm.

"Wait, not there!" you exclaimed, immediately regretting your sudden outburst as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You winced, silently chastising yourself for your impulsive reaction.

"Oh. My deepest apologies," Erik said, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he blinked sheepishly. "I wouldn't have touched you anywhere without permission, but when you mentioned the blood's origin, I assumed—well, I thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you laughed breathlessly, wincing as another flash of pain assaulted your insides. "But contrary to your guess, the pain is mainly in my lower abdomen. Still, I appreciate your... eagerness to help."

His hand, which had been hovering uncertainly, now settled gently on your stomach. The warmth of his palm seeped through your skin as he watched your face intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he took your relaxed expression as silent permission and began to move his hand in slow, soothing circles.

Your mind went blank.

The warmth of his hand on your stomach felt heavenly. The sensation was unlike anything you'd experienced before. While it didn't eliminate the pain by any means, it soothed the intensity more than you thought anything ever could. As his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, you felt your entire body relaxing, tension melting away with each careful movement.

Your tears, once born of shame and torment, now flowed from sheer relief.

"Thank you," you sniffled, peace washing over you whilst your body finally began to relax. As your muscles slowly unclenched, the bed beneath you seemed to transform, becoming a soft, inviting cloud that cradled your aching form.

Erik could sense your growing ease just from the shift in your demeanour. He was well aware that the mattress and bed sheets were likely ruined, but your comfort and rest took precedence over any stains—especially ones that no one else would ever lay eyes on. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t always procure new clothes for you if your current ones were beyond saving.

"Rest now, angel," he murmured softly, his hand continuing its soothing motions. "I'll be here when you wake up."

As you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, Erik decided it was probably time to delve into those medical journals he'd long avoided.

What? He just preferred reading fiction, that's all.

As evening fell, you stirred from your sleep, immediately noticing the emptiness beside you. Your hand brushed against the cool sheets where Erik had been, confirming your suspicion—he had left your side some time ago. Disappointment creased your brow as you pondered his whereabouts.

You laid motionless on the mattress, your gaze fixed on the spot where Erik had been before you drifted off. The pain in your lower abdomen persisted, but it had noticeably diminished compared to earlier. Your skin felt clammy, and your throat parched, yet overall, you felt surprisingly okay.

"You're awake," a familiar voice called from the corner of the room.

Your frown melted away as you realized he hadn't left at all. True to his word, Erik had simply shifted to the corner of the room, maintaining his vigilant watch over you.

"It's 7:30 PM, which is quite an unusual time to start your day, don't you think?" he teased. You sat up, observing him sitting comfortably in the chair you two kept in the room for convenience's sake.

This time, he wore his mask, unlike earlier when you had awoken. Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the enormous tome in his hands—the bulkiest book you'd ever laid eyes on. Curiosity piqued, you gestured silently toward the literary behemoth he cradled, wordlessly urging him to elaborate on the book in his grasp.

"I know—this is definitely a hefty one. Thank god for chapter indexes," he remarked, weighing the book in his hands. "However, I must say, its contents are appallingly lacking in knowledge."

"How so?" you prompted.

"Well, this is supposed to be a medical journal, and yet, when I look for information on menstruation, it's woefully inadequate," he scoffed. "It merely states that menstruation is linked to the reproductive cycle and helps the uterus prepare for potential pregnancy. That's all."

"Well, that's still more than I knew before," you said with a shrug.

"It's obscene. I read in another book that it happens to half the population from around ages 16 to 50, and yet so many people have gone their whole lives not knowing why?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "And I thought science had come much further than that."

“You read another book? How many of these have you read?” you asked, astonished by his dedication.

“Oh, just whatever I had lying around. A couple dozen or so,” he replied, as if everyone just had dozens of books on medical knowledge floating around their abode. “But some of them were so old they attributed menstruation to miasma, so I didn’t pay much attention to those. And I also busied myself with books on herbal remedies and pain relief- apparently there’s this new medicine called Aspirin on the market? Exciting, but I can’t get a hold of that right now, unfortunately.”

As he rose from the chair, you noticed the stacks of books surrounding his feet. He hadn't exaggerated when he mentioned "a dozen or so" - they were all massive, thicker than any you'd ever seen! You racked your brain, trying to recall where in the cellars he might have been concealing these enormous volumes, but you couldn't remember ever spotting them before.

"I may be mistaken, but you seem to be feeling better than you did this morning," he observed, neatly arranging the books into orderly stacks rather than leaving them scattered haphazardly.

"Definitely," you nodded. "The pain is still present, but it's significantly less intense now."

"That's good," he replied, humming as he pushed his first pile to the side to work on the next. "You did give me quite a fright earlier. I thought... Well, I'm not sure what I thought."

"It's understandable. I mean, I'm not sure why, but I expected you to have some... slight awareness of the subject," you admitted, awkwardly averting your gaze.

Even though you knew Erik wasn't raised with the same rules and expectations as you, discussing menstruation still felt like breaching a taboo. The topic remained uncomfortable, despite your rational understanding that it shouldn't be.

"I do feel quite foolish for not being aware of it sooner. But then again, how many women do you think I've encountered in my life? Besides my mother, the answer is none. And even that meeting was brief," he said matter-of-factly.

You didn't really know how to respond to that, so you let a comfortable silence settle between you. Erik swiftly finished organizing his books, then hurried out to return them to their proper places. He reappeared within moments.

"Now, unless there are other aspects of your anatomy I should be aware of," he said with a hint of amusement, "I believe a bath is in order." His eyes darted meaningfully towards the bed, drawing your attention to the mess you had somehow overlooked. You were mortified as you realized the extent of the stains, which had spread far beyond where you'd expected, creating abstract patterns on the once-pristine sheets.

"Ugh, yes," you grimaced, suddenly noticing the uncomfortable layer of blood on your skin. "A bath is definitely overdue. But what about you? Have you had a chance to clean up?"

"You've been out for eleven hours. I bathed ages ago," he stated. "Just give me half an hour or so to boil some water for the bath. That way, you won't be freezing in there."

While you appreciated Erik's thoughtfulness, the sensation of dried, itchy filth on your skin was unbearable. The prospect of waiting even a moment longer to cleanse yourself seemed more daunting than enduring the bite of cold water.

"Don’t bother," you cringed, "I can't bear this feeling any longer. I need to wash off immediately, even if the water's cold. The discomfort of icy water is preferable to this... filth."

“Have some patience. It’s the late evening in a cellar right next to a lake, you’ll die from cold exposure,” he deadpanned.

Though you understood the logic behind his words, you couldn't suppress a playful pout. Erik's eyes rolled with amusement as he approached you on the bed. Leaning over, he tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead, the gentle gesture melting away your feigned disappointment.

"Are you sure you're not in too much pain right now? Tomorrow I'll ask Gerard to procure some herbs, but until then I have a few remedies I can try with items lying around," he asked, straightening up to look down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"It's bearable," you affirmed.

"Good," he said, moving towards the door. "Stay here while I set up the bath. If you need anything, just call for me."

“Trust me, I won’t be going far anytime soon.”

Thirty minutes later, Erik returned as promised. During the wait, you occupied yourself with daydreams and silent lamentations about your bodily predicament. You couldn’t help but be stuck on the thought that you’d be stuck like this until you were 50—you weren't even halfway through!

"Can you walk alright?" he asked, concerned about you putting any unnecessary strain on your body.

After considering your current condition, you replied, "I think I could manage, but would you mind carrying me to the bathroom anyway? I've heard blood leaves quite stubborn stains on stone."

Wordlessly, he obliged, gently cradling you in his arms. One arm supported your back while the other nestled beneath your knees. As he carefully lifted you, his eyes fell upon the crimson stain left behind. The sight of such copious bleeding caused a flicker of concern to cross his face, though he tried to conceal it.

You were supposed to bleed that much every month for a week straight without dying?

Pushing aside his alarming thoughts about your potential demise, he carried you carefully to the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate. As he cradled you, you realized this level of attentiveness was something you could easily grow accustomed to. You made a mental note that future menstrual cycles would be spent here in the cellars, rather than hiding from him in the Opera Populaire as you'd done before.

"Thank you for today," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. As you spoke, you instinctively burrowed closer, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

He let out a low chuckle, tinged with self-deprecation. "Thank you? I've barely done anything noteworthy," he scoffed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. You couldn't see his expression, but you sensed the frown in his words. "To be honest, I feel rather inadequate. I wish I could have been more helpful to you in this situation."

"Don't say that," you insisted, nudging his chest with your head in retaliation. "You've gone above and beyond what most people would do. You've read dozens of books today just to understand me better. You've prepared a bath for me and prioritized my rest over your bedding. Most men would have either shooed me away or fled in your position."

A door creaked open, plunging you into momentary darkness as Erik gently lowered you to your feet. Your voice softened with emotion as you whispered, "your kindness and attentiveness mean more to me than words can express."

The gas valve hissed softly as it turned, gradually illuminating the bathroom. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed a plush black towel draped over the edge of the tub, ready for use. On a nearby rack hung a set of fresh clothes—their style unmistakably reminiscent of Erik's wardrobe—waiting patiently for you to don them after your bath.

He cleared his throat loudly, a gesture you'd come to recognise as his way of masking his flustered state. "It's nothing extraordinary," he mumbled, his voice tinged with a mix of modesty and discomfort at the praise, "just basic human decency."

“But-“

"Is there anything else you need before I go to clean up?" he abruptly asked.

You sighed, giving him a pointed look for interrupting you. Deciding to let it go, you allowed the shift in conversation.

"I can manage from here, thank you," you hummed. "But would you mind fetching my sanitary belt from my bag? I'll need it after the bath."

“Sanitary belt?”

"Yeah. It's a belt that wraps around your waist and holds a sanitary towel in place to collect the, um, blood," you explained, awkwardly gesturing with your hands to illustrate. "You'll recognize it when you see it."

With a tender kiss on your forehead, Erik departed, promising to return with what you need.

The moment he left, you wasted no time shedding your clothes and depositing them in the nearby basket. Eager for relief, you eased yourself into the bathtub, a contented sigh escaping your lips as the pleasantly warm water enveloped you. The soothing heat melted away any lingering discomfort, allowing you to immerse yourself fully in the task of cleansing. With meticulous care, you began to wash away the day's troubles, savouring the unexpected comfort the bath provided.

He returned shortly after, placing the belt on the rack alongside your other necessities. Once again, he inquired about your well-being, prompting you to playfully scold him for his constant concern. Nevertheless, you reassured him that you were fine, adding that the warm bath water provided more pain relief than you had anticipated.

He seemed on the verge of making a sarcastic comment—likely along the lines of "I told you so"—but thought better of it. Bidding you a final goodbye, he left to strip and prepare the bed, allowing you to finish cleaning up in peace.

You continued this until the water was doing you more of a disservice than it was cleansing you. Pulling the drain cover open, you allowed the dirty water to flow out and empty the tub. Silently, you thanked Erik for installing this modern convenience in his home—one of the few upgrades he'd chosen, despite his ability to afford many more.

A chill crept over your damp skin, urging you to hasten your routine. Goosebumps prickled across your body as you quickly patted yourself dry with the towel, appreciating how he'd made sure it was black and not white. You then clumsily secured the sanitary belt around your waist, wincing at its familiar discomfort.

Immediately after, you slipped into the night shirt he had provided. The loose-fitting trousers were a blessing, their gentle embrace and soft material accommodating your tender midsection without adding pressure. Once you finished dressing, a sense of satisfaction gleamed in your chest. You felt refreshed, clean, and rejuvenated.

You made sure to brush your teeth before finishing up in the bathroom, when the horrific cramps returned once again. Doubled over and jaw clenched, you shuffled towards the door with painstaking slowness. Your quivering hand fumbled with the gas valve, finally managing to shut off the light. The room plunged into darkness as you walked out, door falling shut behind.

Groaning softly, you shuffled back towards the bedroom, where you found Erik fluffing the pillows on your freshly made bed. He wore his night attire, and despite your discomfort, you couldn't suppress a smile. Even doubled over in pain, the sight of him warmed your heart.

He swiftly noticed your presence, helping you onto the bed to spare you the effort of weakly propping yourself up. He then approached the dresser, where a mysterious lump lay concealed beneath blankets. Unfolding the coverings, he placed his hand on the hidden object and nodded with satisfaction.

He refolded the blankets over it before walking over to you. Curious and confused, you tried to maintain an inquisitive look while fighting off the storm raging in your abdomen.

"I anticipated the pain would return once you started moving again," he said, gesturing for you to lift your shirt to reveal your belly. You complied, though your confusion deepened. "This is called a 'hot water bottle,’ a recent invention. Gerard suggested I try one to ease some discomfort from my... condition. It doesn't help me much, but it might work for you."

"How does it work?" you asked, flinching slightly as the bottle touched your skin.

"It's made of rubber and filled with hot water to transfer heat efficiently," he explained, helping you pull your shirt back down over the bottle to keep it pressed against your skin. "Since you mentioned the warm water helped, I thought this might be worth trying."

"So it's like a hot water pig, but made of rubber instead of stoneware and more convenient?" you hummed thoughtfully, resting your hands over the bottle for an extra layer of added security.

“Precisely,” he nodded.

As the warmth from the hot water bottle gradually permeated the blankets, you found it soothing but not quite potent enough to fully alleviate your discomfort. The heat offered a welcome respite, yet you yearned for more intense relief from the persistent ache.

"It does take the edge off the pain," you admitted, biting your lip pensively, "but would it be possible to remove the blanket? I think more intense heat might help even more."

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Direct contact with the bottle could result in burns. The blanket stays."

After a moment's consideration, you decided that the risk of burns did indeed outweigh the potential relief from your cramps—at least for now. You nodded, opting to keep the blanket wrapped around the water bottle, appreciating its safer warmth.

A sense of contentment washed over you as you marvelled at how this day, which had started so unexpectedly, had blossomed into something truly special.

You were with the love of your life, freshly bathed and dressed in his clothes, tucked into a clean bed with a soothing hot water bottle warming your skin and fighting against what usually was traumatic levels of pain. Tears welled in your eyes as pure bliss coursed through your veins, overwhelming you before you could even process the feeling.

As the first tear rolled down your cheek, Erik instinctively sprang into action. You couldn't help but laugh through your cascading tears, raising your hands to signal him to relax. Though hesitant, he wordlessly complied with your wishes.

"I'm okay," you sniffled, your words punctuated by small sobs. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm just so... happy. I think I'm really, truly happy."

His eyes widened behind the mask, a mixture of surprise and awe flashing across the few of his visible features. Unable to resist, you reached up, gently grasping his hand and guiding him to lay beside you on the bed. He remained motionless, seemingly caught between disbelief and anticipation. Your heart racing, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a tender, affectionate kiss that conveyed all the emotions words couldn't quite express.

Wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your night shirt, you clutched the water bottle tighter and rolled onto your side. You nestled into his chest, his arm instinctively wrapping around you as you melded into his trembling form. Yearning for closeness, you draped your leg over his hips, your body seeking every possible point of contact.

"But—" He stammered, shaking his head in disbelief. Bewilderment dripped from his voice as he continued, "You haven't eaten all day. Surely, I should prepare something for you—"

"No," you replied, your tone firm yet affectionate.

"You must-"

"Nuh-uh," you teased.

"Really I should-"

"Shh." You leaned closer, your faces mere inches apart as you rested an arm over his waist. He tensed at the contact, despite the familiar porcelain barrier between you. "Just stay with me like this for a little while, please? Afterward, you can make all the cold meat sandwiches your heart desires."

"You told me you liked those," he grumbled in playful accusation.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as your eyes shimmered with unbridled affection. If Erik were to meet your gaze, all he'd be able to see was the pure, unadulterated euphoria radiating from your smile.

"I do," you agreed with a nod, “but only because you make them with so much love."

"So, you don't?"

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head back as if deeply pondering the culinary merits of cold meat sandwiches. "They're good, but they could use a little something extra," you mused. "Maybe some cucumber for crunch? Or a slice of mozzarella for creaminess?"

He scoffed in mock offence, "That completely distracts from the flavour of the meat."

"Flavour?"

"I'm glad you agree."

You pursed your lips before releasing a long, deliberate sigh. Your eyes flicked from his face to the clock. The time read 9:45 PM, yet an unwelcome wakefulness clung to you—undoubtedly a lingering consequence of your excessive eleven-hour nap.

"I’ve completely ruined my sleep schedule, haven’t I?" you mumbled. "It’s late in the evening, and I’m nowhere near tired.”

Erik paused thoughtfully before replying, "I can make you something to aid with sleep, if you'd like."

"What do you have in mind?" you asked, curiosity evident in your tone.

He thought over the matter before deciding.

"I have some dried valerian root that I can steep into a tea," he offered. "I've tried it on rare occasions. It's quite bitter, but I can add some chamomile to sweeten the taste."

"You're so lovely," you giggled, unaware of how he tensed at the compliment. "So kind and thoughtful—you call me an angel, but I think the real angel here is you. My Angel."

He paused, visibly stunned by your words.

His voice was soft and hesitant as he asked, "you believe that?"

You nodded, a soft hum of agreement escaping your lips. "I do," you said sweetly, your voice brimming with unwavering certainty.

You felt the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady his racing heartbeat. His hold tightened around you, drawing you even closer. A radiant smile spread across your face.

"So," he stammered, clearly flustered by the compliment, "is that a yes to the tea?"

"I'd love some tea," you nodded eagerly. "But could you stay with me for ten more minutes first?"

He nodded, and you both settled into a comfortable silence—a respite he seemed to appreciate. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his palm, while his gently wove through your hair.

Ten minutes passed in this tranquil state, and you quickly realised that maybe the tea was unnecessary after all. Every thirty seconds or so, you found yourself stifling an uncontrollable yawn—a gesture you noticed Erik unconsciously mirroring.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the combined warmth of his body and the water bottle proving irresistible. You drifted toward sleep at least five times, always jolting awake at the last moment before you fully succumbed. Despite your drowsiness, you yearned to savour this moment just a little longer.

"Do you still want that tea?" Erik asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You shook your head and nestled closer to his chest. "I'm fine now," you murmured contentedly.

"Good," he replied, his hand gently smoothing down your flyaway hairs. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but fatigue clouded his thoughts, and he let the moment pass.

He yawned once more, momentarily pulling away from you. You whined in protest, but he shushed you as he reached behind his head to untie his mask. Attempting to place it carefully on the bedside table, he misjudged the distance, and it slipped towards the floor.

The mask remained intact, though the sound it emitted was sharp enough to make you flinch. To your astonishment, Erik seemed unconcerned by the possible harm. Instead, he calmly readjusted your position so you were laying as before, then closed his eyes. A surge of emotion swelled in your chest.

Erik had grown comfortable with you seeing him without his mask, though he typically preferred to keep it on unless taken by surprise or during the quiet hours of the night when you were both sleeping. His current indifference toward the mask could mean one of two things: either he was too exhausted to notice its near demise, or he had become so deeply at ease with you that he no longer felt the need to shield himself behind it.

Erik possessed other masks, but they could never replace his favourite. His primary one was treated with the utmost reverence, as fragile and irreplaceable as a feather. It was the one he felt most secure in and allowed him the most normalcy, therefore it was always his first choice regardless of other options. Yet now, without hesitation or concern, he had allowed it to fall away, as though its significance had vanished entirely, as if the bond between you had rendered it unnecessary.

You felt the urge to cry again, but not wanting to disturb his sleep, you suppressed your tears as you contemplated the significance of this moment for both of you.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. Though it could be mistaken for tiredness, the tremor in your words betrayed your overwhelming desire to burst into tears of joy.

After a moment, one bleary eye opened as he turned to face you. His lips curved into a genuine smile as he whispered, "I love you too."

'hot water pigs' are what people used to call hot water bottles, or at least their versions of them, just so you know lol. writing these fics always requires so much research into old terms and the existence of things that are now regular everyday items, it's kind of crazy. like trying to figure out how much was known about periods in the late 1800s early 1900s was a challenge.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #phantom of the opera x reader #erik destler x reader #cherik #erik the phantom #erik destler #gaston leroux #poto #musical #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #poto 1990 #poto x reader #cherik poto

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sugawhaaa · 8 months ago

Text

Introduction⋆.°ᡣ𐭩.𖥔°

🧼Currently on break🧼

✨️Requests✨️

-I accept requests 24/7 but I cannot guarantee when you're request will be uploaded

-I will not write any SA/R4PE prompts but certain fanfics may include mentions of such topics. I will always highlight the warning at the beginning of the fanfic

-I refuse to write smut or create audios for minors

-I personally refuse to write member x member or create audios for member x member prompts. I'm simply not comfortable with it :)

-specific audios will take longer to be uploaded due to the specific requirements (ex:: oral audios)

-I have the right to refuse to write any requests that contain content I'm uncomfortable with :)

-I am very open to lots of fantasies bc that is what I encourage on my page so shoot me any kind of ideas you have! If I don't respond don't worry about it! I'm either busy or uncomfortable with the request but I will not respond publicly

Anons:: 🦊-♠️-heart hand emoji-🐝-👻-🎀-💿

🌊Fanfic information🌊

-I currently only write for 5 groups but this may change in the future :) when I stan new groups I wait at least a month before writing fics to make sure I have the best accuracy of their personality!!

-I am constantly writing fanfics and have lots that are finished but may never be posted. If you see old teasers for fanfics and can't find them that is probably because they were left unfinished or unpublished for numerous reasons

-warnings are always listed at the top of my fanfics but if ever miss any feel free to tell me what I've missed

-in multiple-part fanfics, some readers may be reading for purely the plot but the fanfic may include sexual acts throughout. In those cases, I apply smut in the warning tags and include a dotted red line in the writing to indicate where the smut begins and ends.

-the indented section at the top of fanfics includes at least these 3 things. Warnings, (potentially triggering topics and +18 content) genre (tropes and sexual preferences mentioned in the fic) pairing (the characters that are represented in the story) other fanfics may include a synopsis, word count, and special notes for the fanfic such as culture notes or other things that will affect the story that does not fit in any of the categories of the first 3 indents.

-MY AUDIOS ARE NOT AI!! I am one of those anti-AI ppl so yall will never catch me using ai (unless it's to talk to robots...I admit) and if u know where the audios came from...shhh

💕Interactive information💕

-my content includes +18 topics but that is not to say that minors won't be on my page. I personally don't take responsibility for interaction with minors because I give warnings on all of my +18 content

-this is a safe and brave space. If you feel uncomfortable discussing certain topics in the comments simply avoid conversation with the person making you uncomfortable but if it gets to a severe extent I will block people being unreasonable with their comments

-I choose to not share too much personal information because, in my opinion, yall don't need to know everything about my life outside of writing 💀

-constructive criticism towards ME is okay but if you're criticizing others in my comments or inbox I will block you without hesitation. (For example, if someone requests a fic about a certain sexual preference and you comment on how you think it's weird or hate on them I have no tolerance for this :)

Masterlist (?)

If you are struggling to find certain posts I have made and you really want to see it throw me a quick message through my inbox or dms and I will try my best to give you the link!! Sometimes though things go wrong and I may not be able to find the fanfic 😬 I try my best tho <3

Masterlist:: 🎀

Ateez masterlist

Txt masterlist

Skz masterlist

P1harmony masterlist𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

xdinary heroes masterlist

#masterlist #introduction #pinned post #u should probably read this idk #ateez #xdinary heroes #stray kids #txt #p1harmony #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop masterlist

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wishingstarinajar · 1 month ago

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Hello Wish! I'm a refugee from the world of the blue bird. (X marks the spot and all that, yuck) I was wondering if you have any advice to someone starting out tumblr? What and when should you reblog? Is it rude to only do that and not have original content in your profile? How does this all work?

Welcome to Tumblr!

Sure thing. Lemme drabble down a little list for you:

First, get yourself an avatar and a bio/description to set yourself apart from the dreadful bots. You don't have to go personal or deep with your bio/description, you only need to show you're human so people won't block and/or report you. (If you want to follow 18+ blogs, an indication of your age in your bio might be useful but not a must!)

Reblogging is preferred over Liking posts and is also highly encouraged here on Tumblr. There is no algorithm here so reblogs make the world go round. That said, if you only Like stuff and hardly reblog, then that's fine too so don't feel forced.

You reblog whatever you want to and how often you like. It's your blog, you cater to yourself and your interests. You aren't responsible for anyone else's eyes, morals, or whatever else. Be free!

You're allowed to reblog super old posts. It's not weird or intrusive, dig up those fossils and show them off!

You don't have to post any original posts if you don't want to. Being a reblog blog is just as valid of a use of Tumblr. Just avoid being seen as a bot and you can reblog to your heart's content.

If you reblog a post with tags (tags related to the contents of the post), you get bonus internet points. Tags also help with making posts easier to find on your blog (or filter for your followers).

You may leave compliments in a reblog's tags or tack a description with your thoughts, additional info, or compliments to the reblog. If you do this, you very often make the OP's (Original Poster) day!

Hateful tags and responses or unwanted criticism attached to a reblog are not tolerated so please don't.

Tumblr has a queuing system so you can pre-set when reblogs appear on your blog and your followers' dashboards, especially when you have tons of reblogs and wish to spread them across a few days or hours. You can queue posts by selecting "Schedule" after clicking the downward arrow next to "Post now" or "Reblog" at the bottom of a post/reblog.

If you decide to reblog mostly spicy/suggestive content, a warning in your bio or pinned post is appreciated (but not a must!).

Tumblr has a mute/filter option for both tags and post content. Go absolutely crazy with this if there are certain subjects or (trigger) words that could ruin your day. This goes for blocking as well. Be kind to yourself, block and mute/filter generously.

If you've blocked someone, their posts might still appear on your dashboard through someone else's reblogs. Put that blocked user's name in "Filtered Post Content" and you won't quickly see them again.

Hope this will help you get comfy on Tumblr. Enjoy your stay!

#q and a #tumblr etiquette #tumblr 101 #tumblr tips #tumblr stuff

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blubushie · 3 days ago

Note

a WHAT belt

That word means something different in mechanics—a delay to something.

For example a retarded timing belt means that the belt is askew or damaged or otherwise causing a delay somewhere in the relay process. Retarded ignition means the vapour ignites at a delay (causing poor engine performance).

#blu whos #ford blu #r slur #tw r slur #I'm tagging that just so people triggered by the word don't have to see it used in any context

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 3 months ago

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A heart that hurts is a heart that works - Something Rotten sequel.

first part can be read here

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x afab!reader x Dark!Tess Servopoulos

Words count: 3829

Rating: Mature, absolutely NSFW and again, this shit is triggering. Please, read the tags carefully and if you're a minor don’t interact.

Tags/warning: This happens the morning immediately after the events of Something Rotten, pov second person, no use of y/n, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, heavy degradation, angst, smut, DUB CON/NON CON, reader is barely described, she has breasts and vagina, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn’t blush, she has hair but it’s not described, it is mentioned that Joel's clothes are too big for her (pics are just for aesthetic and don’t represent reader), the only thing is that reader's father died of lung cancer (like mine), depressive thoughts, as said in the first part: reader is held prisoner by Joel and Tess, on her leg is carved the word “pet” (Tess did it), use of a knife, groping, a large amount of bites, mention of wounds, mention of bruises, no kindness whatsoever towards reader, Joel and Tess are both EVIL, fingering (Tess receiving), oral (Tess receiving) spitting, nipples sucking and biting (it's not my ff if there is no attention towards nipples OKAY), unprotected p in v (both f receiving, wrap it up IRL), pussy slapping, cum eating, Joel comes on reader’s face, pissing, a little more scissoring, a little bit of chocking, squirting, brief insert of reader's thoughts in italics… I think it’s all 😅 If I notice I've forgotten something important I'll add it right away.

A/N: Title comes from a Placebo song called Bright Lights. It seemed right to continue with them since "Something Rotten" is also one of their songs. Anyway, I leave you the entire playlist that I listened to while I was writing both this and the first part and again thank you very much to those who recommended songs to me ♥️

There is something of my experience and pain in this so please be particularly kind. English is not my first language and I have no beta, I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much to anyone who reads it.

[I started a tag list, if you want to be added let me know, I never tag people because I don't want to impose anything on anyone but if you like it I'm happy too ♥️ ]

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

Your mind is completely clouded. You open your eyes and for a moment you don’t remember where you are, you rub your eyes, feeling your aching body awaken, the pain of every joint coming back to you. You reach out and press a spot on your stiff neck, a stab of pain shooting up your brain like a gunshot and then sliding down your spine, making you grit your teeth to stifle a moan.

You shut your eyes as images of what happened flash before your eyes, a piercing pain taking over your head.

You don’t know how much time has passed but when you manage to sit up, biting the pain between your lips, you see a bright light coming in through the dirty window, a speck of dust stirring in the beam of light that illuminates the messy bed, the crumpled sheets and the two people lying on it. Tess is on her side, her arms folded, her hands resting on the pillow, near her head. There is always a kind of tension in her, you see it even when she is sleeping, in her huddled body that seems ready to attack and unleash its claws on anyone. She is wearing nothing but panties and Joel’s shirt left open, revealing the outline of her breasts.

She should disgust you, but instead as soon as you see one of her nipples poking out from under her shirt salive pools into your mouth. You put a hand to your forehead, overwhelmed by yourself, by what you feel and by a shame that creeps up inside you and makes your temples throb.

This is so wrong. Yet you would like to lace your lips on that little button and suck it, if only she would let you do it, if only she would let you lie next to her gently, allowing you to be the good pet she expects you to be.

Shifting your gaze to Joel doesn't help soothe your twisted mind. He’s on the other side, lying on his back, in his boxers, your eyes wander on the defined muscles on his chest, the softness of his belly, and a strip of sunlight hitting his abdomen highlighting hair leading to his groin.

He seems carved out of a block of marble, skimmed by scars, exuding power and sex, the tips of your fingers graze your swollen lips and you still feel his taste, the weight of his cock on your tongue, his relentless thrusts, his hungry eyes on you.

They must have fallen asleep, which gave you some respite even if you don’t feel rested at all.

You look at your thigh and it's still there, the pulsing sign that you should leave, just run while you can, sneak out of this place quietly and look for somewhere to hide. But you feel like a mouse in a cage, your body not moving an inch. You’re still untied; it would take nothing to reach the door and close it behind you. But what if they woke up? If they felt the bed lighten with your weight? You know they'd have you back in an instant.

Your brain, you can't decide whether very stupidly or very wisely, thinks that it is better not to make any risky moves to stay alive.

Helpless and desperate you lie back on the bed staring at the ceiling, the silence broken only by Joel's soft snoring.

Your arms spread across the bed as you sink into your thoughts and your fingers casually graze the knife abandoned on the sheets. The coldness of the blade sends a chill down your spine.

You have to do something for yourself. At least try. You cannot be so spineless. You move one leg off the bed, your eyes fixed on your captors, seeming not to notice anything so you move the other leg as well, letting yourself slide cautiously along the edge of the bed, finally resting both feet on the floor. You pick up the closest garment you can find on the ground, it's a Joel T-shirt, wide and long enough to cover your butt. You just have to get up, you can do it. Leaning your weight on your legs feeling your knees crack in the effort, you wonder what in your body is not sore. You are on your feet. Joel and Tess are motionless in the same position as before. You walk on the floor resting your toe and then your heel, silent and terrified like a prey trying to evade before falling into the lion's jaws, hoping that the wood will not creak under your gait. You reach for the door. You almost make it. Just rest your hand on the handle and lower it. A moment and you're out of here. As soon as your hand touches the cold metal you hear a voice behind you, “Where do you think you're going?”

You feel your heart falling out of your chest, freezing where you are, your eyes at the door, your breath getting heavy.

“Turn around”

You do it slowly, praying you don't feel a blow immediately afterward. Joel is standing in front of you. “Please” your voice is a barely audible whisper ”please.”

Joel reaches out, grabs you by the wrist “no fucking way”

He doesn't add anything more, he takes you back to the bed, forcibly lays you down and lies on top of you. His eyes look at you fiercely, he drops down next to your ear “maybe I was wrong about you, you're not the good pet I thought you were. Let me teach you your priorities straight“ he growls, his voice low, sharp.

His body weighs down on you, completely overpowering you, his legs blocking yours, his hands resting on the sheets on either side of your face.

"I give you credit for that. You were brave to think you could sneak away. But also incredibly stupid." His voice vibrates close to your ear, it is eerily calm and controlled, sounding as if it came from the darkest part of him, straight from his gut.

A lump rises from the pit of your stomach to your throat, sickening. "I'm sorry," you stammer, Joel's eyes lighting up with that sinister hue you now know like the back of your hand.

He retrieves the knife from above the bed and places the blade under the fabric of the T-shirt, cutting through the sleeves and tearing it from the neck to the hem, reducing it to a shred of fabric lying beneath you. You tremble when the icy blade touches your skin.

His boxer-covered erection presses against your thigh, against your wound.

Again you wonder what substance your mind is now made of because feeling him against you, demanding, claiming your body, makes your pleasure slide down your legs. You can feel it on your skin, a shiver, a wetness, a trickle of you leaving you to become his. You mold under him, relaxing your muscles, ceasing to resist, submitting to his stern eyes nailing you to the bed.

He takes your hands and intertwines them possessively with his own as his legs push between yours, forcefully spreading them apart.

He crawls on you like a rabid dog, inhaling your scent on your neck, down to your sternum, reaching your breast, licking the skin above your ribcage “You were Robert's, weren't you?”

His teeth close on one of your nipples, biting it, your back arches pushing against his mouth, demanding more. “This? It's mine now.” he whispers in a rough voice ‘This is mine too.’ he adds, twisting the other nipple, he moves one hand to your mound, grabbing it ”What about this wet pussy? She's mine too. I own you now. Make sure you don’t forget that, you little cock slave”

And you feel it again. The desire coursing down your body, clinging to your nerves, flowing into the middle of your thighs.

It lingers on you deeply. And you’re pleading at that. Before you sense your own voice saying it, like it doesn’t belong to you, coming out of someone’s else body “Please” you babble “please, more” as he run a single finger through your folds.

Everyone you knew died. Every person you loved is gone, ruined by the spreading epidemic. Except your father, who passed away a few years before the pandemic broke out, obliterated by lung cancer. You still remember his jagged, exhausted breathing getting more and more labored, small and thin, until it died out completely. You still remember the smell of the hospital room, the dimness, your gripped heart, your silent tears. It was something you never wanted to see, the moment when death takes someone. It stays inside, digs deep into you, rattles in the walls of your brain until one day it subsides and remains a creeping awareness you have to live with. A brick in your pocket that will forever weigh of absence, of pain, of lack.

And when you thought maybe you could make it, one day when the brick seemed lighter, pandemic came and your mother turned into a monster. From a fragile woman, still bent by your father's absence, to a ferocious beast with bloodshot eyes that tried to break your neck.

You had had to tear it down yourself, with your own strength, that thing your mother had turned into. And you couldn't explain it for days, or how you had done it, or what had happened. People were running around terrified, not knowing where to take refuge, not knowing if it would ever end. Until they came and loaded you onto trucks, promising to escort you to a safe area. What you were not told was that there was no solution, for some of you there was not even a place in the QZ. The epidemic took away not only the people you cared about but also your dreams, every hope you had for your future, every plan to become a good teacher, to accompany young minds in creating a better world. There is nothing left to create, only destruction.

You could have offered yourself as a teacher in the Qz but you had decided not to bow to a system that spread only government propaganda, instilling in kids that there was nothing else to believe in but FEDRA.

And even in the face of desperation the cruelty had not stopped, some soldiers had tried to take you at night, traumatized and without strength, you had been saved only by the good heart of one of your neighbors who had defended you. You had jumped out of the truck, along with him and some other people, looking for an alternative that would never come. They had fallen like skittles, one after another. You were tired of seeing it, the cold hand of death reaching out to everyone around you.

Your heart still aches horribly, but after all, a heart that hurts is a heart that works. And you're still alive.

He takes the finger away and shoves it in his mouth, enjoying the taste of you and then he’s close to your ear again grazing you with his beard and graveling “I knew you were a little slut,” Joel's heavy breath warms your skin, driving your being back into your body. “When I'm done with you you'll want nothing more than to be my brainless whore”

You’re bucking your hips against him, mindlessly, while he takes your body with his mouth and hands, furiously licking, biting and groping your flesh, moving impatiently over you on the bed and waking Tess up. She takes a few seconds to focus, abruptly recovered from a deep sleep, but then you hear her dry voice, “oh, are you having fun without me?”

Joel does not tell her that you tried to escape. which in itself is a miracle for you. He turns to her just a moment, leaving your nipple with a loud pop .

“Come” he tells her, and it's almost sweet. Almost. Tess comes crawling up on the bed like a feline and looks down at you, smiling cruelly.

“Lie on top of her, make sure this bitch doesn't move” Tess nods, he makes room for her, and she crushes you with all her weight, her scarred back against your tits, as if you were a mat, clinging to your arms as Joel watches the scene smugly "Quite a picture" he growls.

He pulls down Tess's panties, tossing them aside. He does the same with his boxers. “This is exactly what I want. Two pretty cunts all for me”

He stoops to observe you both, his eyes roaming your sexes, his thumb touching you first, a creamy river in between your folds, and then Tess. She snorts “will you hurry up?”

“mmm you're not wet enough honey, but we can fix that”

“Honey”, you think he is the only person who can call Tess that. Anyone else would be out of balls in a heartbeat.

He buries his face in her cunt and you feel Tess stiffen on top of you, her whole body reacting to the first touch of Joel's tongue. You seem to catch a glimpse of submerged fragility behind all that violence and resentment she always displays.

She grips your wrists in a vice as her hips rise toward Joel and a low, deep moan escapes from her throat.

Joel's fingers run hard and calloused over your folds, collecting what drips from you and spreading it over Tess's pussy, mixing your essences, then returning to lick her. And you can feel her, crumbling on top of you, conceding willingly, every muscle in her asking for more.

Each lapping of Joel's tongue on her vibrates over your body like a wave, Tess's butt sliding over your folds, crawling over your clit, giving you reflex stimulation.

“Mmmm just like that, baby, that’s fucking good”

She whines so sweetly under his ministration, an undertone so vulnerable and tender in her voice you almost think she turned into another person. And you are in the front row watching this, a silent witness to the other Tess, the one who still has a shred of humanity hidden within her.

It’s unique, you think, how sex with the right person, a person we care about, a person we share a path with, makes us. Defenseless, no mask to wear against the world. Even Tess, perhaps the coldest woman you’ve ever met.

“Nice and drippy” Joel murmurs, nuzzling at Tess’s cunt “fucking gorgeous”

He dips his nose in there, moving through her folds up to her clits, brushing the tip over it. “You smell so good, babe, such an nice mess for me to feast on”

“Fuck” Tess gasps “just fuck me”

“Yeah baby, I’m going to stretch you both so damn right”

Tess rolls her eyes in twisted need, impatient like the bossy woman she still is and you whine like the shy mess that you are.

So different and yet ready for the same cock.

You noticed the way Joel’s voice soften when he speaks to Tess, the intimacy between them is palpable, in this moment you’re just an appendage.

You want that desperately, belong to someone, to him, to her, to feel his voice and his whole body going unshielded for you.

Joel spits into his palm and takes his cock in his fist, pumping it and then tapping the tip on her cunt, once, twice, three times, rubbing it on her folds, lubricating it with her juices, before getting it all the way inside her. Tess's body arches so desperately over yours, merging with Joel's as he begins to thrust inside her.

She thrashes on top of you, clinging to your forearms, pushing you back against the mattress, her hips swaying over yours again giving secondhand attention to your clit, now so swollen and needy that each thrust you emit a moan in sync with her, shyly participating in her pleasure. You bend your neck slightly to one side to look at Joel standing before you, bronze and sculptural, a cruel god who leaves you breathless. His chest glistens in the dim sunlight streaming in through the window, revealing tiny droplets of sweat beading on him, a grin painted on his face, brows furrowed, lost in Tess's wet walls, focused on pounding on her special spot again and again.

“You like that huh? You like this cock splitting you, yeah, I know you do, fuck you’re so drenched I could take a bath in it, all slippery and warm...mmm baby, just like that. Take it.”

He rests a hand on her belly to hold her more firmly, a sense of possession different from that manifested with you, purer and deeper, made up of silent, recurring gestures between them. It's as if you feel it all the way down into your stomach as he sinks into her, the forced closeness making you almost delirious, sensitive and wanting.

Tess is almost at her peak, sliding on you now unceasingly, her back kneading your breasts, up and down, your nipples impossibly hard against her skin, she stammers "there- there- I'm almost there- oh fuck"

"Not yet, baby, hold it back" he challenges her and she growls in disappointment and frustration, as he comes out of her. Joel brushes against you "it's time to put this slut in her place. You want it huh?" he roars as he looks at you "I can see it from here, you're flowing like a fucking river, clenching around nothing like a whore”

His eyes sparkle with evil. He spits on your cunt, a glob of saliva right on your clit. He spreads it quickly over your entrance and thrusts into you unceremoniously, all the way down, in one breath-breaking stroke. "You're full now huh? Clench around my shaft, bitch”

You feel your walls strangle his cock, eager to hold him inside, to belong to him, to be broken through. "Yes" you moan, not even sure why you had tried to run away from this anymore. Tess wouldn't even need to hold you with her whole body but you'll never say it, the way she bounces on top of you drives you crazy. You are back on the scene now, eager, drunk with a dark, all-consuming desire burning in your veins.

He grips your hips hard, digging his fingers into your thighs, going out and back in you harder, deeper each time, using your cunt as his personal toy, beating on your cervix as if he were to fill it with bruises. And you don't care, welcoming each thrust as if it were the last thing you will ever receive.

Your mouth proceeds alone, bellowing and wailing each moan like an off-key song you can't stop singing, irrepressible, obscene, feverish.

"You're tight for a whore, pet, but don't worry, I'll take care of it." Joel grunts, Tess echoes you, her harsh voice protesting uselessly to let her finish, her legs wrap around Joel's waist claiming him but he is focused on ruining you now with the cruel and unrelenting force he has not reserved for her.

Her nails sink into the skin of your arms, you feel them barely disconcerted by Joel's stabs but a tiny part of your brain knows they will leave more marks on you.

There is nothing gentle about it, no attention, no care, just animalistic thrusts that make your body shake like an earthquake.

You are less, obviously less, but you are still something.

Tess turns on you, looking into your eyes, lowering a hand to your clit, rubbing it furiously and then colliding it with her own, clit against clit, pressed together in sloppy kissing, hips rocking back and forth, sliding up to the point where Joel joins obscenely with you, seeking on her own the finish Joel has not yet given her by using your body.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she screeches, "here we go little slut, give it all to me" biting your skin on the marks Joel left, on your neck, on your tits, sucking your nipples between her lips, unrestrained. She's a wild amazon riding you, untamed, fierce and mean, teeth, tongue and hips demanding no permission and taking from your body what they want.

And then again her hand descends between you to rub her clit as her knuckles press against yours, squirting letting out a guttural sound, flooding you, Joel's cock and the sheets.

Joel growls at the vision “oh that’s fucking right, babe, yeah spurt all over me, FUCK, so good”

And you lose yourself, your sanity flying out the window with your attempts to escape, you are caged by Tess's body, hammered by Joel's cock, you feel their eyes on you looking fiercely, them calling you their slut again and again, that's all you can do.

Tess pulls away from you, Joel holds you firmly by the hips, his face contorts into a grimace, he bites his lower lip as he thrusts himself possessively into you, reaches down and puts a hand around your neck, squeezing your pulse point, smiling cruelly as your air diminishes and your mind becomes rarefied “keep it up slut, milk me” and she scolds him “you can't cum inside her”.

“Fuck” he snorts "you're right". The grip on your neck loosens and you gasp, panting hard, trying to regain oxygen.

Joel slaps your pussy hard with his hand open, ordering: “on your knees, pet.”

You sit complacently on your lap on the bed, uncertain of what he wants to do. Tess is at your side, sneering.

“Stick out your tongue for me.” He says harshly, Tess's hand bends your back, making you squat, waiting.

“Good kitten” Joel grunts stroking his cock up and down, the angry red tip aimed at you. You don't realize it in time that long, thick, streaks of cum hit your face, your mouth, slide down your chin. You close your eyes just a moment before you feel his semen hit your eyelashes and run thickly down your cheek.

“Mmm now you look just like a proper slut” Tess giggles wickedly, then pauses "In fact no, we can do better". She grabs you by the arm, drags you naked as a maggot into the bathroom, and gets you on your knees inside the tub. “Hold still” she barks at you. You close your eyes, trembling, not knowing what to expect, until you feel something warm hit your forehead, run down your face, partially wash the cum off. An acrid, pungent smell makes its way into your nostrils. As soon as it reaches your lips you realize.

You open your eyes, clouded by Tess's piss, her degrading gaze penetrating your bones along with Joel's laughter, standing in the bathroom enjoying the show.

“Now you're perfect.”

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape , @baronessvonglitter