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bananayuyu · 5 days ago

Text

just friends (1) - beginning of the end

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, blurred lines around consent, non-negotiated stuff, face slapping, choking, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral (f receiving), masturbation

a/n: should I write more for them? I'm kinda invested now, and I have thoughts. lmk <33

read it on ao3

Soft, hazy light floated in through the window, the slowly falling snow coating the sky and buildings outside. Downtown the streets were empty, only a handful of cars driving their way through the grey streets, not a face or head to be found anywhere in the cold, dry air.

In the short few moments of waking you were completely disoriented, used to the bright hot sun waking you sharply in the early afternoon, your morning. The gentle light reminded you of night, of those long summer days when you tucked into bed just as the sun was rising. It was a comforting light, but one that made you sleepy, and the air was colder than it should have been in the desert, this late January day.

You closed your eyes, pushing back under the covers, shifting over to San's side of the bed and wiggling your way under his arm. A groan followed; he hated being bothered when he was trying to get his all important rest, and you knew that, but the air was too damn cold in his room, and you couldn't stand it.

"Baby," he whispered, moving his head to kiss you on the cheek, before gently trying to extract your limbs from his body. You whined; the loss of contact made you shiver, and your naked body felt exposed even under his thick comforter, your feet so cold you were sure you could barely feel them. "Don't do that," he sighed, but you whined again, wrapping yourself around him a second time. "Baby, seriously-" he was cut off by you climbing over him, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head next to his on his pillow.

"It's cold," you sniffled, making it almost sound like you were crying, and fuck did that do things to him, things he couldn't explain. Already he could feel his cock twitch; your naked body wrapped around his, plush thighs pushing down on the sides of his hips and abdomen, your hot breath on his ear. It couldn't have been more than a few hours ago since you were in this exact position, screaming and crying his name as you came undone, and he couldn't stop replaying it, especially as you wiggled around on top of him, your thigh crazing his cock more than once and only adding to his arousal.

"Baby, I need sleep," he chided, trying to do what he knew he should, trying to be responsible. But he could never be responsible when it came to you; that was the problem. You drove him insane, had him wrapped around you so tightly, it would take the strength of a thousand men to pull him free.

"But I'm cold," you whined, snuggling more. You were still barely awake; last night had been a particularly crazy shift at the bar, and after pulling apart five fighting girls and dancing an extra two numbers to cover for your sick coworker, your body was grasping for every bit of rest it could find.

"You're pissing me off," he grunted below you, hands holding your hips firmly in place so you'd stop moving, stop making his body react in ways he so badly wished he could control.

"Ow," you dramatically whined, pretending those hands gripping into you felt anything but delicious and tantalizing. Heat was shooting through you now, his low, angry voice in your ear, and without even noticing your mind had already slipped into it's lustful, edgy space, one that it always seemed to drift to when he was around.

"So fucking dramatic," he sighed, still holding your hips hard, trying desperately to stop you. But your body had a mind of its own, and even if you'd wanted to stop it you wouldn't have been able. Your hips ground down onto his, as much as they could with him limiting you, and you felt the hard length of his cock under your right thigh, shifting yourself slightly to rub it up and down the length of your slit.

Immediately you both groan, the feeling electric. The room was still so dim, both of you still so sleepy, but your bodies woke themselves up; there was nothing either of you could do to stop it.

"Stop it," San growled in your ear, but you couldn't. It felt too fucking good when the tip of his now rock hard length hit your clit. His hands shifted up to your waist, trying what he could to limit you there. But it only freed up your hips more, and immediately you pushed them down even harder, nearly accidentally slipping him inside you.

"I said, stop," he spat, grabbing your hips again and lifting them off him slightly, making your movements awkward. You kept grinding, trying to find some friction somewhere, whining at the lack of it.

"Baby," he said again, trying to get your attention. "Are you not fucking listening??"

"Mmghfm," you mumbled beside him, pushing yourself up by your arms a bit to try to get leverage for your hips. You wanted to push them down again, hump the length of his cock till you couldn't move. But San had other plans, his anger boiling up so quickly he had little time to think. As your face rose above his he took his right hand from your hip, reaching up and slapping you hard, all breath leaving your lungs in shock. Grabbing your neck with the same hand, he moved you face to face with him, staring deep into your eyes and squeezing down ever so slightly.

"I said stop, did you not fucking hear me?!" he spat, an almost crazed expression on his face. You gulped; you'd never seen him quite like this, and he'd never done that before, that being physically striking you. You wondered for a moment in the haze of your head if it was okay, what was happening; but all the same you felt your pussy clench hard, the ghost of an orgasm washing over your core even if nothing was touching you down there.

"Are you trying to fucking piss me off?!" he continued, your blank expression giving him nothing. It was so unclear to him sometimes what the hell you wanted; him, not him, nothing at all, everything? He could only give you so much, and he knew deep down it was never enough for you. But sometimes you stared at him so blank, like now, as if you didn't have a care in the world. As if none of it mattered, not him, not life, nothing. His grip on your neck wouldn't cease; he couldn't find it in himself to let up, because last night he'd specifically asked to be left alone, desperately needing the rest that you'd been so selfishly stealing from him all month.

"Sannie, please-" you tried to grab at his hand on your neck, but it only made him squeeze harder, your head feeling light in an instant. "San, san-" you were pleading now, tears actually brimming in your eyes, genuine panicked tears that did nothing to make him feel bad for you. They only shot right down to his cock, already hard and leaking, and he lost his head completely, giving in entirely to the feelings inside.

He flipped you over in an instant; the comforter was nearly thrown off the bed, still draped over only half of your joined bodies, the cold making goose bumps rise on your arms, your nipples peaked sharply. His hand was still on your throat, and now he held you down onto his pillow, lining himself up as fast as he could and slamming into you hard, making you call out in shock and pain and pleasure.

He'd had it with you, with always doing what you wanted, always waiting around for when you wanted it. He was taking what he wanted now; using you just for his own pleasure, in a way he knew he'd completely regret later, a way that was unfair, disrespectful, unkind. He knew it, even then as he slammed into you stroke after stroke, the lewd noises of skin slapping filling his room, but he couldn't stop himself. He felt too good, too powerful. He felt like he was taking something that was his to take, that he'd been holding back from for an eternity. He was surprised he'd managed to wait this long.

And how was he supposed to hate himself for doing this when the look on your face screamed pure bliss? You were so wet, your cunt flushed and ready for him, and even though your moans sounded twinged with fear, he knew you were fucking loving this. He was hitting your cervix repeatedly, and your legs were shaking uncontrollably as you came, the feeling barely reaching your head with the lack of oxygen. You body had never felt better; writhing and struggling against him was getting you nowhere, of course, but you'd always seemed to fall easily into fighting with him. You'd never done it in this way, so physically, but it felt right all the same.

You came two times in quick succession; as he flipped you over he saw a wet patch on his sheets, a dark chuckle exiting his mouth. He shoved your face down into his pillow, pulling your ass up towards him. The bun you'd put your hair in last night hung slightly to the side, messed up by your night of sleep, smalls strands escaping and hanging messily around your neck and cheeks. He grabbed onto it, fingers lacing through your hair as he slammed back into you again, your moans even more desperate and pathetic as you tried to make sense of it all.

It only took a few hard strokes for you to come again, the angle so deep you felt like you were being ripped open from inside. Trembling and spasming around him, San felt fucking amazing, dropping your head to place both hands on your hips and fucking you harder than he ever had, his head thrown back in disbelief and pleasure.

He came hard, the feeling shuddering through him, the muscles of his stomach clenching hard. There were tears and snot covering your face, now cum dripping out of your cunt as he pulled out, letting your body slump hard against the bed. He quickly pulled the covers over you both, collapsing beside you, your bodies sticky with sweat and already shivering. But despite the frigid air, the sex had taken it out of you; you both fell into a deep slumber within minutes.

When you woke again, it was to San's hand running through your hair.

"Hey, it's 4:30," he whispered, but there was urgency to his tone, because he knew just how bad this was.

It took you a moment to wake up, yawning and stretching in the warmth of his bed, stickiness still clinging to your skin. "What do you mean, 4:30?" you asked, the light in the room even dimmer than it was the last time you woke.

"4:30pm," he sighed, holding his phone screen to you.

"Fuck, fuck," you muttered, jumping up, nearly sprinting to his bathroom to relieve your screaming bladder. You were supposed to be to work in fifteen minutes, which you knew was not going to happen; still, you were determined not to be too late. You could text your boss any number of excuses, and were sure she'd forgive you. You were one of her more reliable employees, and she'd let this shit slide with you before. But you'd tried not to make a habit of it, even if sometimes you got caught up in the things in life that really made your heart happy. Your art, your friends, the boy you were fucking. Your work was chaotic; never the same day to day, and the rest of your life had to follow suit. It was just a part of this work, this life you'd chosen for yourself. You wouldn't give it up for anything.

With a quick swipe of a damp towel you washed your crotch, wiping free as much of the remnants of your frenzied fuck earlier as you could. You didn't have time to think of it now, frantically pulling out your hair tie and brushing your hair with your fingers, splashing water in your face to freshen up. You'd have to slap on some makeup at work today, which should be fine if everyone else showed up for their shifts on time. There was always some performer or server running in late, always someone in the dressing room begging to borrow makeup or bobby pins or hair spray. You tried not to let that be you, but shit happened. For some god forsaken reason you'd slept in so late, and it pissed you off even if you tried to not care.

Busting out of the bathroom you ran over to your bag, flipping through to check that you still had your makeup, wallet, keys. You grabbed for the clothes you had set out for yourself yesterday, slipping on the loose sweats and one of San's hoodies, not even bothering with a bra or underwear. You hoped the clothes would stop your shivering, but the room was shockingly cold still, and seemed only to be getting colder.

"Do you have any long socks I can borrow?" you asked San, picking up your head and finally actually looking at him, his face a confusing mixture of concerned and distant. He reached into his dresser and tossed you some, black and thick and definitely too big. But you'd need them today for your short walk, if the temperature inside was any indication. You snatched your phone off his bedside table now, pulling up the chat with your boss, shooting off a quick and uninspired text. I'm running a few minutes late today, I needed some extra rest after last night.

No problem, I'm sure everyone's running late cause of the snow. See you soon, she responded.

"Snow..?" you asked to the room, almost forgetting where you were.

"Yeah," San sighed, staring past you out the window, his 10th floor apartment giving a stunning view of the frigid city outside.

"Fuck," you muttered, shaking your head. You were planning on walking the only five blocks to the bar, like you always did. It never saved any time to get an uber or take the subway.

"Do you have to go?" he asked.

"Um, of course," you replied, looking in his direction with furrowed brows.

"The weather is awful, can't you just stay home for a night? Do they really need you...?" he drifted off, running a hand through his hair and sighing hard.

It was he, now, who must have wanted to piss you off.

"Just cause I don't work a 9 to 5, 100k salaried job, doesn't mean I'm not important at work," you snapped, moving to your bag again to put your phone inside, zipping the top closed.

"I didn't say-"

"I know, but I know what you're thinking. But the thing is, on days with shitty weather more people come into the bars and clubs and shit. So I'm very much needed tonight. Especially with Tina still sick. I have to go," you bit out, a deep sigh of your own escaping you.

"You're gonna freeze out there," he mumbled, eyes tracing the shape of you.

"I'll be fine," you sighed, shaking your head, but you feared it yourself. It was only five blocks, but you had no coat with you, no gloves or hat or scarf. And your trusty sneakers might not fare so well in this weather; you'd never tried wearing them in snow, because it hadn't snowed on a day you worked in years.

"I-" San started, hands resting on his hips. You noticed now, finally, as you set your packed bag by the door to his living room, that he was still naked.

"You're gonna freeze in here if you don't put on some clothes," you said, looking at him confused.

"Y/n, we need to talk," he sighed, turning around to face you head on, his beautiful body lit in shadows by the faint light of the room.

"That sounds serious," you joked, looking down to your bag again. "But I gotta go, I'm sorry." You grabbed it, slipping it over your shoulder, turning towards his bedroom door to open it.

"No, please, baby, I need say this now," he replied, walking behind you to hold the door closed, caging you in with his body.

"San, what?" you huffed, frustration bubbling in your throat.

"Was what just happened, you know, okay?" He stumbled over his words slightly, hot breath coming out of his mouth and fanning past your ear.

"Yes? What- why are you asking me that?" you replied, turning around to face him with a bewildered look.

"I just, I fucking slapped you and chocked you and- we've never talked about it, I-"

"It was fine," you muttered, turning yourself around again to exit.

"No, don't give me that," he responded, hand back on the door to keep you from leaving.

"Stop, let me go," you spat, trying to push against him.

"Y/n," he growled, his own frustration clear in his tone.

"I'm gonna be late," you replied, still not looking at him.

"It was fine?? Fine?? That's what you're fucking saying to me?!" he nearly yelled, smacking his hand against the door harder than he intended. You jumped, a visceral reaction; you bumped right into the hard wall of his body, nearly causing him to fall.

"Will you stop acting like a fucking man?!" you yelled back, stepping away from him and the door, catching your balance against the wall a few feet away.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he sighed, shaking his head, looking at you with upturned eyebrows.

"Get a hold of yourself," you said, softer, looking him up and down. "And put on some damn clothes, it's freezing."

You stayed put as he did, pulling on an outfit almost exactly matching yours, sweats and a hoodie. The air was tense between you now, not that it hadn't been almost the entire time you'd known him. But you'd never seen him lose control of his composure quite like this. You weren't scared, because with him you couldn't be; you were pretty sure you'd never be truly mad at him, even if he treated you in ways that made him deserve it. But he really never did, that's why you trusted him; you didn't know it on the surface, nor even three of four layers down, but buried deep within the depths of yourself there was a part of you that had marked him as safe, as good.

If you'd ever take the time to sit down and talk to that part, maybe you'd understand yourself better, the changes in you the past year. But instead you continued to throw yourself into your creative work, as you always did, cause it always worked for you before.

"How are you not shivering in here?" you finally asked, biting at a hangnail on your middle finger. Your whole interaction with him had left you a shaking mess, and you felt like you couldn't move from your spot, eyes glued to him and his every movement.

"I don't run cold, like you," he responded, moving to his closet without looking at you. Out of it he pulled a large navy blue jacket you'd never seen; a true winter coat, you realized. It was long enough to probably reach down to your ankles if you wore it, puffy and thick, clearly very warm. He then reached into a shelf in the closet, pulling down a pair of gloves and a black beanie, turning around to walk back to you.

"Come here, let me put these on you," he said, throwing the jacket and gloves on his bed, pulling the beanie over your messy hair.

"I can do it," you grumbled quietly, reaching for he gloves, but he grabbed the jacket, holding it out for you to slip into. Then he squatted all the way to the floor in front of you, zipping up the coat from the bottom, careful at the top not to snag any of your hair in the zipper.

"Thanks," you said. It was flat, and so was your expression, but he knew he was doing the right thing. There was no way you would let him walk you to work; he'd tried convincing you of that many times, only causing argument after argument.

"Are you coming back here tonight?" he asked, standing back and crossing his arms, as you picked up your bag again and moved towards his door.

"No, I'm going and staying at Tina's, we've got so much editing to do," you responded, finally opening the door and stepping into his living room; he followed you quickly, catching up to you.

"Isn't she sick?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we've got to get our current manuscript turned in by Tuesday morning. We have no choice," you answered, walking towards his front door.

"Wait, just give me a minute," he said as you reach for the door knob, hand outstretched in his comically big gloves.

"San-"

"I hate when you don't answer me straight," he says, interrupting you.

"Huh?" you ask, giving him a look of genuine confusion.

"Are you mad at me because of what I did? How rough I was?"

"Do I look mad?" you responded, head turning to the side.

"I hate when you do that," he sighs, shaking his head.

"Do what?" you snap, frustration boiling up again.

"Avoid my questions, give me vague answers," he says, hands on hips.

"I'm running late for work, god, I'm in a fucking rush! Why the fuck is that hard to understand?!" you scream, hand back on his doorknob in an instant.

"That's not why you're avoiding my questions, and you fucking know it," he replies, walking over to his kitchen. Out of his pantry he grabs chocolate coconut granola bar, your favorite flavor, stalking back to you as you open the door.

"Take this," he says, holding it out to you as you face him, your body halfway into the hall.

"They have food where I work, you know," you drawl, a scowl on your face.

"Not food that you like," he sighs, putting the bar in your pocket himself.

As he stands back up in front of you his face is hard, eyes unreadable and shiny, his hair sticking up lopsided. His hoodie is dwarfing his wide frame, his sweats hanging loose on the lower half of his legs. He looks uncertain, maybe almost scared, nothing like the sharp, glasses-wearing, utterly confident man who'd walked into your bar a year ago, his suit fitted and smooth and his smile easy.

"What if this isn't enough for me?" he said, his hands coming to rest in his pockets.

"Sannie..." trailed off, the urgency of needing to leave still tugging at you.

"I hate when it's like this," he says, sighing.

"Me too," you squeak, tears threatening to come. Your period must be due to arrive any minute, if you're crying that fucking easily. He walks forward, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hugging you tight, before turning you around and beckoning you forward, the rest of your day ahead of you.

"Hey girl, you good?" Sasha asked as you passed by the dressing room, nearly running to put your bag in your locker.

"Yeah, one sec!" you called to her, clumsily undoing your lock, shoving your bag inside. You ripped off your giant puffy coat, hanging it on the hook, desperately flinging off the rest of your clothes and grabbing your dressing gown. Then you unzipped your bag, grabbing your makeup, and rushed back to the dressing room out of breath.

"Did anyone call out?" you asked as soon as your reentered, sitting down next to your favorite coworker, her wig and eye makeup already set.

"No, everyone else is already here, surprisingly," she drawled, leaning closer to the mirror to start her lip liner. "Why are you late, miss thing?"

"I slept till like 4:30, accidentally," you replied, hastily zipping open your makeup bag and grabbing what you'd need for the night. You were covering Tina's number first, a circus inspired routine to Britney Spear's song, and your costume would do most of the work for you. All you needed was lashes, some bright lipstick, and powder, so that the floodlights didn't wash you out completely.

"That's not like you," Sasha said, switching to the other side of her lips, her hand working quickly and methodically to create the perfect line.

"Yeah, I don't know," you replied, with a deep sigh. You couldn't find your lash glue anywhere, and it was stressing you out more than it should have, seeing as there were probably hundreds of tubes of it in the very room in which you sat.

"You okay?" she asked, clicking open her lipstick and screwing it up.

"Just stressed, I hate being late," you said, finally finding the glue at the bottom corner of your bag.

"Julie moved Tina's number, so you're not on until after Jax," she replied, turning her head in every direction to check her finished face.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, your normal tone slipping into flatness again, as you shakily put glue onto the lashes you'd use for tonight.

"Girl, seriously, you good?" Sasha asked, turning to face you entirely.

"I think so," you replied, never able to keep things from her.

"Is it that man you're seeing?" she asked, making you roll your eyes and audibly scoff, sighing deeply.

"How fucking typical of me," you responded, shaking your head.

"What did he do?" she asked you, chin coming to rest on her hand.

"Nothing, just, he's the reason I'm late, that I overslept," you said, and suddenly the memory of everything that had happened just hours before wouldn't leave you. It especially wouldn't leave your body, the memory of your limbs and muscles of your core replaying it for you, as if that was something you needed right now.

"Well, well, well, I hope the sex is good still, at least," Sasha replied, with a brief chuckle. "It's still that same guy, right, the businessman?"

"He's in tech, Sash," you said, leaning forward yourself to place your lashes carefully.

"Oh, boo, they all look the same. Coming in here in those ridiculous suits. I always wonder how much they cost, probably more than my entire wardrobe," she laughed, shaking her head.

"I know, it's ridiculous," you sighed, but just then a bit of guilt ran through you as you thought of San's apartment, and of the trip you took to wine country in the fall, of all the fancy outings and luxuries you've been able to experience on his dime.

"He isn't hurting you or anything, is he honey? I know you said you fight a lot, but it hasn't turned physical, right?" she asked now, and immediately you could tell she read something was off in your last response. She really had a way of doing that, not just with you but with everyone, and it could feel really damn exposing.

"No, no, nothing like that. Things were just weird earlier," you sighed, not wanting to elaborate. "We bicker a lot but like, in a fun way. Earlier it was, I don't know, just fucking weird. I don't know why it's stressing me out, we're just friends."

"Friendships can be the messiest of all relationships, don't you think?" Sasha responded, and you looked over to her, only one lash on. She was just a few years older than you, but sometimes you felt like she was your fairy godmother, or a beautiful genie who'd escaped into the world. She was too wise for you; in comparison to her you were a little larvae, still barely developed at all. "You tell me if anything really bad happens, okay hon? I can't have anyone mistreating you," she said, standing from her stool and wrapping her dress around herself, tying the tassels on the side.

"You know I would, I couldn't keep it from you if I tried," you said, leaning towards the mirror to do your other lash.

"Okay, good. I'll have to leave you soon, I think," she replied, sighing and leaning down to place an air kiss by your cheek.

"Okay, break a leg," you responded, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Sasha, Bibi is almost done!" comes a call from down the hall, and soon Ilya, the stage manager, was sticking his head through the open door, beckoning her.

"Yes darling, I'm coming," she said, sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone in the tiny room, with nothing but your reflection for company.

Tina's number went well, just as it had last night; it was more dance focused than any of your recent acts, but you enjoyed the opportunity to move your body more. It had been dance, first, that attracted you to the stage, and though you'd found so many other avenues to express yourself creatively over the years, you missed it. You wrote so much now; songs for others, for yourself, and of course the musical you and Tina had been slaving over for six months, desperately hoping that this could be the thing to finally break you into the world of show business.

The walk to Tina's apartment was easy, too, just as your walk earlier had been. The streets were cold and the snow was still falling, but the breeze was blowing everything sideways, and if you stuck to the right side of the buildings you barely felt it at all. It was now almost one in the morning, the downtown streets still empty, but the restaurants and bars were bustling with activity. You stalked up to Tina's building, a huge, grey, nondescript mass of concrete, and buzzed your way up. Her key sat on your chain right next to yours; a bright green sticker stuck to it so you could tell them apart.

When you entered she was laying flat on the couch, her laptop perched in front of her face, the only light in the room.

"Hey," she mumbled when she saw you, your makeup still on, hair in a rough bun again, San's jacket dwarfing you entirely.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you asked, taking the two steps it took to reach her. The place was tiny, and she shared it with her girlfriend Maya, who had the beginnings of what might be a hoarding habit. There wasn't an inch of free space, save for some of the floor. Even that had stacks of books on it, boxes of half finished art projects, and more plants than one could count.

"Fucking terrible," she muttered, and you went to turn on the one lamp by their tiny kitchen so you could get a good look at her.

"Oh gosh, you look miserable," you said as you sat down next to her, her cheeks flushed so red, her eyes glossy with past tears.

"I keep throwing up," she said, staring over at the glass of water on the coffee table beside her. "I can barely keep down water."

"You said you just had a little cold," you scolded, placing your hand on her forehead, her skin fiery under your palm.

"I didn't want y'all to worry," she said, voice small.

"Is Maya sick too?" you asked.

"Yeah, but not quite as bad as me. She hasn't puked yet," Tina replied.

"You definitely have a fever, it feels bad," you said, taking your hand to feel her neck and chest too. "You should go to urgent care if you can't keep anything down."

"You know I'm not gonna fucking do that unless I'm literally dying," she replied, eyeing you.

"I know it's expensive, but it's your health, Titi," you said.

"I'm not going," she said, her words final.

"Have you been taking Tylenol? Or Ibuprofen? Drinking fluids, eating well, resting?" you asked.

"I'm trying. We ran outta Tylenol earlier today."

"I'll go get you some more," you sighed, opening your phone. "The Walgreens at the corner just closed, shit. It says they open at 6am tomorrow, I'll go get you some as soon as I wake up."

"Thank you honey," she responded, tears welling in her eyes.

"You gonna be okay?" you asked, looking down at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to get some sleep. Maya was sleeping so soundly, I didn't wanna wake her. That's why I came out here. I'll go though, I need the rest," she replied, closing her laptop and placing on the coffee table, sitting herself up. Her face scrunched up in pain, her right hand rubbing at her left shoulder, and you knew she was feeling the aches of a fever.

"I'm worried about you, has it been this bad since Thursday?" you asked as she stood, shakily.

"I'm fine, it's only been the last two days. Don't waste your energy worrying, it'll be okay," she said, crossing the room towards her bedroom. "Goodnight," she said as she turned her head to you, before carefully opening the door knob to avoid any creaking.

"Feel better," you said, and she nodded at you, disappearing into the other room.

"Hey, you okay?" your twin answered, dozens of voices muffled and choppy coming through in the background.

"Yeah, sorry, I know you're at work, do you have like two minutes?" you responded, sighing in the darkness of Tina's living room. It was now almost two a.m., but you were pretty sure Micah was working nights this weekend, and you'd be able to catch her. Thankfully, you were right.

"I'm supposed to go take a break soon anyway, so yeah, lemme get out of here," she responded, the sounds of the hospital echoing and changing as she began walking down the hall to the break room.

"Okay," you said, waiting for the noice to die down. Then, once it did, "It's my friend Tina, she's really sick and I just don't know how serious it is. She said she hasn't been able to keep any food down all day, and she's been sick since Thursday."

"She got the flu?" your sister asked through the phone.

"I don't know, it's something. She had a bad fever when I got home, she just went to bed. She looked so bad though, and was hobbling around like an old lady. She was in so much pain."

"How bad's her fever?" she asked you.

"I don't know, we didn't test it," you sighed, knowing what was coming.

"Y/n...."

"I know, sorry, it was dumb for me to even call. I just wasn't sure what to do, it freaked me out..."

The line hung quiet for a moment, but you could hear her breathing, and it sounded almost labored.

"Does she have a thermometer?" she asked, and you stumbled up to the bathroom, combing through their drawers as quietly as you could.

"It doesn't look like it," you sighed, turning off the light as you exited.

"Well go get one tomorrow, and take her temp, and if it's ever 103 or above, take her to urgent care. Or if she can't keep down food again for another day. Try to get fluids in her, if you can. Water, broth, gatorade, tea, whatever she'll take. Of course do Tylenol, or Ibuprofen, or both if she needs it. If her fever isn't too bad, she should be okay, she just needs to rest," she said, the string of sentences coming out fast in a single breath.

"Okay, thank you," you answered her, sighing again. "Don't let me keep you, I know you're busy," you added, not wanting to add any more irritation to her day if you already had. You sometimes found it hard to know what exactly it was about you that irked her, but you always knew there was something. Even if she never said it, even if she always said she loved you, you felt the deep simmer of some other feeling coming from her, ever since you left home. Maybe it was the fact that you called so infrequently now, having done so since you moved for college. When you did call it was almost always something like this. But you couldn't help it; she was the only person you felt sure would always answer you, no matter what was going on between you two. Because that's how she was, that's how she'd always been. She was way more dependable than you, and everyone in your life had shoved that down your throat since you could remember.

"It's okay, tonight's not too crazy thankfully," she responded, her tone neutral. "I've been meaning to call you cause there's something I want to discuss, but I don't think we have the time right now. And I'm assuming you want to get to bed soon," she finished.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I should," you replied.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Well, Monday probably, I gotta catch up on sleep," she said.

"Yeah that's fine, I'll probably just be at home writing," you answered her, sucking in a breath.

"Okay, call me again if your friend gets worse. Or honestly, just take her to urgent care if it seems that bad. Don't chance it with health stuff," she replied, sounding more like your mother than someone your exact same age.

"Okay, I will. Thank you. Love you," you signed off.

"Love you too," she said, and you pulled your phone from your ear, ending the call.

You fell asleep fast and deep on Tina and Maya's couch; you were so used to it by now, over here at least once or twice every week, and the low hum of the refrigerator just feet from you had become a comforting source of consistent noice, drowning out the occasional chaos that accompanied this part of town. You resolved to get medicine for your friends tomorrow, try to make them some food, and then head home to work on the manuscript yourself. Tina was obviously in no place to help you, and if you holed up in your room and really focused, you should be able to finish the editing, no problem. Though you felt uneasy, you fell asleep fast, wrapped up in all three blankets you found draped over the back of the couch.

Early in the morning you were woken by the bang of a door; Tina was running out of her room, stumbling to the bathroom, doubled over the toilet and retching up every little bit of water she'd managed to get down the previous night. The room was so dark; their apartment only had one small window in the kitchen, and they liked to cover it in a little curtain to black out the room at night. Your head ached from the sounds, your body wracked with exhaustion. You grabbed your phone from the table beside you to check the time, squinting painfully at your screen, reading 6:59. It had been a long, long time since you'd been up at this hour, and every time it happened now your body screamed at you. You had your routine down perfectly; asleep by four or five in the morning, awake by noon or one in the afternoon. Last night you'd had little to do, without Tina to keep you awake, so you'd fallen asleep a bit earlier than usual. But still, that had only been a few hours ago. And you were someone who needed eight or nine hours a night, it was non negotiable.

Another painful wretch came from the bathroom; you tried to sit yourself up, your limbs feeling like lead. "Tina, is that you?" you called out, and got a groan in response, and then another empty, painful sounding sound.

"You okay?" you asked, stumbling over in her direction, almost no light to help guide your way.

"I don't know," she murmured, her voice thin and weak, her entire upper body draped over the seat of the toilet.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," you said, rubbing her back with your hand, kneeling down next to her.

"You shouldn't be here, I'm gonna get you sick," she squeaked, another heave making her body jerk.

"Don't think about that Titi, I'm here to help you. You're both sick, that fucking sucks," you said, hand still moving over the thin material of her shirt.

Just then you heard a door creak open again, followed by soft footsteps and a deep yawn.

"What's going on?" Maya asked as she entered the bathroom too, the three of you now taking up nearly all of the available space.

"She's still puking," you said, looking up at her, her curly hair flying in every direction, illuminated by their tiny night light.

"Fuck, babe, maybe you should go to the hospital," she said, a hand rubbing over her cheek.

"I don't wanna," Tina squeaked again, breathing slow and steady next to you, her grip on the toilet still severe.

"Tina," Maya said, but she knew as well as you there was no convincing her.

"I'm feeling a little better, I think the wave of nausea has passed," she said beside you, her voice sounding a little stronger.

"How are you doing?" you asked Maya, turning to face her more.

"I actually feel okay, just tired. I haven't gotten this puking at all, for some reason," she said, yawning again. "But I'm fucking wrecked, I feel like I could sleep another eight hours," she said, moving around you to reach down to her girlfriend.

"You should, y'all need rest," you said, giving them space. "I'll go get you guys some more meds and stuff, you both try to get more sleep."

"You don't have to, I know you must be exhausted," she responded, her kind eyes coming up to meet yours.

"Yeah, but I'm not sick like y'all. I'll be fine," you said, stepping out of the bathroom as Tina finally stood, Maya helping her walk to the sink.

"I need to brush my teeth," Tina mumbled, making a disgusted face as the taste of her own mouth, quickly pulling out her toothbrush. In another few moments you helped them both to their room, again feeling over your friend's forehead to see how she was faring. It felt better, a bit, but still warm. But you were so exhausted, your mind still nowhere to be found, and it was hard to feel anything. You left their room, closing the door carefully, and made your way back to the couch. You opened the tiny window in the kitchen; the light was soft, just like yesterday, bits of snow still falling through the sky. Their apartment was on the third floor, and closer to the ground you could see the snow collecting in the gutters, on the dead patches of grass, on the tops of the awnings lining the street.

You tried to pull on your shoes, zip up your coat, get yourself ready to face the air. But with the weather and your lack of sleep you just couldn't muster the courage, even as you knew your close friend was suffering so badly, and wouldn't accept any help unless you all but shoved it down her throat. The idea sprung in your mind, and you pushed it away at first; no way should you ask him for such a big favor, even if you could be pretty sure he was awake. Even if he was the only person you knew in this city who was guaranteed to be awake right now. You'd left his apartment in such a strange place only fifteen hours ago, and since then ignored the one text he'd sent. Please be careful, it's probably icy out there.

You hadn't meant to ignore him, but you were always off your phone during work. He knew that. And when you'd arrived here last night, things had been hectic. Tina was sick, and you were exhausted. Surely he'd understand? Of course he would. He always did. And as you shivered in your sweats and hoodie, in his hoodie, you thought, fuck it.

The call rang and rang, and when he didn't answer you quickly ended it, smacking your phone onto the stack of books beside you. Something like anger lanced through you, followed by hot, sickly shame, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach and making you feel nauseous. You didn't know why you'd expected him to answer, and now you knew you'd have to be a fucking big girl and go get the damn medicine yourself. You felt ridiculous for having called him; even more so for feeling angry at him not picking up. He didn't owe you anything, especially after last night, and besides, you always went days without seeing him or talking to him, anyway. Tears of frustration threatened to come, and you made a mental note to pick up some pads at the store too. You'd definitely be needing those soon.

But as you stood you saw your phone lighting up again; he was calling back, only a minute later, and you snatched it up to your ear after hitting answer.

"Hey," you said, voice groggy and whiny coming through the phone.

"You okay?" he asked, his own voice low and grumbly.

"Yeah, sorry, I don't want to bug you, but Tina is like really sick and she's run out of all her Tylenol and stuff, and I know the Walgreens that's just down the corner at 4th should have it, I just don't know if I can make it down there right now. I'm fucking dead." The words spilled out of you, a deluge of exhaustion and worry and desperation.

"You want me to go get some for you?" he asked, sighing in clear annoyance, even if he was trying to cover it up.

"Maybe," you answered, an almost whine, pushing the palm of your hand into your right eye socket, trying to alleviate some of the pain you felt there.

"What else do you need?" he asked, and you heard the beep of his tea kettle through the phone.

"Uh, a thermometer, if they have it, and something for her stomach too maybe, cause she keeps throwing up. And she needs fluids, so like gatorade, or something, whatever they have," you answer, trying desperately to remember every little thing your sister had told you last night.

"Okay, I can be there in probably like twenty minutes, that okay?" he asked.

"Okay," you sighed through he phone, a tiny bit of relief hitting your system.

"No thank you?" he asked, chuckling, but it stabbed right through your heart.

"San-" you started, taking a deep breath. You weren't going to let something so little trip you over the edge into arguing. "Yes, sorry, thank you. I really appreciate it. I'm just really worried about Ti, but she won't go to urgent care you know, cause she doesn't have insurance, and I'm just so out of it, and it's snowing-"

"Baby, I know. I'll be there soon," he said, cutting you off.

"Sorry," you said, taking in a breath to keep yourself from rambling again.

"See you soon," he said, before ending the call, your phone still stuck to your ear when he did.

When he arrived it was with more than you had requested. A huge bottle of Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Aleve and Motrin were in the bag, along with anti-nausea meds, gatorade, vitamin water, saltines, two different kinds of thermometers, and some plain applesauce. You sat in a stunned silence looking at it all, still barely awake on the couch. After letting him in you'd collapsed back on it, nearly passing out as he rubbed soft circles on the small of your back. You didn't know how much time passed; but then Maya had woken, opening the door, and the two of you shot apart quickly, like two opposing ends of a magnet.

She was eternally grateful for the care package he'd brought, and assured you that she was feeling much better, and could take care of Tina just fine. She beckoned you to leave; she too was worried you had already caught something from them, and told you to go home and rest, get some more sleep, and again thanked you for coming over. As you and San left she was brewing some coffee, and the familiar smell of your friends' apartment was back to normal, making it easier for you to leave.

As you walked the hall to the elevator you noticed his gaze; taking in the dirty carpet, and the bullet hole in the side of the mirror. Yes, you'd had to tell him, someone did shoot their gun into the side of the elevator on New Year's. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you could see the shock and worry and confusion written all over it, just in the tiny twitches of his eyebrows and crinkles by his eyes. Again, it almost made you feel sick; you'd seen the look he'd given your friend's living room when he'd first walked in, staring from wall to wall as if he couldn't believe how small it was. Their whole place was probably the size of his bedroom alone; he was rich, how rich you didn't know, but he had a giant apartment and nice clothes, friends with big houses and not a care in the world about money.

That was not you, nor your friends. You weren't broke by any means, and certainly knew many people who had it worse. But you all skated by with just slightly more than you needed, trying to save the little extra that you did have. You never knew if you were a novelty to San, because of it; maybe he'd never really known a girl like you, who didn't have all that he had, who got by with just enough and the support of her community, not a huge paycheck or rich parents to fall back on. And maybe if you were honest with yourself, he was the novelty, to you. You'd never known anyone like him, growing up in a town so small it had only one high school. Maybe you were using him for the awe of it all, the chance to see how the other half lived, see into this life everyone seemingly dreamed about. It certainly wasn't what you wanted, but you couldn't deny there were pros. It just made something in you feel so strange, that he obviously felt uncomfortable in that apartment building you'd just exited, the building you felt more at home in than almost anywhere else.

"Woah, hey," he said, as you tripped hard over a crack in the sidewalk, running into him and nearly pitching forward right onto your face. He grabbed you, helping you stand up, and stopped in his tracks, turning towards you.

"Sorry, I'm so fucking exhausted. I need sleep," you said, bags under your eyes proving your point, the gentle snow still falling around you.

"Come to mine, it's closer," he said, and your eyes blinked at him, wide and unsure. His place was technically closer, you thought, from the exact intersection you stood at. Closer by one block. Was this an excuse, a way of trying to get more time with you? You couldn't be sure, staring up at his chin, stubble peaking through.

"Really?" you asked, eyes big and pleading. When he nodded, you continued. "Will you carry me?"

"On my back I will," he said, sighing and shaking his head, almost regretting what he'd just said.

As he walked the blocks to his building the air was surprisingly cold, the two of you clinging to each other for any amount of warmth you could find. You were silent; your breaths were visible in the air, the snow fall less but the temperature more severe it seemed, today. Your head bobbed against his shoulder, arms wrapped round him tightly, and with your legs you could feel the strength of his lungs, expanding his ribcage in and out, in and out, the strength of his body never ceasing to amaze you.

"Will you put me to sleep, when we get home?" you said in his ear, and it might have sounded perfectly innocent to anyone passing by. But San knew what you meant by that, a chuckle escaping him.

"Sure, dear," he responded, and you chuckled too, high-pitched, his grip on your legs tightening. He was supposed to be mad at you, or at least, pressing you to talk to him again about what had happened. He rationalized that it wasn't the right time; you truly did need more sleep, and maybe once you woke rested this afternoon, he could start that conversation. Maybe he'd even have that other conversation with you, the one he knew should have happened a full ten months ago. But as he thought about those serious exchanges he couldn't get the image of what he was about to do to you out of his mind, and even in the frigid air he felt a tightening in his pants, hoping his arousal wasn't too fucking obvious to anyone walking by.

You didn't even notice the freudian slip you'd had, and neither really had he, for it happened so often between you two nowadays. Home. When we get home. That place was a home to you, just like Tina's and Maya's, just like your own little room. San had taken notice when it first started happening, the little mentions making his heart flutter and jump, his gaze soften as he looked at you. You'd never balked afterwards, never gave any indication that you hadn't meant to say things you said.

Home. We. I'd love to. Don't stop. I need you. I want you. Please, Sannie, please.

In his mind, it was all falling into place; he'd played the long game, dated the girl who said we're just friends, and made it a year. She loved him, she obviously did, but she wasn't one who would say something like that so easily. And he was okay with that; he could wait, this last year had proved it. You were slipping now, though; your hard exterior was melting away, the distance you kept between you two shrinking and shrinking more. The bickering had only increased with that, but what couple didn't fight? He was obsessed, he had known that just a month in with you, and there was nothing in the world that could get him to leave, even when his friends and brother mocked him for sticking with you without a label. You're being played, bro. He'd heard it a million times. But they'd never known what it was to be buried inside you, what your skin smelled like, the sounds you made when you trembled and whined. They didn't know how magical you were on that stage, how the room lit up in wonder, how every pair of eyes turned to you and couldn't turn away. They'd never heard you talk about Rocky Horror, or your favorite manga, or all of the productions you'd been in since the age of five; they'd never watched you dance, heard you sing, read the beautiful poetry you'd whip up in minutes. They didn't understand how motivated you were, how brilliant, how utterly perfect for him.

And you had little idea about any of this, too; you were just twenty-three, just a girl in a big city, just someone too passionate about art to do anything else with your time. You didn't see it for yourself, that big successful future. But you kept trying. It didn't even feel like trying; it was just what you wanted, to perform for a crowd of people for work, to spend your free time wrestling your creative energy into stories and songs you actually liked. There wasn't any space for a partner, in all that. You'd told him that. But you'd also started spending the night after your hookups, started calling him for help sometimes. You went on a weekend trip, together. Just friends. It was getting harder to defend it anymore; but the thing was, none of your other friends pressed you. It was your business, your messy, immature business. They trusted you, with just about everything, because they could. You were a good friend, always there to help, always there to listen and soothe, to distract them when they needed it. None of them worried for a second that your thing with San was spinning recklessly out of control.

You were silent the rest of the way to San's place, taking in your surroundings through hooded eyes, your body slack against his. His building had an actual lobby, and he nodded to the man behind the counter, the man who recognized you without a second glance. Couches, tan with maroon pillows, surrounded a large low table, and behind it sat a coffee bar, a large bookshelf stocked with books and games, and the door to the gym. The elevator was sleek an unstained, not a scratch in sight; certainly no bullet holes. The carpet on his floor was short, black, and perfectly maintained, soft enough you could probably comfortably sleep on it. It was such a change, just five blocks south and three blocks west, this strange city you called home a mixture of literally everything.

It didn't take long when you got home for him to undress you; it was comfortable now that he'd run the heater for a bit, and though there was still a slight chill in the air, you didn't notice it with his hands all over you. His lips found yours, kissing you sweetly, gently, waiting for your body to open up to him. A swipe of his tongue made you moan, jaw falling slack, and he moved in to kiss you deeply, still gentle in his approach. He worked down to your neck, chest, and then nipples, sucking them softly, humming at the feeling. Your moans and whines were pathetic with sleepiness, your arms barely even skating through his hair or holding onto his shoulders. Stood in the comfortable air of his room you nearly fell back, San's arms coming around your back to help you down gently, laying you flat on his navy-blue comforter.

You spread your legs for him immediately; his kisses started at your knee, coming closer and closer to your aching core, his hands wrapped around your perfect thighs. This tongue found your slit, the taste sweet and intoxicating as always, and he swiped it up slowly, carefully brushing over your sensitive button and making you jerk and moan. Your thighs came up beside his head as he started working you, licking slow half circles over your clit, your back arching off his bed. You didn't understand; this had never felt good with anyone else, but when San went down on you your whole body gave in, and you had the quietest, sweetest orgasms, ones that always sent you into a perfect slumber. He continued his careful motion; it was just the thing that felt good to you, licking slightly over the hood of your sensitive spot, the stimulation not too much, but not too little either.

It took quite a few minutes, but soon he'd worked you up enough that your thighs started shaking, opening up now to push your center into his face, relishing the friction. Now he could slide his fingers in, put two inside your soaked cunt and curl them up and back, the two points of stimulation just what you needed. You started trembling almost immediately; it wasn't much longer till he felt the walls of your pussy clenching down on him, watched your stomach clench and release in ecstasy. You didn't come hard, certainly not as hard as you did last night. But it was long, your body riding out every bit of it, his fingers and tongue working you with perfect consistency. You shook and shook in front of him, moans weak and needy, your eyes closed and body already succumbing to sleep. He slowed his movements as you did, helping you ride out the last of it, then pulling himself out and off of you when you made that sound that meant enough.

You curled up on your side immediately, San scooping you up to place you more comfortably, tugging back his blanket. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow, before he tucked the comforter up to your chin and placed a kiss on your temple. You wouldn't remember any of this when you woke in a few hours, but you'd be damn thankful for the rest, your next few hours of sleep guaranteed to be deep.

And as San stood he couldn't think for a second about those serious, responsible conversations. They left his mind completely as he walked to his bathroom, turning on his shower. They were no where to be found as he wrapped a hand around his aching length, and finally gave himself some relief, some pleasure. All he could think about was the taste of you, the feeling of your thighs crushing his head, the huge ego boost he got every time he made you come like that. You'd let it slip several months ago that no one had ever come closer to doing what he'd done a hundred times; he felt like a fucking god now, each time your sweet tangy cunt was in his mouth, making him forget everything. He rubbed himself fast; he came hard, pent up and needy, frustration making his nervous system taught and sensitive. Cum coated the side of his hand and part of the wall in front of him, and he shuddered at just how intense it was; it was then that it all came crashing down, the conversations, the feelings, the way you'd talked to him last night. He finished washing his hair, his body; stepping out of the shower he felt shaky, satisfied, and totally unable to think straight.

He had to do it, he had to. Even if you'd try everything you could to reject the conversation. How could you not see how perfect he was, too?

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #san x reader #san smut #choi san #ateez san #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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plotsignificanthaircut555 · 6 months ago

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Equivalent Exchange (curse user! Nanami x sorcerer! Reader) SMUT, 18+, MDNI

Kento Nanami's defection was at one point amicable, until a string of very precise murders indicates your former classmate may have taken a turn. Maybe you can help him come back to himself. or....

Ao3 Obviously inspired by all the villain Nanami art esp (@yuutaguro and @ivoreene) this shit got wild ngl. So incredibly OOC its insane.

Content Warnings: ANGST, GUYS SO ANGSTY, lots of manipulation, this is NOT HEALTHY behavior, smoking, kissing, fingering, oral, degradation, slapping, spit, Nanami is being a freak, but you are matching that freak, let's call this deranged by consensual :).

Smoke curls in a paisley storm contained within the shaft of dim golden light emanating from the out of style lamp on the bedside table. A piece of wire had poked out from the lining of the seat cushion underneath you, poking itself into the tender meat of your thigh. The cigarette in between your fingers was nearly all ash, held together only due to your stillness, sloping downward toward the stained carpet below. It must have been ten minutes since you lit it, and you hadn’t moved an inch, not daring to break your gaze on the door. He was an hour and a half late, actually he was 96 minutes and 45 seconds late. 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. He was late the last time, too. Prior to-- everything-- he had been extremely punctual. He had been a lot of things.

This morning he called out of the blue from a blocked number, his voice rough and betraying nothing of his condition; emotionally or physically.

“Luna Hotel, under Helmer, 10 o’clock.”

Your skin went cold, you choked out a small sound of acknowledgement, but before you could speak the line went dead. The line droned, tears stung your eyes; clouded vision and full ears gave you a moment of placelessness, your office, the school, this world dissolving around you. It was him, it was really happening. It had been so long since you had heard his voice, but you could have picked him out of a crowd of thousands if he were whispering.

It was really happening, your throat tightened but you swallowed down the knot before it could choke you. With a deep breath the tears faded and you returned to your body within your small office at Jujutsu High. Finally setting the phone on its hook, the tone died, making the beating of your heart fill the space left in your ears. It was still early, you had an entire day of teaching to complete, and you couldn't let anyone-- even the most observant among your coworkers-- catch on. Twelve hours had passed in calculated normalcy, externally engaged as always; teaching your class, laughing with coworkers, but internally you had a singular thought.

You were seeing Nanami tonight.

Kento Nanami had defected from Jujutsu society eight years prior, following the previous defection of Suguru Geto and, more personally affecting, the death of his classmate and partner Yu Haibara. Initially it was an understood amicable defection, it was unusual but not unheard of for sorcerers to decide to follow other paths. Geto was, of course, an unfortunate exception. You had been able to keep in touch with Nanami as he attended a fast tracked university and got a job working as a finance specialist for businesses both in Japan and internationally. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t around at all anymore, he would attend group events every few months, stop by a birthday party or a night of drinking. But as the time since his leaving went on you saw less and less of him, work schedules and personal responsibilities making it rarer and rarer. Two years ago, he stopped calling completely, stopped responding to text messages and emails. You were beginning to wonder if you should do a wellness check at his office or see if you could find his address.

That was until you found yourself in an all school meeting to discuss a recent string of murders. Shaking across the table from Satoru Gojo, Ieri Shoko, and the rest of the staff as Principle Yaga detailed how the victims were all cut with a surgeon's precision into various pieces, when Shoko was able to reassemble them the pattern emerged. The disassemblement occurred at a 7:3 ratio at Every. Single. Point.

The pictures on the table were horrific, gory, visceral, but what brought bile to your throat was the thought of Nanami being the executioner. Your brain couldn't render the image of him killing a human person. You had seen him kill dozens of curses, seen his skill and finesse in real time, but you couldn’t piece that together with the images in front of you now. These men weren’t just killed, they were butchered.

“What do we know about the victims?” Gojo asked.

“Wealthy, mostly inherited wealth, all of them have ties to the same organized crime group that we have followed for some time.” Yaga explained, thankful for the chance to look somewhere else than the photographs on the table, “drugs, weapons, human trafficking, you name it.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned back in his chair, “Nanamin always had an intense sense of justice.”

He was right, you thought it too, and you were willing to be everyone else in the room thought the same. You still hadn’t spoken, your throat was dry and closed, your brain was too stuck on trying to piece together an image of the man you knew doing this.

“He did. Vigilante or not…”Yaga continued, now unable to look anywhere but the pictures, “The higher ups have caught wind of this being a curse user, thankfully they don’t pay enough attention to techniques so they’re not exactly sure who is responsible.”

Yaga stood and added a blurry photograph to the board. Nanami, you could just barely make out his features, his strong nose, his golden eyes. It must have been taken from a surveillance camera before the feed was wiped, he looked right at the camera, an expression of focus and hatred marred across his face. Your heart lurched at the sight of him so angry. No…not angry. Pained.

“There are laws that prohibit sorcerers from intentionally taking human life. The unregulated use of jujutsu against civilians is cause enough to call for our response. Nevermind the…brutality. ”

Yours and every other pair of eyes in the room flicked to Gojo, he noticed, although he did not let on. You felt your cheeks burn, Nanami was Gojo’s friend, however reluctantly. Gojo had been closer with Geto than anyone else, and now he had been betrayed not once but twice.

“The sooner we…”Yaga’s words caught between his teeth, “react, the better. Reducing the liability of exposure and continued loss of life.”

The meaning he danced around began to set in. They wanted to kill Nanami. They wanted to send someone in this room out there to kill him. Gojo realized it too, starting to argue but his and the principal's voices began to fade, a ringing taking its place, and increasing in volume. Your skin began to go cold. The meeting continued around you, although as it turned to a fight no one seemed to notice your mental absence. You couldn’t let this happen, you wouldn't.

That night you sent one last email to the last alleged work email of Nanami’s that you had been able to dig up. One that had been hiding his new company’s directory just waiting to be found by you. All it had taken was one call to their payroll department posing as the hysterical disgruntled wife possibly being cheated on by the project manager of Nanami’s team. You used an email of your own that you reserved primarily for spam, business sign ups and the like, one that didn’t have your name or any of your initials, one that no one would associate with you.

Loyalty doesn’t expire. They’re looking.

That was two months ago. Until his call today you didn’t know if the address was still active, if he had access to it, if he had ever seen it. But now, after a single call months later, you were in the Luna Hotel room 819 reserved under the name Helmer. Of course he chose that name, strange enough to stick out just the right amount, but anyone looking would find it as a fake, stolen from a famous play. They didn’t know how Nanami had gifted you a copy of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House when you were still in school. How he told you about his grandmother in Denmark who loved it too; how she took him to see it once, probably far too young, on a holiday to visit her. They wouldn’t know what it meant between the two of you. You still had the exact copy he gave you, you must have poured over those pages a hundred times since you had seen him last. That same copy currently sat at the bottom of the small go bag you had stashed under the bed…just in case.

It was approaching midnight, and he still hadn’t arrived. Exhilaration that had been keeping you upright was beginning to wane. The light flickered, your cigarette ash finally fell to the floor, you didn’t care about the carpet, you didn't care about the sleep pulling at your eyes, you didn’t care about the ache of the day settling into your stagnant bones. You were so close, you couldn’t turn back now.

You felt him before the knock came. The breath vacated your body, his cursed energy filling your senses, tears rushed to your eyes but were quickly cast aside as his knuckles tapped against the door. You stood, but didn’t move to the door. A chime came from the door lock, followed by the whirring of mechanized deadbolt retracting. You fought away the urge to tense up as he entered the room.

Tall, perhaps even taller than before, certainly wider. He must have put on forty pounds of sheer muscle since the last time you saw him, every inch of him seemed developed. Wide shoulders, sturdy, quiet legs. His hair was shorter, choppier than the neat styled fringe you had been used to. A severe undercut at the back of his neck showed where he had been cut in a healed pink scar. There were more scratches and scars than you expected. You didn’t know what you expected. But it wasn’t this, this wall of strength standing before you now, dark blazer buttoned, small impression on his back where you knew his blade was strapped to his back. Finally you were able to regain the composure to look at his eyes. Golden, honey brown locked right with yours. It could have been the flickering light, or your delirium but you thought you saw them crinkle slightly at the sight of you. Nanami let out an even breath, looking you over once, the door clicking shut behind him.

“It’s really you.” His voice washed over you like a warm coastal wave.

“It’s really you.” You echoed, taking in the face you once knew so well, the parts that were different, the parts that remained.

He stared down at you, the same analytical look on his face, taking in every inch of the woman you had become. You were different than when he had left, you changed your hair-- although so had he, your body had lost its teenaged gawkiness and you stood with so much more confidence than you had before. You filled your clothes better, you were maybe even taller. But your expression looking at him, the shine in your eyes, the flush in your cheeks, it was exactly the same

“Part of me expected this to be a trap.” He sighed out, unbuttoning his blazer and starting to slide it down his arms, turning away from you briefly.

As he did, you caught sight of his wrapped knife in its holster. The white and black wrapping was now stained a deep crimson, without your encouragement your mind returned to those photographs on the conference room table. What he had done, and how. How skilled he really was with that blade. You closed your eyes briefly attempting to squeeze out the images. When you opened them you saw him studying you, a silent assessment taking place that you weren’t sure if you were passing.

“No one else knows where you are?” He asked, voice even and deep.

“No. I know how to be discreet.” You answered, a bit too quickly.

“Did you drive?”

You shook your head, “I took the train, paid cash, got off two stops before the closest, walked the rest of the way.”

“It’s dangerous to walk alone at night.” he chided, tone almost mocking you-- or maybe himself, “Your phone?”

“I turned it off before I left, removed the SIM card, you can check it if you like.” you offered, gesturing to your purse on the table next to him.

Nanami’s eyebrows raised cautiously, deciding to call your bluff and reach inside. You didn't even flinch, you had nothing to hide, only something to prove. You were mesmerized by his every twitch, the way his hair moved with him now, how his eyes scanned over everything meticulously. Shadows of the Nanami you knew and the Nanami that was captured on those cameras merging together. He pulled your cell phone from your bag, seeing it was switched off, he checked the side for the SIM card and saw it was missing. A small smile itched the edges of his mouth.

“Nanami I promise, you can trust me. I sent for you, I put my job, my life on the line just to be here.” You wished you didn't sound quite as pathetic as you did when you asked him to trust you.

Nanami set your phone back in your purse and faced you, “That’s right, you did.”

His face remained pleasant as he took a seat in the same armchair you had occupied. He took up so much more space now, broad and wide, thick and sturdy, his thighs strained the fabric of his pants as he settled in front of you.

“Take your shirt off.”

You felt your chest heat up, inching toward your cheek by the millisecond, you shifted your weight.

“Wh-what?”, you nearly laughed, taken aback,.

“I need to see that you don't have a bug or a wire or something else.” He leaned back in the chair, one elbow propped up on the arm rest.

“Kento, I-I wouldn't.” You wanted him to believe you, you wanted him to know that you would never turn him in or put him in danger like that.

Nanami cocked his head, “You trust me too, right?”

You nodded. He gestured for you to continue.

You had changed after work into something neutral, something that would let you blend in and not be noticed as you snuck here. You unbutton your shirt slowly, hand trembling slightly before you swallow and get them back under your control. When you had undone the final button and opened the lapels, revealing your body clad in only your black bra and slid the rest of the shirt down your shoulders and onto the floor. You stood in front of him, feigning your own neutrality, however futile after your previous hesitation.

“Turn” he instructed. And you did, slowly so he could see your sides and back clearly.

Nanami gave a hum of approval as you turned away from him completely. You didn’t hear his approach but you felt his body heat as he moved behind you.

“No weapons?” He spoke softly now, his breath hot against the back of your ear.

You shook your head.

“No…”He sounded pleased, “they wouldn’t send you to kill me, would they?”

You felt his hand on your hip, just ghosting over the surface of your skin. You wanted to melt into him, to weep in his arms, to succumb to every fantasy you held privately in his absence, to berate him for leaving, to beg him to stay. But you stayed still and let his fingers on your flushing skin be enough for now.

“You’ve always had a soft spot for me, huh?” His hand moved your chin to the side to meet his eyes, nearly black like the eyes of a shark, only a corona of his usual honey brown remaining.

You nodded, your lips subconsciously reaching for his.

“So who are they sending?”, His voice returned to the dark, unflappable tone from before.

“Yaga wants Gojo to do it.” the words left you before you even thought, whatever spell or curse or hypnosis you were under sucking the truth from you directly into his mouth.

Nanami paused for a second, studying your face in his hand, “I’m flattered.”

Nanami let you go, his eyes flicking down to your lips before truly letting you go. He moved back to the table and opened your cigarettes. You caught your breath and followed his arc with your eyes, unsure of whether you should redress or not. He took a dart from your pack and lit it between his lips quickly.

“I thought you didn’t smoke anymore.” You noticed his practiced hold, the easy way he inhaled.

“So did I.” He sighed, sitting back in the chair, “A lot of things I thought were true and proving to have been ....unreliable.”

You stepped closer, just barely, “Nanami, what happened. I thought you were happy to be out, what was so awful to make you come back… like this?”

Nanami thought for a second, his brow furrowed, the deep elevens on his face that had been present since childhood now much deeper. He took another drag of the cigarette before answering.

“You don't know these guys….their monsters. All of them.” He shook his head, eyes fixed on memories that were not visible to you, “They want only for themselves no matter the cost, they betray one another, they betray order and decency. And the things they expect from you to join their little ...club” he took another fevered drag, stopping the thought there, “And we, those who can actually do something about it, are forced to benevolently observe? I just don’t understand the point anymore.”

You approached him carefully, he was locked into his own head enough that he wasn’t watching you.

“I won't protect some and not others. Not on the basis of the humanity of evil. Curse or Human, evil has no place. Not while sorcerers sacrifice themselves left and right while the real dangers are out of our jurisdiction” Whatever atrocity had been replaying in front of his eyes concluded and he finished what remained of the cigarette.

Sorcerers, Ours, We

You weren’t sure if he realized it himself, but he was still including himself amongst you. He considered himself a sorcerer even now, upholding the responsibility to protect those who cant protect themselves. You took the filter from him and discarded it on the table, feeling bold enough to reach over him to do so. Still topless you leaned into him on your return.

“I think it’s noble what you did, Kento.” You confessed, “We shouldn’t have to sit by and do nothing when we can make a real difference. Not when you can.”

You felt one of his big hands move over the back of your neck, hard enough to keep you in place but affectionately enough to not jar you. What do you have to be worried about? It’s Nanami, he would never hurt you.

“That’s why you’re here, you want to help, right?” he nodded in time with you in response.

“Anything Nanami, anything.” You dared to touch the side of his face, feeling his soft even skin. Even now, he was as perfect as he had been in your memories.

He leaned into your touch, like a wild animal indulging in the first kind touch after unending isolation. He was beginning to believe you, in your devotion, in your loyalty, in your usefulness.

“Anything?” He hummed at you, pulling your face even closer.

“Yes.” You could feel his breath on your lips, you could see the freckles on his face, having multiplied in number since last you studied them.

“Then you have to derail the plans for my execution.” He held you still, no longer inching toward your eager lips.

You felt your eyes go wider than dinner plates.

“Lose documentation, mix up data, get rid of photos, anything.” His tone was deadly serious, his grip tightened on your neck, his eyes bore into yours looking for any kind of hesitation, “No one has access to more information in that place than you. I know you can do this.”

Your heart swelled at his assurance, saiting your own fear as it rose inside of you. You looked into his kind, patient face and felt all the apprehension slip away. You finally feel secure enough to ask him the one thing you want the most.

“Can’t I go with you?” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to never be parted from him again.

He shook his head slowly, cupping your face so sweetly., “It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you, honey.”

You warm at the title he’s awarded you, his demonstration of care for you. Your joy soars exponentially when he pulls you into his lap, one arm around your waist, the other keeping your gaze locked with his. His thumb strokes your cheek and you feel your cheek whetted by an unannounced tear that has left you.

“Kento…”You shudder, “why did you leave me. I would have gone with you, you never asked. I thought-- I thought we… had something. I thought you wanted me.”

“Oh love, I did. I do. I lost myself after Yu, I had to leave, I couldn’t control my anger and I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I wasn’t a man worth loving, especially not by you.”

“Kento…”

“But I’m here now. And I’m yours.” He looked at you with the same seriousness as when he gave you your instructions, “do this for me and I’m yours forever. Help me keep this world safe, keep you safe.”

You felt another heavy hot tear spill onto your cheek, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Kento. Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me again.”

“Never again.” He promised before pulling you in to kiss you.

His kiss was worth every second you spent away from him. Every sleepless night wondering if your budding romance was gone completely or if you could ever know the warmth of his companionship again. He pulled you even closer to him, now seating you perfectly in his big, wide lap. His hand slid up your back, hot against your skin. His tongue slipped between your lips perfectly to explore the inside of your mouth, sliding against your own, tasting the smoke that lingered inside. You couldn’t help the moan that resounded from your throat, you were too overjoyed. You wanted to indulge in every taste, every sensation, every sound, every inch of this man. Your hands were all over his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, feeling the change in the man you loved. He was the same, his heart, his mind, his bones were the man you always loved, but you relished in the feeling of new, taut muscle under your fingers.

“I love you.” you confessed against his lips.

“I love you.” He answered, pulling you in again for another deep, wet kiss.

He tangled his other hand in your hair, the other migrating from your face to grip your thigh draped across his lap. His grip on your leg was firm and sturdy, squeezing the muscle and flesh you had gained since your last encounter with him.

“You’re a better kisser now.” You challenged, leaning your forehead against his.

“You taught me well, I improved on your method.” He smiled up at you.

It had been nearly a decade since the last, first, and only kiss you and Nanami had shared. A night of teenaged drunkenness in the dorm rooms and a fateful game of seven minutes in heaven leading to you and Nanami squeezed together in Gojo’s dorm closet. The darkness made Nanami bold enough to confide that he had never kissed anyone before, and you bold enough to jump at the chance to “teach him”, despite privately never kissing anyone yourself either. The timer had run out all too soon and Gojo pulled the curtain early, revealing a heated, albeit sloppy, makeout to your group of classmates. In your years schooling and working together you had never spoken about it, at least not so brazenly. Time and loss and reunion will bring anything to light.

“I was lying. I hadn’t kissed anyone either. I just wanted to kiss you.” You simpered against his lips, feeling the hand on your leg move up closer to your ass.

“You're kidding.” Nanami said flatly, kissing you again.

Your cheeks heated, “You knew?”

Nanami shrugged, smiling slyly, “Took a few other kisses before I pieced together that you had no idea what you were doing.”

You laughed out, feeling decade old embarrassment rise in you.

“Hey,” He soothed, “Who do you think begged Haibara to suggest the game and pick us to go first.”

You gawked, “You didn't.”

He nodded, “I did. Quite embarrassingly so. I don't think Gojo ever let a day go by that he didn't remind me of it.”

You were touched, elated, so devastated on behalf of the time you lost, but so grateful for the time you could have now. You pressed your lips together again, hands finding purchase in his hair, feeling the crop under your nails. He kissed you with a new fervor, remembering the growing romance he had abandoned, the way you had made him feel all those years ago. His hands moved up your back and found the clasp of your bra, with no words exchanged he undid the hooks and you moved your arms so he could slide the garment off of you. Once you were free you brought your hands to the button of his shirt, eyes closed and too entranced by the kiss to notice the spots of blood that stained the cream colored fabric. He pawed at the exposed skin of your back, down the dip of your spine, over your hips, and up once more to the back of your neck. He pulled back hard, separating your lips.

“Let me see you.” He ordered, taking in your exposed chest.

You whined at the loss of his lips, but relished in how closely he studied your body, your breasts, your stomach, your hardening nipples, everything he had longed to see before but was too guarded to ask of you. The hand didn't leave your neck, in fact it slithered around to the front, holding you in place on top of him. You had managed to undo his buttons, revealing his own chest, rippling and creamy in the amber light of the hotel room. You ground yourself down on his lap, desperate to feel his hardness underneath you.

“No.” He tightened his grip around your throat, stilling you, “Be patient, I've waited years to have you like this, I won't be rushed.”

You nodded as best you could with your throat still in his grasp.

“Be good.” He warns, bringing you back to his mouth, guided by your neck.

You wait for him to kiss you, wanting to demonstrate how good you can be for him. He leers at your obedience, before sliding his tongue across your lips. Not exactly a kiss, but you accept it so eagerly, the feeling of his spit wetting your lips, the anticipation whetting your desire. It's so possessive, so absurdly erotic it is nearly demeaning. But why should you care, it’s Nanami, your Nanami, you want to be possessed by him. Finally he kisses you again, your and his face both damp. His hand leaves your neck and slides down to grip one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb, making you hiss.

“Sensitive.” He mumbles, pinching harder, pulling a whine from you.

Heat is pooling in between your legs, you're certain he can feel the effect he is having on you, it would be dripping onto his thigh at this very moment if it weren't for the layers of fabric between your bodies. He grips your other breast, repeating the stimulation to your other nipple, once again relishing in the whines and whimpers you sing above him. You close your eyes and throw your head back, not seeing when he leans forward and latches his mouth to your unoccupied nipple, soothing the pain with soft, generous suckling. His other hand has curled itself around your hips and gripped unabashedly at your ass. Your hands returned to his hair, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. And feel him you did, his hardened length making itself unmistakable under you and Nanami rocked your hips forward, grinding you down on him. He let out choppy, moans into the flesh of your tit, his mouth full and muffled. You saw stars as the sensation of being ground down on his clothed length electrified your swollen clitoris. You had heard saucy gossip from classmates turned coworkers about Nanami “packing”, but you could feel their accuracy as he directed you to writhe against him.

“K-ken..ah!” You huffed out as the bulge pressed right against where you desired him the most.

He filled his mouth with your other tit and pushed you further down on him, making you keen above him louder. He was so much stronger than you, you couldn't pry yourself off his lap if you had wanted to. Thankfully there was nothing in the world you wanted less. He carried on sucking, biting, circling your breast with his mouth, bringing you to writhing, whimpering putty in his hands. You felt as though you were melting above him. The heat between your bodies building, scrambling your brain into nothing but more..more….more.

“Fine.” He growled, pulling away from your chest and picking you up to toss, truly toss, you onto the bed.

The cheap mattress bounced under you as you struggled to sit up on your elbows, only to be met with a firm hand clapping down on your chest, pushing you onto your back once more.

“Desperate slut can’t even wait for it.” Nanami glared down at you, fire behind his eyes you had never seen before.

He shed his shirt completely, not shy to give you a show of the muscles and scars he had gained in your separation. Bruised fresh and barely healing splotched across his stomach and hips, what looked like amature, although clean and neat, stitching, keeping a cut on his back together. Your breath stayed heavy as you watched him undress, you didn’t dare move another inch. He removed his pants, groaning as his length that had been straining against the tailored fabric gained relief. Your mouth filling with hungry saliva as you watched him supine on the bed, how he selfishly palmed himself through the thin fabric of his boxers before finally turning his gaze back to you. Your heart caught in your chest at his stony gaze, the annoyed expression between his eyes, the way his jaw set itself as he appraised your position.

“You said you’d be good. That you’d do anything to help me. And yet here you are on your back panting like a whore after ignoring the first instruction I gave you.” The bed sank as Nanami moved one knee onto the edge.

You stayed silent and still as his hands undid the clasp of your pants, inching them down your legs at his own pace, noting how goosebumps appeared in the wake of his touch. He watched as you strained to stay still, only allowing your body to move as he moved it, only allowing yourself to be puppeteered out of your clothing by his hands. A sick pride filled his chest at the sight of your heaving chest, still shining wet from his mouth, your hair mussed by the bed sheets, eyes wide and watching him. Your panties were already sticking to your dripping pussy, the wetness seeping through the flimsy fabric and leaking onto your thighs. Nanami joined you on the bed completely, hovering over you, sliding his index finger up from your knee. He met your eyes again, a taunting tilt to his head.

“Is this what you imagined?” Nanami’s breath ghosted over your lips.

You weren’t sure how to respond, when you had first imagined what your first time with Nanami was going to be, you never imagined this set of circumstances. You imagined sharing firsts, learning the motions of expressing love physically, you imagined him making you feel wanted, just as you wanted him. Now he was a Wanted man, and you were jeopardizing everything by lying under him, by letting him touch you, by begging him to take you, to make you his. Your silence was answer enough for him, he traced your slit with his finger, it took every ounce of strength you had left to not shiver, to not whine and mewl and beg again. He noticed.

“Good.” He once again leaned down to kiss you, his tongue quick to invade your mouth, to pull you back into his spell of thoughtless depravity.

His finger slipped past the gusset of your panties, feeling the sopping origins of the liquid desire spilling onto the sheets. You couldn’t hide the shaky breath that escaped as he penetrated you. His fingers were long and knuckles, just the one seeming to fill more of you than a single digit ever should. He watched your eyebrows scrunch, your eyes flutter, and your mouth fall open. He can see the backs of your teeth, the big buds along the base of your tongue, he finds himself enveloped in the idea of prodding the back of your throat with the tip of his cock, with his fingers, with your fingers, he finds he has all kinds of strange fantasies these days. You clenching around his finger wakes him from his daze, and he's quick to supply you with another, feeling your spongy walls stretch around him, trying their hardest to accommodate his intrusion.

“mmgph..”You whimpered, rolling your head to the side, not willing to look at him as he began pumping his fingers.

Nanami looped his other arm around your head, bringing you up to kiss the column of your throat, feeling the muscles strain and flex in response to the pleasure he is so generous to give you. You tried to bury your face in his shoulder, but he held you down firmer. He added a third finger, curling them right against your g spot. You couldn't help but cry out.

“Agh! Fuck…fuck.”

Nanami growled against your neck, keeping his pumping hand steady. The sloshing sound of your pussy drenching his hand and wrist fought to stay audible as your moans threatened to drown them out. You felt his teeth, first scratching, then biting into your neck. You weren’t going to last, you could feel the avalanche of pleasure bounding toward you, you were going to be lost, smothered, destroyed by the wave. Your body moved on its own, smacking at his chest before curling upward in an attempt to save yourself. The hand around your head pulled you down to the bed as he pumped harder. Fucking you gast on his fingers.

“No. Take it.” He commanded, watching you struggle under his hold, fighting him, he dug his nails into your arm, “Take it.”

Your vision went white, blocking out the lamp light, the room itself, as you squeaked out in pleasure. Your abdomen shuddered, your legs kicked, you strained against him, panting and whining. He carried on through your orgasm, not letting up until he saw fat, hot tears spill from your eyes. He kept his fingers inside as you came down, watching as you reinhabited your body that for a moment belonged entirely to him. He waited for you to open your eyes, he had always been a patient man. When you finally looked up at him with your love drunk stare, he removed his fingers, privately relishing in the squelch.

“Open.” He ordered, and you obeyed.

He filled your mouth with his fingers, the taste of your cum all encompassing. His mouth drops open as he watches you suck his fingers, he experiments with you; testing how far you’ll let him push, touching the gummy flesh at the back of your throat, mentally marking how little you gag. Good girl.

He's so overcome with pride and love, or something close to it, that when he removes his fingers he is desperate himself to bring you into another deep kiss. He feels your body tremble against him, aftershocks racing through you, your hands grip at his body, begging for more, begging to be closer. Nanami can't help but groan as you touch his clothed cock, his tongue still touching yours, the taste of your orgasm and the sound of his pleasure shared between two open, waiting mouths. You trace his length through his boxers, his own hand comes over your own and guides you over the totality of him, tip to base, the warm balls underneath, the spot of wetness at the top where he has leaked despite himself. You look up at him, eagerly awaiting his instructions. He smiles down at you, almost sweetly.

“Sweet girl.” He coos, seeing the joy bloom in your face, “You just want to be good, don't you?”

You begin to nod but are cut off by a hard slap coming down on your cheek. No time to dwell on the sting before he grips your face, pursing your lips. The shock of the smack bounces up and down your spine before you realize the pulse throbbing between your legs once more. He squeezes his cock through your hand, letting you feel the same pulse in himself.

“You’ll do anything for me, won't you?” Nanami’s keen eyes train on you once more, opening his mouth slightly inches above yours.

You think he is going to kiss you again, but he squeezes your face more, your lips separating in a bizarre pout. He spits directly into your mouth. You’re quick to lap at his offering, savoring it briefly before swallowing it. You feel his cock jump against your hand, he groans at the wanton sight, he's beyond pleased, he is elated. Before you finish savoring the remnants of him in your mouth he has you on your back once again. He rids himself of his underwear out of your sight and positions himself between your legs. He lifts your hips up and holds you level with his pelvis, wrapping your legs around his hips. The shaft of his cock slides in between your lower lips, he coats himself in the melange of your previous orgasm’s release and the new wetness he has pulled from you. Deciding it isn't enough he spits again, this time on your twitching cunt. Nanami marvels at how beautiful he finds the sight of his spit on your body, you wet at his behest, at how beautiful you are under him, your eyes trained on him, waiting so patiently. With one perfect stroke he fills you totally, your hands grip helplessly at his forearms. You arch your back with a whine as you feel the girth of his cock split you open, he is quick to find a pace, his hungered hands taking their fill of your hips and thighs as he fucks himself further into you. His bruising, soldier’s grip nearing fractal pressure, you pull at his fingers, trying to ease his grip on you, offer your body some grace. But he grips tighter, thrusts deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, his heavy balls smacking against your ass. Your cries fill the room, as does the plap plap plap-ing of his hips hitting yours with devastating precision.

“Kento…oh fuck…i-its too much, too much!” You writhe, pulling at his titanium strong fingers at your hips.

“Too much?” He mocks, his hips not missing a beat, “Too much?”

You sigh in relief when one of his hands leaves your hip, the bruised spots settling. You jolt as that same hand comes down hard on your clit, making you scream, “Nana--Agh!”

He repeats the assault twice more, letting your screams fill the room before clapping the now slick soaked hand over your mouth. He thrusts himself completely inside, leering over you cruelly as you mewl at being overfilled.

“Don’t yell my fucking name. What if someone heard you?”

He’s so deep it feels like he could push out through your stomach, you are barely able to mutter out a small, “‘m sorry.”

It sounds so pathetic you’re almost grateful it's barely audible behind his hand. He keeps his hand over your mouth as he starts thrusting once again, not able to withstand the temptation of your walls hugging him so tightly, you’re so warm, you’re so wet, and you’re all his. He can have you all to himself, the thought alone almost makes him cum. But when he looks down at your fucked out, sweat and spit dampended face, he holds strong. He wants to give you this, he wants to give both of you this. Remind himself that even a murderer like him can find moments of bliss. So perfect, so ready to help him, so eager to prove yourself to please. If things were different he could see this being his eternity, loving you, being loved by you, a life together. But it was too late for that now, he couldn’t go back. He could never get that future back.

Nanami releases your mouth, his hands instead moving your legs up and over his shoulders, angling his hips deep and deeper, folding your body into a nasty mating press.Your mouth falls open, he’s reaching points even deeper than before, you can hardly stand it, your hands claw at his shoulders. When you are finally able to see after this transition, you open your eyes to find him looking directly at you, gazing in your eyes, fucking himself into you at the sight before him. His body rocks yours, you move as he instructs, leading you from within to match his thrusts. Finally his resolve starts to crack.

“F-fuck..” He gasps out, his face scrunching, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling from his forehead.

You can feel him twitching inside of you, it’s as though he is swelling inside of you as he nears his end. You reach up to his hair, tugging, urging him to kiss you. He complies, connecting your lips and rutting into you wildly. The hot, fevered kiss is scored by his moans, gracing your ears, better than your most indulgent fantasies could conjure. For the moments before his climax, there was nothing but the two of you. His body shielding you from the rest of the room, his arms held your legs, the smell of your combined sex filled your nose, the sound of his body on yours, the grunts into your mouth, his sweat on your body, the taste of his tongue against yours. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.

With a low howl Nanami spilled himself into you, driving his hips forward, pulling your hip up to meet his thrust. He thrusts once more, the pair of you grunting together. You can feel the twitch of rope after rope of hot cum filling you, painting you from the inside. He buries his head in your neck, not willing to let you out of your folded position. When he finally releases you it’s only for a second so he can move your legs from your ears. He pulls out briefly, moving onto his back, collecting his breath. You wiggle briefly, stretching sore, twisted muscles but don’t get too far before Nanami pulls you onto his chest. You press your lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, his arms wrap around your back, his knuckles grazing your spine.

The hum of the air conditioner, the buzzing of the bedside lamp, and the pattering of rain against the window fill the silence left behind by your moans. You could hear the drumming of his heart, the leveling back of its usual tempo. His hand stills on your back,

“There’s no one else in the world I can trust, you understand?” His voice is warm in his chest under your ear.

You nod, “I know.”

He tips your face up to look at him, “Stay with me tonight?”

Your heart nearly bursts, “yes! Yes.”

He smiles and kisses you, holding your face, holding you to his chest. It wasn’t an hour or more before you had fallen asleep soundly on him, the weight of the day pulling you into sleep before you were ready. Before you fully succumbed to the sandman’s curse, you thought you heard the words I love you leave him.

You didn’t feel the weight of the bed shift when he got up a few hours later. You didn’t hear him redress and gather his things. You didn’t hear him reach into your purse and pocket your SIM card. You didn’t hear the door click shut as he left before the sun was set in the sky. You woke up in the hotel bed alone, the indention on his pillow and the ache between your legs the only immediate evidence he had ever been there. Your throat tightened as you smelled the sheets next to you, the fabric just barely holding a trace of his scent. Immediately the phantom memories of his hands on your body, his assurances, his instructions flooded back to you. It wasn’t until you got up completely that you saw the finger shaped bruises on your hip and the note in his neat, familiar handwriting.

I’ll be in touch. Forgive me.

Your chest tightened, your eyes stung, but you swallowed down your emotion. You had a promise to keep.

NANAMI IM SORRY I KNOW YOURE NOT THIS MAN. I DONT KNOW WHY ANYONE WOULD SAY THAT ABOUT YOU. Well i hope you guys liked my freak shit! I also wrote about half of an epilogue to this last night that i think clears up some of the context and the tone. I'll post that in the next few days as well. Its mostly with Gojo. OKAY LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU FOR READING. --- Doodle <3

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bayeis · 2 months ago

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I've joked about it in the tags a lot but I've decided to sit down and actually compile a list on why I'm only half joking when I say my job is conditioning me to be the next Jonathan Sims

The Buried: A lot of my job involves putting people in small confined spaces, often with no windows and and a single, locked door. We frequently have people with claustrophobia that realize agreeing to be locked in a small space means being locked in a small space. 9.9/10 times they are peer pressured into doing it anyway, and have a miserable time

The Corruption:

The Building is rotting. There is no nice way to put this. The walls are slick with mold and soft to the touch, the ceiling drips despite us being on the ground floor of a two story building, the carpets squish with unknown water, and yet people's eyes just glaze past it. Our landlord for the building is a thick accent russian man who, for the past 4 years I've worked here, has changed his name on the emails several times, despite it undoubtedly being the same man, who I have met in the flesh twice before. The first time was to come into the building, shake my hand, and leave. The second time was to ask me to bring him upstairs (not apart of our business but we still have the key for some reason), which I did, and then have not seen him since. Speaking of upstairs, the handful of times I've been there it's just. Bizarre. An entirely furnished office space, completely abandoned. There's everything from paintings on the walls to files still in the cabinets and scattered across desks. I could not tell you what the office space used to be, or whatever the employees that worked there used to do, but I do know it was officially, genuinely abandoned because it was deemed unsafe to be in, from the sheer amount mold and rot. How it is somehow safe for us to work directly below with leaking ceilings I have no idea. I've occasionally had to dart up there with our key to snag a pair of scissors off one of the desks or some other office supply we can't locate in our own half, though I always disinfect them the second I bring them downstairs, and always wear a mask when I'm up there. There's also the bugs. I am so genuinely serious when I say one day I swept the lobby of our building and discovered the shelled corpses of around 300 dead superworms. Like the kind you would feed a pet lizard. I have no idea why they were there, how they got there, or anything. I just swept them up and disposed of them as my coworker watched in horror. Weird worm sightings aside, the building is frequently swarmed both in and outside with bugs, despite weekly exterminator visits. The stairwell to the second floor (located outside) spends about half the year covered in what has to be hundreds if not thousands of moth caterpillars and cocoons. Walking in that back porch area is near impossible as you cannot look anywhere without seeing the walls, floors, stairs, doors all bumpy and withering with the sheer amount of caterpillars (of the not so friendly verity as well. They feel like shattered glass to the touch and will frequently leave a rash). My old manager once found one in her ear. There. Are. Bugs. Everywhere.

The Dark:

Fairly self explanatory. The building gets zero light. The lobby has full glass doors, and walls of windows facing multiple directions but no matter how many blinds you open or what time of day it is you'll find your eyes slightly straining in the just slightly too dim setting. It's never bright enough. When we can get our lights to work (frequently blow out, and when they are attempted to be replaced we find that nearly every light fixture required a different kind of special bulb, meaning that to fix it requires hunting down that kind of random bulb, which will be different from all the others. An effort frequently left undone, dotting the building with random spots of shadows) they don't really help, not because they aren't bright enough, but because the building was designed with weird corners, so all the light the fixtures could be potentially giving, is almost immediately blocked out with odd shaped walls and randomized corners. Some rooms just don't have windows to even attempt to sap out some of the sunlight. The room the employees are made to sit in (about an 8ft by 8ft room) for the majority has no overhead lights, no windows, and like the rest of the building, the walls are painted solid black to sap any remaining light out. The only way you can see in there is from the glow of the monitors and two dim lamps shoved in opposite corners. We get complaints from customers that it's too dark and they can't see well, and we've tried everything to fix it, a desperate combination of lamps LEDs, and fairy lights, but no matter how hard we try, how many blinds we throw open, it's never bright enough.

The Eye:

Remember that employee room I mentioned with the monitors? Workers are instructed to sit in the room (control room) and watch their designated cameras. This is not a security job. Off the top of my head, our (relatively small building floor) has about 30 cameras. There is no where in the building you can be that doesn't have a camera. Even the control room has a camera so we can watch the employees watching people. Some of the cameras are on (all the cameras are always on, with the only way to shut them off being to physically rip them from the walls) but we have yet to find out how to access their feed. The cameras like to frequently switch, in that I mean their security codes, IPs, and registration numbers will jump and switch with each other to no rhyme or reason. When that happens I have to grab the notebook dedicated to writing down whatever this weeks IP numbers are and attempt to metaphorically shove the cameras back into place. We are not a security job, but we are, if you didn't know or guess, an escape room. The entire job, as I previously mentioned, is to sit and watch people freak out through the cameras. Everywhere a guest turns if they look up, there is a camera. Every word they say is recorded and logged. Every action they take is carefully judged. All while a worker sits in a completely dark room, all day, watching their designated cameras intently. I think, for the sheer inherentness of what this business does and advertises, we are the most closely working with the eye. I am one of the managers now, and there are even cameras pointed and trained at where I sit, even thought there shouldn't be anyone to watch them.

The Lonely:

This one applies less to our customers and more to the poor employees. This job is soul crushing. You can go an entire shift, sitting alone in a small dark room, watching people have fun, as you silently observe. I have thankfully graduated out of the control room into front desk, and yet I can go entire days not seeing a soul, watching people chattering as they enter and exit our neighboring buildings through windows that never seem to catch the sun. The "employee area" where we are supposed to be able to hang out in between games isn't really built for socializing. It has been overcrowded and shoved with chairs, so many fucking chairs, that it becomes near intimidating to try and navigate. The most use the room sees is when an employee shoves some of them together and takes a nap, because there is nothing to do. It's not like the employees don't like each other either, we all get along wonderfully for the most part, as well as coworkers relatively around the same age can (helps that we're all queer too), but once you're halfway through a shift, and absolutely nothing of interest has happened you start to drift. A typical lull between games (which can stretch for days in the off season) will usually result in me sitting alone at front desk, answering an occasional ghost call that hangs up immediately when I answer it, an employee sitting in the back area, surrounded by empty chairs facing the graveyard where we write old employees names, and another employee choosing to nest down in the control room, in the dark surrounded by monitors reflecting myself and the other worker being alone, angles scattered across the dozens of cameras. Even when we are busy, there's almost no time to socialize. I still sit alone at a front desk made for two, mindlessly checking people in with no altercation to the script, and the game hosts focus on their game, crammed into the control room with several other game hosts, all willingly silent as they watch whatever designated family they have through their cameras.

The Spiral:

Again, we are an escape room. The whole appeal is to present ourselves as confusing as possible. From room layouts, to our hallways, to the way the building wraps and twists, dumping people out at one door, opposite of where they just entered from, it is designed to drive people crazy. Honestly we don't help either. For our own entertainment, game hosts are particularly obtuse and confusing, partially because we don't want you to get out too early and partially because we have been watching the exact same thing over and over and over and it's starting to drive us a little crazy. People always do the exact same thing in the rooms, there's very little variation from the jokes made the to ideas brought forward. So if the game host wants to keep a little sanity, it's up to them to reek havoc on their game in hopes of startling out a new response, which, if one does occur, gets snapped up and thrown around the control room to the other employees for a slice of entertainment like a sliver of meat thrown to a starving pack of dogs.

The Stranger:

The doll room. Not a traditional "the stranger" kind of presentation, but gives that same prickling unnerving feeling.

In the exact center of the building layout there is a tiny room that is decked in as many old porcelain dolls as possible, all strung up from their necks and twisting around gently in non existent wind. Walking past the only physical door into the enclosed room, you'll usually hear the door rattling in it's frame, or one of the dolls knocking against the door. The room has no vents, no fans, no overhead lights. It's only light source is two red light bulbs, and the room was custom built by our owners. And like, I get it. It's an escape room. There's a creepy room. 1 + 1 equals 2. I cannot even being to describe the feeling this room gives or brings. Almost every time there is a group in there, one person in the group will become more unnerved then the rest, because one of the dozen of dolls looks uncomfortably similar to a doll they or a family member had as a child. The doll will sway on it's string noose as the cameras pick up the trickle of "doesn't that one look just like grandmas doll?" "this one kinda looks like my Betsy doesn't it?" with a chorus of agreements and half given glances, as the rest of the group gets absorbed with the next puzzle, and the single member who brought it up stares, and eventually leaves the room, typically not reentering the rest of the game. It is the strangest thing to watch (no pun intended). Occasionally, the similarity is met with delight, but more often then not it just seems to unnerve. The doll room also shares a wall with the control room, which means nothing, but is occasionally fun to kick.

The Web:

There's the obvious ones, our rooms are meant to trap people, the game hosts jobs besides watching the cameras is to manipulate the line of thinking the customers have, ect, ect. The most unnatural thing to note here isn't the standard workings of an escape room however, but the sheer vast amount of spiders in this goddamn building. I have never seen so many spiders in my life. We can't shake them. From how disgustingly rotted our building is at this point I think the spiderwebs are one of the only things keeping our building together. Again, we have an exterminator come by every single week both in and out of the building. The spiders refuse to let up, every day is a constant battle of knocking down their webs only to turn around and see they've put several more up. We've all but given up on trying to get them out of the employee only areas and now focus our war to the battle grounds of where customers can see to only mild success. This isn't even a regional or habitat thing, no other building I have lived or stayed in in this town has ever even come close to touching the spider infestation happening here.

In terms of other entities such as the Hunt, Slaughter, and Desolation, I can think of a handful of things that might align my job and them, but nothing solid enough that's worth mentioning. There has not yet been anything that reminds me of the End, Vast, or Extinction.

Other things to note,

Quitting is weird? People do, don't worry it's not a genuine hostage situation, but once they leave they are very rarely every sighted by coworkers again. I don't just mean not visiting the building, I mean like going completely off the grid and moving states if not in some cases countries. The entire time this business has been open and operable I've been the longest standing employee, at a record 4 years of the 7 it's been open. I could not name a single employee that has ever truly quit and has been easy to contact again by anyone. If you are able to, it's usually polite conversation with any mention of how you know each other (meeting at the job) being laughed and shut down quickly. No one whose left this place wants to talk about it and I get it, believe me. When we get an influx of summer employees to help with the rush the heat brings, I'm no longer allowed to help train because I would try warn the employees to pace themselves so they didn't experience Game Host Death too early (what we call when a game hosts snaps, having watched the same thing over and over and eventually loosing their mind over it, resulting in crying when told they have to run a game, weird twitching/manic-esque break downs, or in some memorable cases, game hosts just walking out in the middle of hosting a game). This is incredibly ironic considering the majority of employees have admitted the only reason they stick around is because they like working with me but I'm not here to toot my horn. There's also a large collection of employees who are neither employeed nor not, who have moved an hour or so away and have gotten a different, closer, better paying, and enjoyable job, and yet inexplicable will show up once in a blue moon asking for a shift at the escape room for no other reason then they felt compelled to. Typically anyone whose worked here for more then a season falls in this category. Currently we have four official employees for the off season (including myself) and yet if I count this stragglers who all genuinely hate this job (also including myself) our employee numbers easily go over 20. I cannot even imagine what the owners taxes look like for that (all paychecks and stubs are handled by a women who I have only ever emailed and never met). The owners themselves actually don't even live in the same state as us, and we are not apart of a chain. This is the only escape room they own. They're main business? Sheep farming. Which actually, that might be the slaughter right there. Despite working for them for so long, the amount of times I have met them can be counted on one hand. They are completely uninvolved, this business is no mans land. I've thought about quitting multiple times, even briefly lived in another city states away, and yet still found myself back, inexplicably every time I think about leaving again a nice little bonus or raise hits my paycheck, a system I can't really complain about. As for the other managers, I've outlasted several. The only way I have ever seen anyone on the management team leave is to have the biggest mental breakdown known to man and disappear. That's literally it. I've watched it happen so many times. The only employee that came close to being here as long as me was my original manager, who, a couple of months before she left, started loosing her mind, twitchy, paranoid, at her wits end. She isolated and locked herself in one of the rooms for about a month, only emerging at the end of the shift. I tried to approach her once about it and she shaved her head as a panic response. This fucking job, it was choking her from the inside out. Eventually she couldn't handle it and left, effective almost immediately. In the span of a month I watched several new managers cycle in and out, from the women who would sit behind me and silently cry, to a previous employee who realized the jail cell of a role she was being forced into an dipped before the owners could lock the door on her. The current manager is the ex fiancee of the women who locked herself in a room for a month. The horrors are a cycle fr

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

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Good Fences (Fluffuary #03)

FEB03: Mutual Pining

You’d enjoyed having dinner with John on your little shared balcony. He was every bit a gentleman, even if he was mostly joking around with you. He pulled out your chair, and he plated your dishes like a chef, serving you as if it was a real date. Part of you wished it was, but the other part of you felt guilty.

You had a boyfriend, after all. It didn’t seem like you did, though. He was never around, and when he was, he always made an excuse to leave. He worked in a senator’s office, and was “stuck at work” more than any normal person would be. You knew you needed to break up with him, but you just hadn’t found the right moment.

When you told John about your situation, he seemed to sober up a bit, obviously surprised since he’d never seen anyone around your place.

“Yeah, he doesn’t come to Bethesda,” you confessed as you twirled the spaghetti noodles around your fork, watching as the pasta slipped through its sauce, “He says it would be too far from the office.”

“Never? It’s not that far,” John said, a little perturbed.

“I didn’t think so, but it is what it is,” you shrugged, “Sometimes I wonder why we’re still pretending to be together when we’re clearly not.”

“Why are you, love?” He asked you, very forward.

You looked up at him, surprised at his challenge. You didn’t have a good answer.

The conversation moved to work and to family and to friends. You learned about his coworkers, and even though he was vague, you learned about some of the missions they’d been on. He would light up like a candle with smiles and laughter at some of the stories, but sometimes he’d become very serious and bottle himself up when he told you about the others. John was a complex man, but he craved simplicity. He wanted a world that was easy, and it made you wonder how much of his life had been hard.

In the week after you’d had dinner together, you and John were finding more and more reasons to be out on the balcony. He would smoke. You would water your plants. He would work on his laptop. You would read. Sometimes, he asked you to read to him. Those were your favorite moments. Then, one morning, you saw him through the window smoking as he usually did, but this time, he was completely shirtless.

You stared through the window like a hungry dog at a butcher’s shop, practically drooling at the meat on display. Goddamn he was gorgeous. As large as he looked in his clothes, he seemed even bigger out of them. His enormous, heavy muscles rippled beneath furry skin, and his shoulders and back were splattered with thousands of freckles. He was thick. There were abs, sure, but he was well-fed and powerful. His Adonis belt was round and heavy, cutting a deep v-shape that disappeared into his running shorts, and you imagined what those vanishing ruts would lead to.

Just when you let your mind wander a little too far, he walked over and knocked on your sliding glass door, scaring you half to death. You hoped he hadn’t seen you gawking at him.

You slid it open and greeted him,

“Hey, John, everything alright?”

He smiled, a bit embarrassed,

“Ahh, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’ve bloody locked myself out. Thought I put the latch down, but it has a mind of its own.”

“Sure, come in. I actually have a spare for that unit. I’m telling you, it’s the ghost. I bet she flipped the latch on you,” you joked.

Then, John Price stepped into your small space, and you got an up-close view of those mountainous shoulders of his. He smelled like his cigars and the sun. It was the outside scent of the warmth that clung to his skin that drew you in. He was peering down at you, watching you step in front of him as you let him through. For a moment, you breathed the same breath together, and you were so close, if you just tilted your head… your mouths might just…

“You might be right, love,” he chuckled, pulling you from your stunned state, taking the key from your hand, “Two days ago, I could’ve sworn I turned off the bath water, but it was running, full-on, in the middle of the night.”

“Spooky!” You laughed in shock, trying to cover up your flustered, pink cheeks with a casual laugh.

“Damn right. Anyway, thanks for this,” he nodded at you and returned to the patio.

Two days later, your washing machine went out, and you were borrowing his. The same song and dance kept happening between you. You’d slide in past the other, sharing that same charged breath, and then you’d laugh it off.

This time, it was the basket of clothes that saved you.

“C’mon in, love. Washer’s there. Opposite side of yours, I’d expect,” he pointed to the old machine.

“Yep,” you nodded, tossing in the load of clothes, “Thanks for letting me use yours for now. The guy said he’d be here for repairs tomorrow.”

“No harm done. But, uh…” he paused, smiling knowingly, “Don’t forget these.”

You watched as he bent to pick up a particularly skimpy romper that you slept in recently. It was white and pale blue with little bows on the straps. He dropped it in the wash as it filled with water, and you thought you heard the faintest laugh under his breath.

“Want to watch a bit of telly while you wait for them?” He invited you deeper into the house, “Could pour you some wine, or we could call out for Chinese?”

If you stayed here one more moment, you were going to try to kiss this man, and you had to do everything you could to stop yourself,

“Oh, I’ve got some work I’m doing. Thank you though. I’ll be back in a half-hour or so?” You backed out of the hallway like a crawfish, trying to escape.

“C’mon. Take a break for a bit. You work too hard…” he purred, sinking into his sofa and patting the seat next to him invitingly.

You shrugged, push-over that you were, and relented,

“Sure, it can wait.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No.”

“Just watching Top Gear. That alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting back gingerly in the sofa, feeling his body heat radiating along your left side.

The show was playing, but you heard none of it. You couldn’t recall a single thing that happened. Something about men in cars? All you knew was how deeply your neighbor was breathing beside you. You knew the smell of his detergent, filling the air of his apartment, borrowed and blue, the suds of which were mingling into your clothes, making you smell as he smelled. How his sheets must smell.

He was just sitting there, stock-still, but you could tell he was not watching the show either. He didn’t laugh when the audience laughed, he didn’t speed through commercials, and he was looking at you. It was subtle. He hadn’t even turned his head, but his eyes were on you, staring down your top. You’d just registered what you were wearing now, too late. You’d come over braless, in a tank top, those same hot pink almost-nothing shorts, and mismatched socks, scrunched at the ankles.

Eons passed like this. The show kept playing, and you kept wanting, with every fiber in your being, to crawl over this man’s lap and crush your body to his, begging him to fuck you. It had been so long since anyone had even pretended to want to.

But, you didn’t move. You wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper, would it? Not while you were still in a relationship. Not while he was going to be your neighbor, perhaps permanently. So, you didn’t react.

You did, however, test his resolve.

You uncrossed your legs and tucked them, criss-cross on the couch, spreading your thighs wide apart. You shifted as you did so, slyly pulling your top down just a little bit further, knowing your left strap had a nasty habit of falling off your shoulder. Like a charm, it did.

You pretended not to notice, and you watched as he very much did.

His hands spread wide and his palms ran flush across the denim of his jeans, down his legs, sweating, perhaps. His breathing quickened, and he now was very obviously staring down your shirt, his gaze pinned to your breasts.

Suddenly brave, you looked up at him, and he didn’t shy away. He wasn’t ashamed. He simply met your eyes, took one of his fingers, and - as lightly as he could - dragged the strap back into place, swallowing hard against his enormous, scruffy Adam’s apple.

You were still watching him, looking up into his face. You licked your lips, and his eyes went straight to them. You could almost taste his desire.

Then, the buzz of the washing machine shocked you. It rang out through the whole house, and you rose to change it over. When you thought it was safe, you snuck a peek at the couch and its owner. He was still sitting there, but his hand had moved to his crotch, and he very clearly needed to readjust himself. Luckily, you were mostly out of his view, but you stored that mental image for later.

“Hey,” you called out, “Can I borrow your bathroom?”

“Sure. Loo’s down the hall,” he called back.

You ducked into the small room and flipped on the light, staring at yourself in the mirror and reminding yourself that he was your neighbor, you had a boyfriend (no matter how absent), and you needed to get it together.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

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leezlelatch · 1 year ago

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Comfort From The Eldest

This is something I've had in my drafts forever. It was written after I had a really harsh interaction with a coworker, and I hope that it provides the same level of comfort to you as it did for me when I was having difficulties. Female reader. Fluff, comfort, protective papas.

Primo

You almost feel ridiculous for being upset. It’s not like you did anything. It was the other party. But you feel awful. Every part of that conversation is ringing in your head and won’t let go. Someone took their anger out on you because they were hurting, you realize that. You know they didn’t actually mean it, but you can’t help the hurt that’s sitting in your gut like a rock.

You sigh as you sink into Primo’s preferred chair in his little observatory. His telescope sits mounted beside it, eye toward the heavens. Maybe you should take a peak. Look at something beyond you, bigger than you, to make your problems seem smaller than they are.

“Petal?” Primo’s deep voice echoes through the space, startling you.

You look up to see him standing inside the doorway. He holds a book to his side, his other hand carrying a cup of tea which steams into the air. His reading glasses sit perched on his hooked nose. He isn’t wearing his paints, his wrinkled and hawk-like features on display for your weary eyes. Primo’s beauty is a balm.

“I am surprised to see you here, sweet petal, but nonetheless delighted,” he continues, sweeping into the room to set his cup down on a pretty flower doily on the surface of his desk. “It does an old man’s heart good to see his preziosa.”

“I like it here…this is your space,” you say softly.

“You know you are welcome at all-,” he pauses as he turns away from his desk, his eyes sweeping over your form.

“What happened?” His tone has changed immediately. It’s sharp, coiled, ready to strike.

“What do you mean?” You try to laugh it off, your lips curling into a smile, but to your own ears it sounds hollow.

Primo moves toward you in a way that sends a shiver straight down your spine. It’s quick, straight, so unlike his usual unhurried gait brought on by age. He kneels beside the chair with no more than a small huff and takes your hands, his eyes searching yours. The white of his left eye looks narrowed, as if it sees more than you can comprehend.

“You look so sad, amore mio. Your Papa may be old, my darling, but he is not blind. I know every tick of that beautiful face.”

Your eyes burn and you try to look away, but long fingers capture your chin, keeping your gaze. Primo’s expression melts into a soft smile, his fingers sliding up to trace the curve of your cheek. You immediately crumble and tell him everything, the former Papa wildly attentive. He squeezes your hand when you begin to choke up, he nods along with your words, and he never interrupts you.

Primo pats your legs when you finish, “Up, petal,” he says, waiting for you to move so he can sink down into his chair with a soft groan. He holds out his arms and you gently fall into his lap. He nuzzles into the side of your head for a moment before reaching out toward his telescope.

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. He peaks into the lens, adjusting it here and there before a satisfied “ah!” leaves his lips. “There we are, petal, look here.”

You look at him for a moment, his smile encouraging, before you look through the lens. You see a beautiful star, shining in the sky, likely thousands of light years away.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, smiling at him.

“It’s you,” he says. “I named it after you. After my brightest star, who brings me happiness beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Who is kind, loving, and clever. Unfortunately, she has to put up with un vecchio coglione.”

“Oh, hush,” you laugh through a fresh bout of tears. “Primo…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his lips.

“I love you,” you say.

“And I love you. Now…tell me who this…bastardo was again?”

Secondo

Secondo sits wearily at his desk, gazing down at the report from the recent restoration project of artifacts found within an abbey in the mountains of Italy which possibly point to an early Satanic organization the current institution can draw roots from. The name Emeritus appears on a portrait of a man dressed in a bastardized version of medieval Catholic vestments, and Secondo is heading the preservation and research project to determine whether the man is an ancestor of the Emeritus line or if the name merely signifies the man's retired position.

A hesitant knock on his door tumbles Secondo from his thoughts and he gazes with a heavy brow at the dark oak, willing it not to open, but after several seconds, the knock comes again, and he blows out a breath between his teeth in frustration.

"Enter."

The door creaks open, and Secondo need only see the sleeve of your sweater before his body is relaxing, a pleased smile crossing his features as you come further into view, peeking behind the door with those eyes which captivate him wholly, and that mischievous little smile the man greatly enjoys kissing from your face.

"Enter? That tone says otherwise," you tease, slipping into the room and shutting the door firmly behind you.

Secondo harrumphs, tilting his head back a little, pinning you to the spot with his heavy gaze that never fails to send a thrill shooting from your heart to...well, other more enjoyable places.

"Perhaps I do not wish to be disturbed, la mia piccola interruzione," he says.

The shining look in your eyes is snuffed out in an instant, your body growing taut with anxiety. He watches with muted horror as you practically curl into yourself, your feet already moving you back toward his office door, your hands wringing fretfully in front of you.

"Am I really disturbing you? I'm so sorry, Papa," you say in a tone Secondo never wishes to hear again. Full of diffidence and self-doubt.

His chair hits the wall behind him when he stands up, his robes fluttering around his form as he quickly rounds his desk. Fingers desperately reach for you, a panicked look in the usually stoic Papa's eyes as he draws you into his embrace, his hands cradling your head to his chest for a moment before he's tilting it back, his palms smoothing back your hair while he searches your gaze for any hint to your distress. Your façade quickly crumbles, tears springing to your eyes, and you attempt to turn from him, but Secondo's hands hold fast, not allowing you to break from his gaze, from his hold.

He would hold you forever.

"Tell me. Tell me, il mio tutto. What has happened? You know I would never," Secondo pauses and sighs, closing his eyes. "I must be more mindful of my words. You are not just a Sibling or a member of the Clergy, you are my life. Perdonami."

"It's okay, Seco, I'm just being ridiculous," you say with a tearful grimace, shrugging your shoulders as you look to the side.

Secondo makes a low hum, drawing you even closer, wrapping the heavy cloth of his chasuble around you. You are immediately enveloped in his warmth and his scent, your head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He keeps you near, quietly, for a moment, gently swaying as a torrent of thoughts passes his mind. He sighs softly and shifts so you are looking into his eyes once more.

"You, amore mio, are not ridiculous. You are the very joy in my heart. You are the warmth of the sun on my skin. I should not speak to you in any manner but that of love," he says.

Your brow furrows for a moment and then clears, realization dawning in your eyes, "Oh, Secondo, I'm not upset over what you said. I mean, yes, I was afraid I was disturbing you, but that's...someone upset me earlier. I was already feeling unwanted anyway, and..."

Secondo's pupils narrow and he cocks his head to the side, a cold smile spreading his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Come, dolcezza," he guides you to sit in the chair before his desk. "Sit here, and tell your Papa exactly who hurt you and where to find them."

“I love you, but that won’t solve anything,” you sigh, settling into the chair. Secondo sits on the arm, towering over you and creating a blanket with his presence. He reaches out a hand to idly play with your hair while gazing down at you with an unreadable expression, his jaw clenching.

“What I need to solve is this issue you have brought to my attention. That you believe you are unwanted,” Secondo shivers at the thought, his hand falling to your shoulder and gripping it as if to keep him anchored. “I have done you a great disservice, and I have failed you as a partner in not addressing this sooner.”

You surge forward to protest, but Secondo silences you by cradling the back of your head and pushing you into his lap, resting your head against his thigh as he continues to speak. “I love you. Perhaps I do not say it enough, but I have never known such happiness other than the precious moments we have spent together. You have given an old man hope. I want you. I need you. I think about you and crave your touch when we are not together. I ache to hold you, to look into your beautiful eyes, that sweet face. Please, amore mio, my everything, do not think you are unwanted. I am nothing without you.”

You take in a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his chasuble, as you whisper your love to him in a voice thick with tears. Secondo cups your chin and lifts your head from his lap, his smile soft, but eyes sharp as a knife.

“Now, be a good girl and tell your Papa where to find the fool who hurt il mio tesoro?”

“What if it’s my own brain?” You ask with a weak laugh.

Secondo leans down to place a featherlight kiss to your lips. “Then I will fight it with patience, love, and the stubbornness of an old man.” He winks. “I’ve been fighting mine for years.”

#the band ghost #Papa Emeritus I #Papa Emeritus II #primo emeritus #secondo emeritus #primo x female reader #papa emeritus i x female reader #secondo x female reader #papa emeritus ii x female reader #comfort fic #the band ghost fanfiction

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howlingmod · 2 years ago

Text

Are you bored yet?

summary ; human/actors au again ... reader is a local clay worker that Wally may or may not like just a teeny bit. meetcute coric ..

notes ; they/them used for reader , not proof read and just a teeeny tiny bit rushed (i am sleepy) . glass breaks but there is no violence or anything ..

wc - 2k

He really should’ve been more careful, looking back on it now.

Yes, it’d been a while since he’d gotten that vase and set it down, but, really, for walking past it every single day, he should’ve realized how precariously it sat on the table. He should’ve realized that sooner or later, he was going to be too tired to remember to give it some space when he walked back into his apartment. Unfortunately, however, he did not in fact realize that in time. And so, he is tragically faced with the terrible fate of going and buying a new vase. Perhaps this time, he will not place it so precariously. Perhaps this time he will buy a thicker one that has less chances of shattering into one-thousand tiny pieces in the dark at around 10pm on a Thursday. He had much to think about in his journey of replacement.

Luckily, for as long as he’d had the vase, he could still vaguely recall where he’d gotten it from. It was some pottery store he’d randomly passed by once just outside of the city, curiousity (and fatigue, if he remembers right, it’d been an eventful day and he was still too jittery to lay down quite yet) getting the better of him when he’d noticed it. The owners were nice enough, an older couple who he could recall telling him long-winded stories about anything tangentially related to what he’d been looking at. Plates with flowers painted on them prompted a story about some unidentified, gorgeous plants one of them had seen around a river long ago. A cup with an oceanic color-scheme had prompted a tale of a seagull one of their previous coworkers would feed bits and pieces of bread to on their break. So on, so forth. Long winded for anyone passing through, but pleasant for someone just tired enough to want white noise and easy, one-sided conversation.

Getting into his car, he wondered if they’d have any stories to tell him this time. He would likely be better conversation this time, now that he was less exhausted from being around other people for a long, exciting period of time and more tired from waking up at some time before 11am on a rare free day. He found himself gathering excitment somewhere in his chest, bubbling up in fondness at the idea of this little trip. Sure, it was just a silly little thing to be excited over, but it was nice to have a break from monotony, wasn’t it?

It was a nice day out, too. The breeze forgiving and the sun sociable in the sky, bright rays easily negotiated to peace with sunglasses. It’d been a while since he’d ventured out of the city. Sure, it’s not as though he lived in the heart of it, but it was still different to see the buildings like miniatures from afar. It was a nice break from the towering skyscrapers and heavy traffic. Especially the traffic, actually. He’d never been good with handling bad drivers.

There wasn’t anyone else in the parking lot, only one or two other cars there, likely the owner’s or someone in a closeby building’s. There were a few other businesses dotted around in the area, some strip mall closeby and a park on the way there. He was likely just early, there probably aren’t many people stopping to buy pottery at 9am.

The inside of the store was quiet enough, music playing softly enough you had to pay attention to the murmurs to pick up on it. The lights shone on everything, not blindingly as much as it was in gentle awareness of everything. As his eyes refocused, he could’ve sworn he seen a vague shape duck into a doorway near the back of the store. Before he could properly investigate his suspicions, his attention was drawn away.

“Well, I was wondering when the resident celebrity was coming back!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, turning to face his company. “I hope I’m not intruding, it seems I’m rather early this time.”

The older woman he recognized from his previous visit smiled and shook her head, “Much earlier, I’m glad to see the cold night didn’t drag you in this time.”

He returned the smile, pushing his hands into his pants pockets as he replied, “Oh no, I was actually coming to look and see if you had any new vases in.”

She’d lit up at his words, straightening up with intent to lead him off, “Of course! We’ve got plenty of new ones in since last time, I’m sure we can find one to your liking.”

“-turns out, that hammering I thought I’d heard from the neighbors had just been a big woodpecker all along!”

He’d smiled fondly, “Ah! You don’t see many of those around here, do you?” He was careful to keep a good grip on the vase in his hands, decorated in an intricate scene of a forest dotted with various birds. From the minute details on every pine needle and carved indents on certain elements, he could only imagine how long it’d taken to make.

“No, no you don’t,” she’d laughed, shaking her head as she looked back to the shelf filled to the brim with other, equally eye-catching vases. He’d studied the one in his hands a moment longer, carefully tracing over the carving of texture in a tree before perking up at a new sound.

A soft ‘clink’ had snapped him out of his thoughts. Initially, he’d figured the old woman had picked up a new piece to show him, but found she was still studying the selection herself. He’d turned around quickly, curious to see if anyone else had stopped in, but the store was empty. That was when his eyes caught that doorway again, vaguely making out the shape of shelving in the darkened hall. On that shelving sat one vase, darkness obscuring the pattern of it.

“Why put that one piece there?”

The woman had snapped out of her own thoughts, looking back at him momentarily before following his gaze to the pot patiently sitting in the shade. Upon noticing the object of his attention, she’d smiled once more and turned back to him, “Our resident potter puts their finished work there so we can price it and set it out.”

That had caught his attention. “Resident?”

“Oh yes! While we do get a fair amount from other sources, just as fair an amount is homemade,” she hummed, “Would you like to meet them?”

He’d readjusted his hold on the vase again, not wanting to risk another work in his excitement, “If that wouldn’t be a bother.”

She shook her head, “I’m sure it’ll be quite alright, chances are they would appreciate the conversation, artist-to-artist.”

Before he could offer any sort of further fret, she’d started off towards the hall, leaving him to stand awkwardly with the glassware on his lonesome. He’d glanced at the large cardinal on the surface of the piece one final time before hurriedly (and carefully) placing it back on the shelf, jumping to catch up.

It was far darker back here than it had been in the main area of the store. Combined with the noticable increase in temperature, however, it was more comfortable than you would’ve imagined. Through the shade he could pick out calenders, notes and other miscellanious papers littered along walls and desks. Half-dirtied rags were scattered on shelves, various bottles standing not far from them nor the different tools lying about. Before he could even try and dissect what their uses would be by simple observing and guessing, the woman spoke up again.

“I hope you don’t mind some company, (Name),” she chimed, speaking just a tad louder to properly catch attention in all the visual noise.

With that, he’d finally noticed the figure standing in front of a tall table near the middle of the room, turning their head to look towards her. Their eyes flicked to him momentarily in what he could only assume was surprise. They’d straightened up from their hunched over position, wiping their hands off on a dirtied apron as they walked around the table and towards the pair.

Oh no.

They’d opened their mouth to start talking to her, but he couldn’t pick up on any of it. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was focusing on, he just knew that he was particularly distracted by the person in front of him and it wasn’t exactly getting any better the more and more he zoned out. He couldn’t make out every detail perfectly in the low-lighting, but it was enough that he could very, very easily tell this person was very, very attractive.

“-so you’re that one guy on tv?”

“Yes!” He flinched as he snapped out of his thoughts, “Wally Darling, but just Wally is more than fine.”

You’d smiled and for a brief moment he had to hope and pray his wasn’t too dopey and the low light hid the heat in his face as you stuck your hand out. There was a brief moment your smile faltered, as though suddenly realizing something, but it wasn’t a fast enough reaction as he’d snatched up your hand. Your hands were, similarly to the rest of the room, noticably warmer. They were also noticably sticky with clay, some already drying out on your skin as the rest, inevitably, would likely dry to his.

“And could I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” You looked like you were stuck between apologizing for getting the blood of your work on him and introducing yourself, glancing between him and your hands for a few moments. He vaguely realized this was probably a bit long for a handshake. Eventually, you managed a weak smile, righting your grip on his hand, “(Name).”

“That’s a very lovely name,” he stated plainly, hoping you could pick up on the sincerity in his flatter tone, “How long have you been working with ceramics, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You’d perked up at that, seemingly completely forgetting about the handshake (that was still yet to properly break apart, this was definitely not a proper one, anymore) with the topic of your work. “Well, that’s a bit of a difficult question. I’ve been working with clay for a long, long time, but I really only picked it up career wise a year or two ago.”

“Ah! That figures, your work is all very professional looking, it’s very impressive,” he complimented. Sure, he might’ve been laying it on a little thick, but it seemed as though he’d suddenly lost the ability to control his words, them tumbling out before he could even really think about it.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to mind, instead reaching up a hand to rub at the back of your neck. “Well, I don’t think my work is that stellar, but I really appreciate it. It uh- it definitely takes some time, it’s nice to see it goes to good use.”

“It’s nothing, really. If you don’t mind, could I watch for a bit? It’s completely fine if not, I really am just curious to see how you go about it.” Yes, he was definitely pushing his luck a little bit. In his defense, however, he was genuinely curious about how you managed to get all your vases so smooth and pack so many details onto such a small, unconventional canvas. It was just an added bonus that he’d possibly get to find out more about you, that was all! He can’t help the mysterious potter he hadn’t even known existed was not only nice on the eyes but, so far, was nothing short of pleasant.

You’d thought on it a moment, moving the hand at the back of your neck to hang at your jaw absentmindedly, “I suppose that would be fine by me, I can’t promise it’ll be too entertaining though.”

He smiled and shook his head, “Not a problem at all! I’m sure I can find enough entertainment for the both of us, I am an entertainer myself, after all.”

You returned his smile, finally letting go of his hand and breaking off your entirely-professional handshake to turn and head back to your workstation, “Well, make yourself comfortable, then.”

"Oh, trust me, that won't be any problem at all."

#wally darling x reader #welcome home x reader #mod writes #i dont actually know anythign about ceramics i just thought of this While Doing ceramics . sorry to all the clay fans out there ..

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epkcoworking · 1 year ago

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Comparing Chennai's Work Culture: Plug-and-Play Offices and Coworking Spaces

In the vibrant city of Chennai, professionals and businesses seeking versatile work environments encounter two prominent options: plug-and-play office space and coworking spaces. Understanding the nuances between these setups is essential for individuals and organizations striving to align their workspace with their operational needs and culture.

Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Chennai, a bustling hub of innovation and business, hosts a variety of workspaces tailored to the dynamic needs of professionals and organizations. Among these, plug-and-play offices have emerged as a game-changer, offering instant functionality and flexibility in prime locations across the city.

Features of Plug-and-Play Offices in Chennai

Strategic Locations: Positioned strategically in areas like T. Nagar, Guindy, and OMR, plug-and-play offices offer accessibility and convenience, situated in the heart of Chennai's business districts.

Ready-to-Use Infrastructure: These offices come fully furnished and equipped, boasting ready-to-use amenities such as desks, chairs, high-speed internet, and essential IT infrastructure. This setup ensures immediate functionality upon occupancy, eliminating the hassle of setting up an office from scratch.

Flexibility in Leasing: One of the key attractions of plug-and-play offices is their flexible leasing options. Businesses can opt for short-term leases, enabling them to scale their workspace up or down based on evolving needs, without being tied down by long-term commitments.

Cost-Efficiency: Ideal for startups and small businesses, coworking office space in Thousand Lights and plug-and-play offices in Chennai offer cost-effectiveness by eliminating initial setup costs. This allows companies to allocate resources strategically without the burden of substantial upfront expenditures.

Advantages:

Immediate Functionality: Plug-and-play offices offer quick operational readiness, ensuring immediate functionality for focused work.

Privacy and Control: These spaces provide autonomy and privacy, suitable for individual tasks or team-based operations, allowing businesses to control their environment.

Disadvantages:

Limited Networking: The private nature might limit networking and collaboration opportunities compared to more communal setups.

Potentially Higher Costs: While upfront costs are lower, long-term expenses might be higher compared to shared spaces due to individualized infrastructure.

Coworking Spaces in Chennai

Key Features:

Coworking spaces, thriving in locales like Alwarpet, Nungambakkam, and Teynampet, foster collaboration and community spirit with these defining characteristics:

Community-Centric Environment: Open spaces encouraging interaction, networking, and skill-sharing among diverse professionals.

Flexible Amenities: Varied facilities such as shared workspaces, meeting rooms, and networking events accommodating different professional needs.

Diverse Network: Attracting freelancers, remote workers, entrepreneurs, and established companies, fostering a melting pot of ideas and collaborations.

Advantages:

Networking and Collaboration: Coworking spaces offer an environment conducive to networking and collaboration, facilitating idea exchange and skill enhancement.

Resource Sharing: Access to diverse amenities and resources enhances productivity, providing a supportive and well-equipped work environment.

Disadvantages:

Potential Distractions: The open layout might lead to distractions for individuals requiring focused work, impacting productivity.

Limited Privacy: Shared spaces might not suit those needing greater privacy or confidentiality for sensitive work or discussions.

Choosing the Ideal Workspace

Selecting between plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Chennai demands consideration of several factors:

Work Culture Preference: Determine the preferred work environment—private and focused or collaborative and open.

Budget and Long-Term Goals: Evaluate short-term cost-effectiveness versus long-term scalability and expenses.

Networking Needs: Assess the importance of networking and collaboration opportunities in professional growth.

Conclusion

Chennai's workspace offerings encompass plug-and-play offices and coworking spaces in Mount Road catering to diverse professional needs. Comprehending the distinctive features, benefits, and limitations of each empowers individuals and businesses to make informed decisions aligned with their operational dynamics, work culture, and growth aspirations."

#coworking office space in Mount Road #coworking space Nungambakkam #coworking space in Thousand lights

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davnittbraes · 4 months ago

Text

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Word Count: 1500

Warnings, etc.: descriptions of a panic attack, claustrophobia, annoying coworkers, brief description of desire for self-amputation due to shitty footwear, mention of cotton-poly blend clothing

Reader-insert physical descriptors: nothing in this chapter but hair long enough to tangle fingers in/comb fingers through in future chapters, just in case that’s not your jam

Notes: this is for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge, I got Stuck in an Elevator with Dieter Bravo (something I wish I could actually say happened to me irl 😅) It was only supposed to be a couple thousand words for a fun writing challenge but here I am, splitting it into multiple parts, because as with everything I write it’s taken on a life of its own and has become impossible to control. Everyone hang on, I have no idea where this ride will end. Let’s go 💃🥳

There’s a headache forming at the back of your head - no, right between your eyes - nope, it’s both.

A band of pain slowly throbbing to life, wrapping your skull in the weight of ten consecutive hours of socializing with people you’d just met two days ago.

Fucking. Perfect.

This conference is going to kill you.

It’s the first time you’ve attended, and you’re definitely not coming back next year. Despite what looked like a robust presentation itinerary, the whole vibe seems to be less of an educational event and more of an excuse to spread gossip, get intoxicated to the point of obliteration, and rack up charges on company credit cards.

Who knew clinical pharmacists were such party animals.

It’s just not your scene. You’d rather be back in the hospital, consulting with other medical practitioners, patients, generally helping people, instead of shooting tequila at 3am in the VIP section of some poorly lit club you’ve never heard of.

Sighing, you shift your feet as you wait for the elevator. This pant suit feels stuffy, the cotton-poly blend scratching your skin. The shoes that look so good with your outfit are pinching your pinky toes in a way that makes you want to cut them off and be done with it. If it wasn’t for those damn pinky toes, you’d be taking the stairs - much more preferable anyway, elevators made you uncomfortable.

You’ve never liked them, always hated the inability to just get out whenever you wanted to, the need to rely on something out of your control to give you a chance to escape. And there was always the threat, the possibility that everything would fail, that the elevator would fall, plummet down and you’d be shattered into a dozen pieces.

But your feet might just rebel and call a mutiny if you try to force them up five stories.

So, elevator death-trap it is.

The hotel lobby is starting to fill up with people heading out for a night on the town, including some of your colleagues. They haven’t looked your way yet, but if they see you, they’ll definitely try to rope you into whatever shenanigans they’ve got planned for tonight.

Shit.

You push the elevator call button again, and once more for good measure.

Come on, come on, please -

The ding of the elevator pulls your attention, your aching feet moving even before the doors start sliding open, and you duck inside and out of view of the lobby.

Muzak and a soft golden light fills the small space. It’s welcome, quiet and soothing.

Leaning against the wall, you take a deep breath and let it out, eyes half closing with weariness as the doors start to slide shut. Almost there, a few floors and a dozen steps and then you can flop face forward on the double mattress your company had paid for.

The elevator stutters to a halt, doors sliding open again.

A groan almost slips out and you have to bite it back.

Fucking. Perfect.

The last thing you want right now is social interaction.

A man shuffles onto the elevator.

Your exhausted mind notes tiny details about him - the way his dark green crocs catch on the elevator door track, the frayed hem of his navy and red checked pajama pants, the bulky dark grey hoodie with the hood pulled low over his eyes so all you catch is a glimpse of plush lips twisted into a downturn. He’s carrying a couple reusable bags, well-used and wrinkled, whatever is in them clinking softly together.

He moves to the far corner and slumps against the wall, keeping his head down so you can’t even see his face anymore.

A curl of apprehension mingles with relief in the pit of your stomach.

Okay, well, you didn’t want someone who would talk your ear off on your way to your floor but you’re also not particular on sharing an elevator ride with someone obviously attempting to hide their features.

Whatever. It’s less than a minute to the floor.

The elevator doors slide shut. And nothing happens.

What -

Shit.

The elevator’s broken, you’re stuck in here -

No no no -

Your chest tightens instantly, every muscle in your body drawing up in panic.

This is it, exactly what you’ve been dreading, this elevator has stopped, and there is no escape, and -

Oh.

You didn’t push the button for your floor.

Embarrassment prickles along your skin and you lean forward, punch the number six with your thumb, probably a little too forcefully.

The man in the corner doesn’t move, but social convention prompts you to ask anyway. “What floor?”

“Hmm?” His voice is low, smooth, slightly detached as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. “Oh, yeah. I -“

He shifts the bags in his hands, digs into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a hotel room key card. Fingers fumbling, he steps toward the elevator buttons, hesitating just a moment before he holds the card up to the reader at the top of the keypad while pressing the button for the penthouse. The button illuminates and he quickly steps back into the corner, shoving the card back in his pocket.

His free hand tugs his hood lower over his face. “Hate those things, radio frequency waves or whatever. What’s wrong with old-fashioned keys?”

The last word clips off hard, as if he just realized he was speaking and regretted it.

Confusion blooms, and you keep your gaze forward, your expression blank.

Who is this man?

Dressed like he had just rolled out of bed, huddling in the corner of the elevator, trying not to be seen while rambling about radio frequency waves on his way to the penthouse suite?

Mentally shaking yourself, you focus on watching the numbers flash on the floor indicator above the elevator door.

Doesn’t matter who this weirdo is. Just get back to your room and try to forget about this entire day.

The steady, rhythmic white glow of the numbers is comforting, in some way. A reliable beat, marking the path to the solitude you’ve been craving all day.

The elevator shudders to a stop.

Silence.

You wait.

The door doesn’t budge. Nothing moves.

Above your head, the lights flicker, then steady. Still.

The silence is too heavy, too much, it’s not right.

It’s actually happened, now.

The elevator has stalled, and you’re stuck in it.

Panic, hot and sharp, wells up in the back of your throat, and it takes effort to swallow it down.

Breathe. Deep breaths.

It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

These things happen all the time.

Think it through. Use that technique from therapy - work through the next steps instead of focusing on the panic threatening to overwhelm you.

The hotel will have someone on staff to fix it - they must, a five star hotel this size? For sure they do. They have to.

They have to.

It won’t be long, maybe a bit longer if the - what are they called? - elevator maintenance person, whatever, is on a break.

But it’s nowhere near a meal time, the Whatever Person is probably not on a full break, maybe just a fifteen or something.

Yeah, okay. So once they get done their break they’ll -

“Are you freaking out? Because you look like you’re freaking out.”

The question whips through your anxiety, yanks you out of your thoughts and you sway a little, dizziness making the elevator tip as it comes back into view.

Trapped trapped you’re never getting out

“Whoa hey you - hold on -“

A hand grasps your shoulder, presses your back against the wall of the elevator.

The air is thin, it’s hard to fill your lungs and you can’t -

breathe -

“Breathe -“

Muffled voice, deep, speaking quickly, syllables skimming the surface swells of panic, pulsing in your mind with the same rhythm as your heartbeat.

It’s too fast, too loud, can’t breathe -

The world slants suddenly, your feet stumble to adjust. Heart pounding, hard, it hurts -

It’s happening, the elevator is dropping -

Too fast too loud -

It’s falling -

No you’re falling -

Crashing -

Landing on something solid but yielding -

Warm -

Your fingers grip, squeeze, hold tight. Time blinks, once, twice.

Panic freezes.

Hands. You feel hands on your body.

Large hands, soothing, gentle.

One on your back, resting between your shoulderblades, warmth seeping through your clothing and into constricted lungs, loosening tension. The ache there lessens, lungs filling.

The other hand cups the back of your head, thumb stroking small circles over your scalp. A tiny, almost insignificant motion, and it pulls your focus immediately.

Again and again, soft and soothing circles.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The white-heat of panic subsides, slowly pulling off of your senses and your thoughts run an inner monologue, a mantra, grounding you back into your own body.

In. Out. Good, just like that. How are your elbows so sharp? Ow.

Wait. It’s not an inner monologue, it’s -

The man. In the elevator with you.

It’s his words drawing you out of your panic, his hands on your body.

Fresh panic washes over you, your eyes flying open to see -

The stranger’s gaze, watching you closely, a rich, deep brown that makes your pulse skip.

Tousled brown curls falling over a brow creased with concern.

Full lips, drawn down at the corners, soft and plush and only inches from yours, parting slightly, and that voice, so beautifully comforting -

“Oh thank fuck you’re not dead.”

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #roll a trope challenge #teleportation and blue whiskey

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sleepdeprivedblond · 7 days ago

Text

In this one, Hero (she) and Villain (she) are childhood friends who turned into enemies. Hero works for The Bureau and can watch the past while Villain can travel to both the past and the future. Villain has seen things she cannot tell, but she keeps using the knowledge against Hero whenever she can.

Enjoy!!

_______________________________☆_____________________________

The Archives were empty. Thousands of shelves filled with books were everywhere, left unbothered in the constant silence that was not often broken.

Hero was roaming the alleys, shamelessly taking her time. She had come in uninvited, hiding from both security and her bosses. She would enjoy every second spent in this forbidden temple of knowledge.

The Bureau had sealed off the entrance, only granting it to highly trained travelers. And there were only a few of them, not mentioning that they had better things to do than to sit around and read, or so Hero assumed.

But she had not come for a book, nor for several of them.

No.

She had come for more important matters.

When Hero found the room she had been looking for, she wasted no time. She slipped inside and locked the door behind her. There was no world where she would allow anyone to disturb her.

The room looked like the rest of the place: filled with shelves and books. It was smaller, yet the corners were not visible, hidden in the darkness that Hero didn’t want to light up. The room itself was hidden in the back of the archives, just what she needed to be left alone.

There was a projector right in front of her.

Hero got closer and looked at the device. Even as a time-watcher, she could tell it was something old, very old. She liked old things and, despite the advice she had been given, she had learnt how to make it work.

So she did.

She found the small keyboard - which was only made of numbers - and began typing.

Hero had come here for a reason. She had not dodged her coworkers’ questions or gone out the backdoor for nothing. She had not faked a new mission to avoid classes and lied to her caretakers for nothing, either.

The projector she was typing on was the projector. It was an old artefact that showed recorded messages from all around time and space. Ancestors or fellow coworkers who had stood in front of the same teachers she had been getting advice from. Any of the past time-watchers could have left a message.

And today was Hero’s birthday.

The projector seemed to click in place under her fingers and she let go. Light got out of the device, landing on the opposite wall.

Hero sat down and waited. Her eyes were getting used to the darkness around her as well as the harsh light that emanated from the projector. She did not care about anything else, anymore.

Hero still remembered what it had felt like to hear about this machine. Her teachers and advisors had all mentioned it the same week, and she had quickly grown obsessed with it. It was a projector that would play recorded messages from all over History. Time-travellers had not been to a lot of periods, but time-watchers had - at least in their own way. And many many days had a corresponding message engraved within it, sometimes several. All one needed to be able to watch it was to know latin.

And Hero was the top of her class. It had been easy for her to enter the right date using latin numbers. All she was hoping for was that she could understand what the coded message would say. Maybe she would even recognize the speaker? She was growing so excited that breathing was getting harder and harder.

There was nothing at first. It was all white, almost transparent, like the background of the message had been made blurry on purpose.

But then the speaker appeared.

Hero recognized her immediately. She had dreamt of her face too much to forget.

It was Villain. She was looking around her with curiosity, like she was only discovering how the whole thing worked. But then, her eyes landed on where the recording was being made. She grinned, obviously satisfied.

Hero stood up. She could not bear to be sitting down in front of such a sight. She felt in danger, as though Villain could suddenly jump out of the projector itself and threaten the Agency’s beloved Archives.

But she did no such thing. She kept looking directly at Hero, and she shivered. Her grin was unbothered. The image flickered for a few seconds.

-Hello, Hero.

-Villain. She gritted her teeth.

When there was no answer, she swore under her breath. She could not hear her, of course she could not. This was only a recording, nothing more.

That was when it struck her.

Wait.

Villain had gone to her birthday. She had typed in the right date, she knew she had. It was the original day, on the year she was born. Why had Villain gone there? Hero was still alive, still existing in her own timeline. Villain had not erased her, like she had feared she would so many times already.

So she kept waiting. If Villain had chosen to leave a message for her on this exact date, then the least she could do was to listen to her.

Villain kept staring at her through the projector, and Hero stared back. She took the liberty of observing who used to be her best friend. Her face was thinner, but her frame was not. It almost looked like she was sick, somehow. Before Hero could ponder more on it, Villain spoke:

-I knew you would come looking for answers on your own, although I have no idea when you will watch this.

-I thought you knew everything. Hero mumbled.

-I do know everything, mind you.

Hero felt cold sweat dripping down her back. She turned around, trying to see what was hidden in the darkness. But no sound came from the shadows, the only sound was her shallow breathing.

-Anyway. I suppose I only meant to wish you a happy birthday, so here I am. How old are you turning today?

Hero looked away. She could barely handle seeing Villain in real life, and having her displayed for her and her only felt too much. But, when the silence lingered, she looked up and saw that her old friend was waiting. Or it looked like she was, at least. She gritted her teeth before she sighed, defeated.

-I’m 23.

-How peculiar, Villain resumed talking, it seems like your tenth birthday was only yesterday.

Hero closed her eyes. She could not stand it, she was on the edge of diving into old memories. She had repressed many things, she was aware of that, she had intended to repress them. And she had no intention of getting reminded of good times she would probably never know again.

-I know you remember.

The projector suddenly clicked next to her. Hero turned to it, alarmed, and she saw that it was being worked over, like something was taking control. The light flickered again, but Villain’s image never disappeared. The keyboard clickety-clacked and Hero was left no time to try and understand what was going on, because the image had changed.

She saw herself. She was way younger, sitting at the kitchen table of her parents’ old house.

She looked happier than ever.

Hero felt her heart stop. Villain was nowhere to be seen on the image, and yet the pain that flowed through her entire being was worse than before.

It was her tenth birthday.

She was so young, so full of life and happy about the smallest things. Even with no sound, she could hear her parents singing her happy birthday song as they brought the huge cake in front of her. She saw her younger self laughing when her father kissed her on the cheek, when her mother put a party hat on her head. There were presents on the table next to her, and several kids seemed to be singing along. But one stood out.

Younger Villain got next to her younger self and clapped harder than everyone, laughed harder than the rest of the table when she finally blew her candles. She saw herself leaning toward the young Villain and whispering something in her ear, probably the wish she had made. She didn’t remember what it was.

-So long ago, yet so close in our timeline.

Villain came back on the screen. She could have looked the same, she could have been with her in the Archives and watched those memories with her. But everything was different, and nothing could ever give them those lost years back. Not that either wanted to switch sides.

-There is no point in remorse. You would be wasting your time thinking that regretting what happened could change anything.

Only then did Hero feel the streams of tears that went down her cheeks. She sniffed pathetically, already hating herself for allowing such a thing to happen.

It was long ago. She had to make peace with herself, she had to force her brain to understand that nothing would ever be the same. And if saving timelines and lives meant that she would never feel this happiness again, then so it was.

But she would not look at Villain again. She knew that she was still there, acting like she could see her when all she was looking at was a random point in space-time.

-Come on, you cannot be angry at me for showing you a good memory.

-I very much can. Hero spat despite herself, still not looking up.

-I only did you a favour.

-No you did not! You only meant to hurt me, because that’s the only thing you can and want to do when it comes to us and to what we could have been, you are nothing more than an obstacle and you-

-Had your bosses showed you this, you would not have reacted.

Hero managed to look back. The background was back to transparent. Villain was still there, still looking like she never should have. Since she had resumed talking, it only comforted her that she was not in the same room as her.

-I know you will see this, one day.

Villain reached out toward the point that was recording her message, as though to soothe Hero. But she could not stand it, that was her breaking point.

She hurried toward the projector and studied the keyboard, looking for the one key that would stop everything and turn off the device. Villain’s voice echoed behind her.

-And I know that it will take you even closer to the truth. To me.

Hero kicked the projector so hard that it crashed on the ground. The noise could have woken up the entire crew of security, had the door of the room been opened. Pieces of the device flew everywhere, hitting Hero’s arms and leaving burning traces there. But she couldn't care less about the pain, or about the damage she had caused.

All that mattered to her was that, when she looked up at the wall the image had been projected on, Villain had disappeared.

She ran out in the night, going back to what she knew.

#ao3 writer #write #writeblr #writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #friends to enemies #enemies to lovers #best enemies

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harry-on-broadway · 2 years ago

Text

The Last Line: Part Five

Part Five

Word Count: 5.2K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M

***

“It’s perfect.”

“Really?” Penny blinked. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Skylar said with a light laugh. “There are a couple of things we might want to move around, but this will be a very light edit. Great work, Penny.”

“Thanks,” Penny said, still in a state of shock. “I didn’t think it would be that good. I mean, I didn’t even think about it while I was writing. It was…” she searched for the right descriptor. “Word vomit, as gross as that sounds.”

“We often produce our greatest works when we give ourselves the space to say what we want to say without self-censoring. I wanted the articles in this series to come from the heart and that’s clearly where you pulled this from, Penny. I should have edits to you later this afternoon and we’re well on track to publish it tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good. I have a couple of calls but I can make time to review it this afternoon.” Penny paused on her way out of the room. “Thank you again. For giving me this opportunity. And for helping me. With everything.” She inhaled sharply, feeling tears prick in her eyes.

“I’m lucky to work with an incredible person like yourself, Penny,” Skylar said. “Helping you, guiding you, it’s my pleasure.”

Penny could feel the eyes of her newsroom on her during the brief walk back to her desk. In the weeks since her meltdown in the conference room, Penny’s coworkers had begun to treat with a newfound sense of respect. Darren had been asked to seek other work in its aftermath of the incident and Penny’s subsequent relationship with Skylar had the others viewing her as some sort of deity.

“Well?” Chloe asked as Penny slid into her desk chair.

“She loved it.”

“As I knew she would.”

“She said she thinks it’s going to run tomorrow morning.”

“So soon! Amazing!”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he’ll…?” Chloe didn’t need to finish her question.

“I don’t know.” Penny swirled her straw in her cup, trying to get a sip of the vanilla syrup that had gotten trapped underneath the layers of ice and coffee.

“Has he still been creeping?”

“Yes.” They hadn’t spoken since that night at her apartment and Harry continued to ignore every text and voicemail she left for him, but he was still lurking in her instagram stories. She’d started testing him, posting random and mundane shit like her morning coffee and the song she was currently listening to on Spotify. Regardless of whatever her story was, he was the first one to view it.

“And do you think he’ll take the bait?”

“I hope so! Otherwise I don’t know what I’ll do. I just –”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Chloe said, attempting to soothe Penny’s distress. “This is going to work. I promise you that.”

Hours later, Penny’s Slack app chimed with a note from Skylar saying that edits were ready for her to review. As promised, her suggestions were minimal and Penny cleared them all within a half hour. She knew legal and design and all of the other departments involved would need to sign off on their end before it could be official, but by 8am tomorrow, her words would be out in the world.

She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. She’s been through this hundreds of times before, but never had she shared something so personal with the hundreds (Or was it thousands?) of people who read the site everyday. It felt like she was giving a piece of her soul for public consumption. All in the hopes of winning back a man who never wanted to see her again.

She sighed and closed her laptop. “I’m going to head out,” she said to no one in particular, earning a handful of half-hearted acknowledgements from those who were scattered around her. In her car, she opened one of the playlists Harry had shared with her and pressed play. Feeling the music wash over her, she pulled out of the garage and drove home preparing for the most nerve-wracking night of her life.

***

August 17, 2019

The Start of Something New

By Penny Sanders

This coming November will mark one year since I joined the staff at The Moment and four years since I accepted my first, official, grown-up journalism job. Ahead of these personal milestones, I’ve been reflecting a lot on what it means to be a journalist, specifically one that covers the arts.

One of the main tenets of being a good journalist is objectivity. You’re there to present the facts in an unbiased way, calling out injustices and holding truth to power. Everyone learns that in their freshman mass comm class. But what they don’t tell you is how that rule isn’t always so cut and dry.

While I do a bit of everything when it comes to music coverage here at The Moment, my primary role has been that of a critic, reviewing concerts and albums and giving you my honest take on them. It’s a dream job for many, but it’s also one that has caused me a great deal of stress and anxiety over the years.

I’ve struggled to be harsh (even when a well-pointed criticism is deserved). I’ve struggled to hone a voice, oscillating between gushing fan girl and hardened veteran to appear as if I know what I’m talking about. And I’ve been a victim of intense (at times almost debilitating) imposter syndrome, second guessing that my opinions and ideas are even worth sharing.

But all that has changed in recent months as I’ve started to venture down a new professional path, chatting with and profiling newsmakers in this industry we all love. Sitting down for these interviews, I’ve always expected the cold formality that has long been associated with an industry presser – say your question and get your answer as quickly as possible, foregoing any sort of human interaction. Instead, what I found was a connection I never knew I had been looking for.

Recently, I had a chat with an artist who shall go unnamed. I’d reviewed their work before, and while I might have been fair in my assessment of their music, I wasn’t necessarily kind, something that I didn’t realize the impact of until we had a chance to speak face-to-face in an informal setting. As we spoke about our respective writing processes, I had a realization. We were one in the same. We found our way to an industry where everyone speaks the same language, found a pack to call home, and were creating the art we always wanted to, even if it was on opposite sides of the line. That conversation, along with subsequent others, really put into perspective the fact that you can’t separate the personal and professional when it comes to art, as a piece of you will always live inside your creation.

So, why am I rambling about this and forcing you to read it at 8am as you have your morning coffee? Because I’m making some changes starting today.

You’ll still see me around town and on the website reviewing concerts and albums (like I’d ever give that up!), but I’ll be expanding my coverage area as well. I’ll be chatting with some of the biggest names in the industry, cutting through the scripted BS and having real, human conversations about the thing we love most: music. I’ll also be sharing more personal essays about my own thoughts and feelings on the business of the day in an effort to start a conversation with you, our readers.

So, if you’re reading this (and hopefully you still are), what are you waiting for? Let’s chat. My schedule’s wide open.

***

Penny jolted awake at 6am the next morning. She had a couple of hours before she’d be able to share her article and put her plan into motion, so she took her time getting ready, blasting an early 2000s pop punk playlist while she did her makeup and drank her coffee. At precisely eight, she opened up The Moment’s website on her phone, grabbing the link to her article before navigating to Instagram.

She’d already preselected a photo – a throwback shot of her in one of her dad’s old concert tees, cheesing hard in front of a record store. She posted it to her story with a quick caption (Tried something new and got a little personal this morning) and a link to the piece. She watched the progress wheel fill as the story uploaded and when it was finished, she opened it again, instantly spotting Harry’s profile picture in the bottom left corner.

Distraction was essential to the next phase of the plan, so she tossed her phone in her bag, grabbed a thermos of coffee, and started the drive into the office. She could feel her phone burning a hole in her canvas tote, but she ignored it until she was seated at her desk. Her mom and one of her college roommates had replied encouragingly, but there was nothing from Harry.

Doug, the SEO coordinator, greeted her brightly as he made his way to his cubicle. “Already getting a lot of traffic on it. Great work!”

“Thanks.” She checked her phone again. Nothing.

There was an editorial meeting that morning, and then Skylar took her for a celebratory pastry from the bakery across the commons before Penny’s afternoon interview with a photographer. When she finally got to check her phone over lunch, there were tons of notifications, but as she scanned through them all there were none from Harry. In the middle of the afternoon slump, she saw an email come in from Jeff – it was a simple “Nice job!” Not the most encouraging thing, but if Jeff had read it, it was probably safe to assume Harry had as well.

Tom messaged her a little while later, a long and meandering note professing how proud he was of her and how great it was. The most interesting tidbit came at the end though. I think you’ll be surprised by the impact this has.

“What does that mean?” she asked, passing her phone to Chloe.

“I don’t know, that you’re the voice that will define our generation?”

“Be serious.”

“I honestly don’t know! On the surface, it seems like a general ‘this is going to resonate with a wide audience’ comment, but maybe on a deeper level he’s talking about…you know.”

“But that’s not your first instinct.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Damn it.”

“Pen, it’s OK. We know he saw your post and that’s a start. Maybe he hasn’t had time to sit and read it but will later today or something.”

“Maybe…”

That night as Penny left the office, her head was somewhere else, deep in a daydream of what it would have been like if her plan had worked. Harry would have been outside her door with a cup of coffee and a bouquet of flowers. There would have been a kiss and maybe a little something else, but most importantly she’d have her friend back. Her eyes were on the ground, so it was the loafers and socks that she saw first.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?” she yelped, her heart racing.

“I didn’t know how else to find you.” Harry stood sheepishly slouching against her car door, wide-leg trousers slung low on his hips, bowling shirt unbuttoned just a little too far.

“You could have come inside the building for starters? Or texted me? I know your phone is still working Mr. Instagram lurker.”

“You knew that was me?”

“It was pretty fucking obvious to anyone that knows you. And we had a bunch of mutuals including Tom, Jeff, and Mitch.”

“Fuck, I thought I was being a little more low key.”

“Sorry.” Penny shifted uncomfortably. “So-” She was interrupted by boisterous laughter from a group making their way to a group of cars one lot over.

“Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private to talk?” Harry asked. “If you’re comfortable with that?”

“Um, yeah that would be great. Do you want me to drive?”

Harry nodded affirmatively. “I bummed a ride off of Jeff so I am currently without transport.”

“Jeff’s a good friend. I would have made you hitchhike.”

Harry snickered as he opened the passenger door and slid in.

“Do you mind if we make a stop?” Penny asked as she pulled out onto the main road.

“Not at all.”

“Good. I have a tradition after I publish an article.”

“What’s that?”

“An In-and-Out milkshake. Do you want one?”

“Chocolate, please.”

Penny cruised through the drive-thru, grabbing the milkshakes as Harry tried to go unnoticed beside her. Ice cream in hand, she continued driving until they made it back to her apartment.

“This is about as private as it gets,” she said, stirring the thick liquid with her straw. “We can stay in the car if you’d prefer.”

“No, let’s go in.”

Harry stayed two steps behind Penny as she climbed out of the car and unlocked her front door. He followed her lead, taking his shoes off and sitting down on the couch. He took a sip of his milkshake and Penny mirrored his action. Neither was sure who should be the first to speak.

“I’m sorry,” Penny said, thawing the awkward chill that had settled between them. “I know that’s an empty word, especially between us, but I just need you to know that I regret how everything blew up. I have an explanation for it all but none of that matters when you were hurt by my actions.” She paused. “I really hope you forgive me, but I won’t ask you to, as what I did crossed a line.”

“I forgive you.” Harry said without hesitation. “And I would like to hear your explanation for what it’s worth.”

“Oh-kay.” Penny shifted, tucking her legs under her and turning to look at Harry more directly. “So you know how I’ve been trying to mix things up at work, write some more serious pieces? Well, it just so happened that Tom gave me one on a silver platter when he mentioned you were working on a new album. My intent was just to break some news, get a scoop that could show my editors that I could do it. But then I got to know you and you were telling me things that would have made for an amazing story and I just got carried away. I made the wrong choice to keep taking notes and working on this hypothetical story. Then Darren –”

“The asshole.”

“Yes, the asshole. He got involved and it spiraled out of control and things got complicated because of….” Penny trailed off, searching for the right word. “Us.” Penny looked up at Harry. “It’s important to me that you know I would have never published anything you told me after all of that. I value you as a person more than any sort of splashy article.”

Harry nodded slowly. His face was serene but his fingers were working overtime, twisting the ring on his finger at warp speed. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me like that but just seeing those notes you had…” He chewed on his lip and his eyes grew damp. “It used to be so hard to figure out when someone was using me and when someone just wanted me for me. But thankfully, I’ve become a pretty good judge of that. I thought you were one of the good ones so seeing that just made me really second guess not only what we had and how I felt about us but it made me question my judgment. Do any of my friends actually care about me? It was a rough time. I’m still working through some of that if I’m being honest.”

“I hate that I was the cause of that.”

“It was bound to happen eventually so don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said with a wry laugh.

“Well either way…I’m glad my selfish actions helped you grow? That feels weird to say.” Penny laughed. “Anyways, I’m happy we were able to clear the air. I much prefer talking to you face to face instead of watching you lurk on my Instagram stories.”

Harry laughed before placing his cup on the coffee table. “Speaking of talking…I actually did want to discuss something with you.” He cleared his throat.” “That night…the last time we saw each other…what you said? About why you couldn’t do that profile?”

“Mhmm.”

“What did you mean that you love me?”

Penny took a long sip from her drink, buying herself some time to think. “I hated you the first time we met and I don’t know why because I feel like you’re the only person to ever truly understand me. You know what I’m thinking before I say it, you see things in the same way as me, and you make me feel invincible. That day that you read that article that Darren killed…I felt so supported in a way that I haven’t really before, which is like weird to say because I have friends and family who care about me, but standing in that coffee shop with you holding my hand and telling me I was good at my job was something I never knew I needed. But once I had a taste of it, I knew I had to have it forever.” She finished speaking and looked at Harry, who had an indiscernible expression on his face. “That was a lot, I know but you–”

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was low, his question was tentative, and Penny couldn’t even be sure that was what he actually said, but she nodded anyway. At this point, she would have given him permission to do anything.

He approached her carefully, as if any sudden move would scare her away, cupping the back of her head with his hand and drawing her closer to him.

Their first kiss was nothing like Penny had imagined. In her dreams, she’d envisioned everything from a quick peck on the cheek after he walked her home, to a feverish, tongue laden precursor to fucking. In actuality, it was gentle, yet firm, and despite the simplicity of it, the gesture was charged with more emotion than any kiss she’d had before. She didn’t even realize how lightheaded she was until they broke apart and she found herself gasping for breath.

She met Harry’s eyes and exhaled. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

It was like the kiss had unleashed something lurking deep inside them both and Harry lunged towards her, pressing his lips against hers again and again and again, pushing her flat on the couch, the remnants of their milkshakes long forgotten. Penny tried to memorize every detail: the weight of his body against hers, the softness of his lips on hers, the silkiness of his hair as she ran her fingers through it. She tried to stay in the moment, but the sensation of his body rubbing against hers made it hard to not think about what would happen next.

“Ow!” Her head bumped uncomfortably against the arm of the couch as she slid down further.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, pulling back and checking her for any harm. His lips were swollen and his curls were disheveled. “What’s wrong?”

“I just bumped my head.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a little cramped here.” Penny swallowed. “My bed might be more comfortable. If you’d like to move there.”

There was a heavy pause and Penny prayed she hadn’t misread the moment. Harry’s eyes glazed over as he processed what she said. “Um, yeah, that’s great. Lead the way.”

Penny breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed off of her and helped her stand, keeping his hand entwined with hers as they made the brief journey to Penny’s bedroom. She backed him up into the room, and Harry fell back on the bed. Penny climbed astride him, kissing him again and again and again, and she ground her center against his growing erection.

They’d waited for what felt like forever, but when they had nothing but time in front of them, there was no need to rush, even as Penny felt herself grow wetter with touch and caress. As Harry sucked kiss after kiss from her lips, she realized she’d never really thought about how hot kissing could be. Maybe it was just that she’d never been properly kissed, something Harry was working hard to rectify.

Harry wound his fingers in her hair gently pulling her head back to expose the column of her throat. He nipped at the sensitive skin, sucking a kiss from it before soothing the spot with his tongue. He repeated the process up and down her neck until his fingers fell to the hem of her shirt.

“Is it OK if I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes,” Penny said, guiding his hands as they pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. She unhooked her bra as he tossed the shirt aside. Her bra followed leaving her naked from the waist up.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers up and down her side as his eyes took in every piece of her. “Come here.” He pulled her close and started kissing every inch of skin he could see. “So fucking beautiful.”

Penny shifted so one of Harry’s legs was nestled between hers, giving her the pressure she craved as Harry continued kissing her neck. After a few minutes she stopped him. “I’m going to take these off if that works?” she asked, gesturing to her jeans.

Harry nodded. “I should probably do the same.” He pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion and pulled his pants and briefs down next. Penny couldn’t help but stare.

“Stop it, I’m shy.”.

“You’ve got nothing to be shy about,” Penny said, trying not to let on exactly how impressed she was with what she saw in front of her.

Harry cleared his throat, and Penny couldn’t tell if the flush in his cheeks was a result of their activities or embarrassment. “Do you have a condom?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. There’s probably one around here somewhere.” Penny opened the drawer of her bedside table and dug through the mess. “That one is expired,” she said, tossing it to the waste basket. “And this one is….” she squinted to read the date. “Still good! We’re in the clear.” Harry laughed and it was her turn to blush. “What can I say, it’s been awhile since I needed one.”

“No judgment as I’ve also been in a bit of a dry spell.” Harry took the condom from her and adjusted himself and Penny watched. She was still in shock that this was actually happening and was half convinced that she’d wake up from this dream any minute.

“Penny?”

“Oh, sorry! Did you say something?”

“I just asked how you want to do this?” Harry asked. “What’s usually best for you?”

“Oh…” Penny wasn’t sure if she’d ever had a partner ask her about her preference so directly, especially on the first hook up. She scoured her brain trying to think of what she actually liked and what wouldn’t be too intense for what could just be a casual hook up. “Um, usually just missionary is fine. But I also like to be on my knees occasionally.” She cleared her throat. “What about you?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Penny, I think anything with you would get me across the finish line.” One look at his cock and she knew he wasn’t lying. She hopped up on the bed and got on her knees without a second thought.

Penny could feel Harry lining himself up with her as she braced her hands against the headboard. It had been a minute since her bed had seen this much activity and she prayed the IKEA frame would hold up. Harry dragged his tip over her and she squirmed with the anticipation of what would happen next. The first thrust caught her off guard and she pitched forward.

“Careful,” Harry said. His voice was soft, but its usual gentleness had been replaced by something harder. “Do you need me to stop?”

“Please, no,” Penny panted. He’d reached a spot deep inside on just one thrust and she just needed a minute to adjust to him. The burn of him inside her was unmatched, the perfect combination of pain and pleasure. Harry had wrapped one arm around her waist holding her steady as she adjusted, lightly tracing abstract patterns over her skin. “OK, you can go,” she half whispered, half moaned.

Harry anchored his hands on her hips as he thrust in and out in a painstakingly slow rhythm. It was torture – for the both of them – Penny presumed, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm building inside of her. She could feel the pressure of his hand against her hip, knowing it would leave a bruise tomorrow, a thought that turned her on even more. Harry moved his hand up her body, settling on her breast and rolling her nipple as he increased the pace of his thrusts. It was all consuming, but Penny still needed more. She reached down to stroke her clit, the bud already tender and slippery with arousal. She was close, she could feel it. Just one more stroke and –.

“Can we –?” Harry asked breathlessly as he attempted to flip Penny onto her back. “I want to see you. I need to see you.” Penny complied, her body pliant in his arms as he placed her gently on her back before ducking down for a deep kiss as he locked his fingers with hers.

He pulled away and gently pushed inside of her, eyes not leaving hers. Even if she wanted to, Penny wasn’t sure she could look away. She was transfixed by what she saw in front of her. Harry’s skin and hair were damp from exertion, and the curls she’d been playing with earlier were pressed against his forehead. She could feel the tremble of his muscles and when she buried her nose in his neck, she got a whiff of the scent that could only be described as Harry.

“Are y-you close?” Harry asked as his hips stuttered.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can you come for me, baby? I need you to.”

It could have been Harry calling her baby or it could have been the feeling of him rubbing against her clit or it could have just been the intense passion she felt between them, but Penny pitched over the edge, moaning Harry’s name as she fell.

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned, as he spilled into the condom. “That’s it. So fucking good.”

He fell forward, resting his full weight on her as they lay there. He pressed kisses against every bit of skin his mouth could reach and she raked her fingers up and down his back and through his hair. Penny didn’t know how long they lay there like that but even when she felt their sweaty skin start to stick together she made no effort to move.

She wasn’t letting Harry go ever again.

***

When Penny woke up, Harry’s arm was heavy around her waist and she could feel his breath on her back. He radiated heat and despite the uncomfortable stickiness of the sweat that covered her, she made no effort to move. She had no idea how to define what had happened last night – and again in the early hours of the morning – but she knew she didn’t want this to be the end.

She could feel Harry stir behind her and she carefully twisted around in his arms to sneak another look at him. He was so peaceful when he slept, his hair a tangled mess on the pillow. He snored lightly, almost like a whistle, and he was most definitely a cuddler. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, lulled back to sleep by the gentle rhythm of Harry’s breathing, only to be jolted awake by the sound of her alarm.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the faint light that was trickling in through the curtains. He looked around, getting his bearings before smiling at Penny as she silenced the alarm.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I usually don’t have to worry about waking anyone else up.”

“It’s not a problem,” he slurred, his voice still thick with sleep. “Should probably be getting up now anyways.”

“You could stay for breakfast,” Penny offered, hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation. “I make a mean egg and cheese and have beans from the coffee shop down the block.”

“I’d love nothing more than that.” Harry leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips, before rolling over to grab his phone. The gesture felt so normal, as if he’d done it every morning.

“Shit,” he laughed. “I’m going to have a lot to explain today.”

“What’s wrong?”

He angled his phone so that Penny could read the screen. It was filled with messages from Tom, Tommy, and Jeff. “I told them I was planning to see you and they were very supportive of that decision. I think they’ll be thrilled with this development.”

“Which is…?” Penny asked, testing the waters.

“Us being together.” Harry’s eyes widened at Penny’s noticeable silence. “Unless I’ve completely misread this.”

“No, no, no.” Penny leaned over to kiss him. “I want that. Us, I mean. I just didn’t think you’d want me after everything.”

“You’re absolutely insane for thinking that, Penny. I’ve been waiting my entire life for you and I’m not letting you get away again.” Penny reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, knowing that there were no words she could say to accurately convey how she felt in that moment. “Now come on,” Harry said. “You mentioned something about a breakfast sandwich?”

Harry looked perfectly at home in her kitchen as she directed him on where to find the ingredients for their breakfast. They moved through the small space as if executing a perfectly coordinated dance routine neither of them had been taught, before sitting down at Penny’s table to eat together.

“What do you have planned for today?” Harry asked.

“Well, I’m going to go to work and then I’m going to head home.”

“No shows?”

“Not tonight.”

“Well,” Harry said, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I would like to take you out. On a proper date. Could I pick you up at the office? Say around six?”

“It’s a date,” Penny said, smiling from ear to ear.

When the breakfast dishes had been washed and dried and Harry had donned his clothes from the night before, they lingered by the front door, not wanting to say goodbye.

“A kiss for the road?” Harry asked. Penny stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you later then,” he said, unlocking the door.

“Harry?” she asked, suddenly bashful. “You don’t have to answer, but what made you give me another chance?” He was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he had heard her.

“It was your article,” he finally said, turning back to look at her. “You got me with the last line.”

***

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far and has stuck with this story despite its infrequent updates. This one was really personal for me to write so I greatly appreciate all of the ten people who have read this. 🫶🏻 Would love to hear what you think of the end!

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