#he should have been at PtV

[vira-venom]

[yuutaok]

Can We Lose Our Minds, and Call It Love?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Rockstar! Yuuta Okkotsu x Reader

“I’ve seen you before,” he said quietly, his voice rough from the performance. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his fingers tapping absently against his leg, a nervous habit that felt out of place coming from someone who had just commanded a stage so effortlessly.

You blinked, did you hear that right? You shook your head, surprised by his words, “You remember me?”

⋆୨♡୧⋆ Word Count: 6.2k

⋆୨♡୧⋆ Content Warnings: MDNI 18+, mutual obsession, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, cervix fucking, brief nipple-play, Yuuta is a strange little man agenda

⋆୨♡୧⋆ Author’s Note: This is only lightly beta’d, I was possessed by a demon what can I say. Title is from PTV’s song ‘The Balcony Scene’. It’s been soooo long since I have written, I hope that you enjoy this!

The thrum of bass reverberated through your chest as the lights dimmed, bathing the concert hall in a mix of deep purples and reds. The air itself felt alive, heavy with anticipation, excitement, sweat, and liquor. The crowd was buzzing, swaying bodies pressing closer to the stage. But your attention wasn’t on them. It was on him.

Yuuta Okkotsu.

The lead singer of the rising band that had taken the scene by storm. He wasn’t just another rockstar; he was different. His voice carried a rawness, a haunting quality that made your heart soar. He was confessing secrets, whispering melodies that cut through your ribs into your heart.

You were a longtime fan, but it had been years since you’d been able to make it to a live show. There was a time when you’d attended every local concert, following Yuuta and his band from one venue to the next, drawn by something in Yuuta you couldn’t put into words. You always swore, in a bit of a delusional manner, that he started to recognize you up on that stage, giving you small smiles that felt just for you.

Alas, life had changed. You went away for school and navigating the demands of professional life had become your focus, pulling you further from the late-night scene.

Online streams and fancams filled some of the gaps, but they could only do so much. You missed the energy of live shows, the feeling of being there, surrounded by the sound, with Yuuta’s voice breaking through everything else. His music had always spoken to you in a way nothing else could.  It was like he understood the hollow ache you carried inside, the kind of loneliness you could never quite explain.

Tonight was the first time in years that you’d been able to see him in person again, and the weight of that old longing resurfaced with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

It was after the last show you were able to attend—the venue still buzzing with the fading energy of the performance—that you met him. The crowd had thinned, people slowly trickling out into the night, but a handful of fans lingered near the exit, hoping for one last glimpse of the band. You stood at the edge of the group, feeling your pulse race as Yuuta appeared, shyly signing a few autographs, his head down, his shoulders hunched as if he wasn’t used to the attention.

When it was your turn, you hesitated, holding out your CD with trembling hands. Yuuta’s fingers brushed yours as he took it, and for a brief moment, your eyes met. It wasn’t the usual excitement of meeting a celebrity, it was something quieter, something that felt like recognition.

You hadn’t planned to say much. Just hand him your CD, and maybe offer a quick compliment about the show. But when his eyes met yours the words you’d rehearsed in your head dissolved. Instead, you found yourself blurting out something entirely different.

“I know what you mean.”

Yuuta blinked, his pen hovering over the paper, his brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should have kept quiet. But there was something about the way he looked at you, really looked at you,that made it feel like the world had faded away. The noise of the venue, the chatter of the fans,all of it disappeared in that moment. It was just the two of you.

“I can hear it in your voice— the way you carry yourself. There is something that aches. Like you’re reaching for something just out of sight.”

For a second, his expression shifted,just barely. His eyes widened, only slightly, and his grip on the pen tightened. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came.

You pressed on, your voice quieter now, unsure but unable to stop. “It’s in the way you sing. It must be so lonely. It’s like you’re looking for something. Or someone. There’s an emptiness that is so hard to quench—  like you’re starving.”

Yuuta didn’t respond right away. He just stared at you, his dark blue eyes locked onto yours as if trying to figure you out as if you had just exposed something he did not expect. The silence between you stretched on, thick with unspoken tension, and for a moment, you wondered if you had crossed a line, if you had said too much.

But then, slowly, he nodded. His hand trembled slightly as he signed the CD, his gaze never leaving yours. The simple acknowledgment, so small yet so heavy, left a strange knot in your chest.

His fingers brushed against yours, cold and hesitant, like he wasn’t used to touch.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. Something unspoken in those two words that lingered between you long after you left the venue. It was honestly the best night of your life.

As the first strum of the guitar echoed through the venue, Yuuta emerged from the shadows, his figure bathed in a dim spotlight. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and those intense, brooding eyes swept over the crowd. The microphone in his hand trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from the restrained energy coiling within him. The crowd roared louder, but you stood frozen, heart pounding in sync with the beat.

The music began, soft at first, but growing with intensity. Yuuta’s voice resonated through the sound, both soothing and chaotic, a paradox that wrapped around you. His presence was magnetic, and no matter how much you tried to blend into the crowd, it felt like his gaze landed on you— only you.

You shivered, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as you looked back at him. There was something in his eyes, a darkness you couldn’t look away from, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. He moved with a quiet, simmering intensity, his voice dropping lower during certain lyrics, his words carrying a weight that tugged at the pit of your stomach.

The air between you crackled, sending a chill down your spine. You blinked, and the moment was gone—his focus shifting to the rest of the stage, but the feeling lingered, like electricity and sparks in the air.

By the time the set ended, you were breathless. The performance had stirred something deep inside you, your eyes twinkling, head spinning, absolutely starstruck. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him as he bowed slightly, the crowd screaming for more. Yuuta didn’t soak up the adoration like most rock stars would. He simply smiled politely at the crowd and turned, slipping into the shadows backstage, his silhouette disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. You swore he looked back, right at where you stood.

It felt like he’d seen right through you.

A couple more bands continued to play, with the crowd still crazy for more. You were mostly here for Yuuta, though. You opted to take a seat back at the bar, downing your drink as you took solace in the coolness of the cup and the warmth and fuzziness the alcohol gave you.

The lingering pull in your chest hadn’t faded. You played with the cherry stem your drink came with, mind racing with the image of Yuuta— his pale skin gleaming under the dim lights, the way his black hair had fallen messily over his sweaty forehead, the deep blue of his eyes, heavy-lidded with exhaustion. There was something so haunting, almost fragile about him.

You barely noticed someone approaching until they were standing right in front of you—a man dressed in dark clothing, with a cold expression that sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

“Yuuta wants to see you,” he said simply, offering a small black card with a backstage pass clipped to it. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Me?” you asked, uncertain if you’d heard him right.

The man didn’t repeat himself, just nodded and gestured toward the side door. You hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest. Why would he want to see you? Maybe it was a mistake and this was some weird coincidence.

But you couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through you at the thought of seeing him again. Without fully understanding, you accepted the pass and followed the man through a dimly lit hallway that led backstage. The excitement of the concert had faded, and now the atmosphere felt colder, heavier.

The man stopped at a door and knocked softly before opening it, gesturing for you to enter.

You stepped inside, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. The room was small, warmly lit by a single lamp in the corner. Posters and musical equipment were scattered around, but it was Yuuta, sitting on a worn leather couch, who drew your attention.

He looked different from the confident figure on stage. His black hair was still messy, but now it hung in damp strands, framing his pale face. The dark bags under his eyes made him seem even more exhausted up close like he hadn’t slept in days. But it was his eyes—those deep, shadowed dark eyes—that made you pause. There was something sweet in them, but also something unsettling, something that made you feel like he was keeping secrets far too heavy to be shared.

“You came,” he said softly, his voice still raspy from singing. He offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, feeling strangely vulnerable under his gaze. “I—yeah, I guess I… I just didn’t expect this.”

He gestured for you to come sit next to him, patting the worn-out leather. You swallowed, obliging his request as you took quick, nervous steps towards him. His presence felt almost overwhelming in the small space, his skin glowing faintly in the dim light. “I saw you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but intense. “In the crowd.”

The air between you crackled with something heavy, and though his words were soft, there was a weight behind them that made your heart race. It felt almost predatory.

“I… Yeah… I guess you did. ” your breath hitched. You nervously looked up at him, cheeks hot. Wow, was he always this handsome?

He smiled again, “I don’t usually do this, bringing fans backstage… But you… there’s something about you.”

Yuuta kept his distance, his hands clenched together in his lap. His black hair fell over his pale face, casting dark shadows over his blue eyes, which flickered toward you but quickly darted away. Something was unsettling about his stillness as if he was trying to figure out how close he should get—or how far he should stay.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said quietly, his voice rough from the performance. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his fingers tapping absently against his leg, a nervous habit that felt out of place coming from someone who had just commanded a stage so effortlessly.

You blinked, did you hear that right? You shook your head, surprised by his words. “You… You remember me?”

Yuuta nodded slowly, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours, but something was unnerving about the way he looked at you— like he wasn’t just seeing you in that moment, but recalling something deeper, something that had been bothering him for a while. “You’ve been to some shows,” he continued, his voice low, a little too casual. “I’ve noticed.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, and you weren’t sure why. There was nothing inherently strange about a musician recognizing a fan, but the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you, made your stomach twist. “I… yeah. I’ve been to a few,” you admitted, suddenly feeling exposed like he had been watching you far more closely than you’d realized. “It’s been a while.”

 He didn’t come closer, but the air between you felt thinner now as if the space that remained wasn’t enough to protect you from the weight of his gaze. “I kept seeing you. Every show. Always in the crowd. Always watching. But then, you stopped.”

Your heart pounded harder in your chest, but it wasn’t from excitement. It was something darker, something that made you feel as though you’d been caught in a web you hadn’t even realized was being spun around you. “Yeah… Sorry… I… I didn’t think you noticed, let alone acknowledged my presence,” you said, your voice sounding smaller than you intended.

Yuuta’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. It was more like a recognition, a knowing that made your pulse quicken. “I keep a close eye on things,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. 

The words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.  His eyes were tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there was something else behind them, something far less innocent than the vulnerability he projected.

“We spoke once, after a show,” he murmured, his voice quiet, “I was already looking for you then… but after that night, I couldn’t help myself. Every time, I kept searching the crowd, hoping to see you. And when I saw you again tonight… I had to find you.”

The way he said it wasn’t direct, like a confession. More so an observation, something he had come to terms with over time, something that had slipped into his awareness without his permission. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, dark and unreadable, but they lingered only briefly before shifting away again. 

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller, the shadows creeping in closer. You didn’t know how to respond, your mind spinning with the realization that Yuuta had been watching you, tracking your presence from show to show, even after the autograph session, and now… Now, you were here, with him, alone. Your heart swelled that you might mean something to him.

“Why?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly, though you tried to hide it. “Why did you need to see me?”

Yuuta tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to find the answer himself. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice quiet, but there was an intensity behind it that made your chest tighten. “But it doesn’t feel like I can ignore it anymore.”

Yuuta's fingers twitched at his side, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to reach for you, but he stopped himself, his hand dropping back to his side. “I don’t want you to think my invitation back here is… normal,” he said softly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it impossible to look away. “It’s not.”

The warmth of his performance, the energy he radiated on stage, was gone, replaced by something more unsettling, something of quiet passion.

Your pulse quickened, the anxiousness mixing with something else now— thrill. “Then. Why did you do it?” you asked, your voice shaky with nerves.

Yuuta looked down, his jaw tensing as if he was struggling with something he couldn’t explain. “Because I can’t help myself.”

Yuuta’s eyes met yours again, and for the briefest moment, you saw something raw in them, it made your heart ache with a strange kind of sympathy. He wasn’t trying to scare you, but he couldn’t deny that something about his fixation wasn’t right. And yet, here you were, standing in the middle of it, unable to pull away.

The room was still, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, an energy so thick it made the air feel too heavy to breathe. He didn’t move closer, not yet. Instead, he lingered in the space between you, his body tense, his eyes lowered as if he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze for too long. There was a quiet restraint in him, but it was thin, frayed at the edges, as though it wouldn’t take much to pull it apart.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you both growing smaller, though neither of you moved. Something magnetic, something that had been pulling you together long before either of you had understood it.

“You’re still here,” he added, his voice softer, more tentative, as though the fact of your presence was something that puzzled him. His fingers curled slightly, the faintest movement, but they didn’t reach for you. Not yet.

You could hear the unasked question in his words, the quiet uncertainty that underlined everything he wasn’t saying. He had seen you. He had noticed. You have come back. You were here, standing in the same space, breathing the same heavy air, tied together by something you couldn’t name.

There was no need to say that you felt it too.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything neither of you could say, everything that simmered just beneath the surface. The tension was there, thick and palpable, but it wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, like the pull of a tide that dragged you in, inch by inch.

“Why?” Yuuta asked finally. The word hung in the air between you, not demanding an answer, but leaving space for one all the same.

You didn’t answer right away. The truth wasn’t something you could put into words, not in a way that made sense. It wasn’t a decision you had made consciously, wasn’t something you had planned. It was as if something larger than yourself had been guiding you all along, pulling you back to him, tying you to him in ways you didn’t fully understand.

“I think I’m meant to be here,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady.

Yuuta’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes that flickered, something dark, that hinted at the same confusion, hungry.

You could feel it— the shift in him, the way his restraint was fraying at the edges, the way he seemed to be holding himself in place with the thinnest of threads. You could feel it in the way Yuuta’s fingers twitched slightly at his side, his hand so close to yours but never quite touching. In the way, his breath hitched every time his gaze flickered toward you.

And you were holding your breath, waiting.

The air between you was thick, almost suffocating, but neither of you moved. The moment stretched on, and yet you both seemed content to exist in it, neither pushing nor pulling.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, looking for you,” Yuuta said quietly, his voice so soft it barely broke the silence. His eyes lingered on the floor for a moment before he looked back up at you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. “At every show I have played, I tried, but I couldn’t stop.”

The truth in his words was obvious, the pull between you as tangible as the air you breathed, thick and heavy, as if something larger than either of you was at play.

You paused, your heart beating deep in your chest, “You never wanted to stop,” you said softly, your voice steady but quiet, as if you were sharing a secret.

Yuuta’s eyes flickered with something dark and intense— something that hinted at all the things he hadn’t said, all the things he couldn’t say. His fingers curled slightly, the faintest movement, but they didn’t reach for you. Not yet.

“No,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low, almost rough. “I didn’t.”

Yuuta’s gaze darkened, his fingers twitching at his side, and for the briefest moment, you thought he might reach for you. But he held himself back, as though on the edge of something he couldn’t fully grasp.

“I don’t understand this,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the admission itself cost him something he couldn’t afford to give.

 The silence stretched between you like a living thing, thick and heavy, pressing in from all sides, as though the room itself was holding its breath. Yuuta’s gaze hadn’t left yours, and though his body remained still, something in his eyes betrayed the careful control he was trying so hard to maintain.

“Do you?” Yuuta’s voice was barely audible, the question itself fragile, as if he feared breaking the moment with it.

Yuuta’s hand twitched again, and for a moment, you thought he might reach for you, might finally close the distance between you that had been growing smaller and smaller. Instead, he held himself in place, the tension in his body palpable, as though he was fighting some unseen force, something that threatened to consume him if he let it.

You met his eyes, feeling that same pull you’d felt from the start. “I think we are meant to find each other,” you replied, your voice low, a quiet certainty settling over the words. You reached over to grasp Yuuta’s hands into yours, his eyes going wide. You intertwined your fingers, clasping them delicately, as if this moment was something that could shatter in an instant.

“We should…” He trailed off, his voice barely a whisper, as if he wasn’t even sure what he was about to say. His eyes were dark, heavy with something you couldn’t quite name, and the space between you felt smaller than ever.

And then, finally, it snapped.

It was subtle at first, just the barest shift in his posture, the slightest tightening of his grip on your hand. But that was all it took to send a jolt through you, the air thickening as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. His fingers curled around yours, tighter now, as if he had finally given in to the pull that had been tugging at him for so long.

His breath was unsteady, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly, and his gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before sweeping back up to meet your eyes. There was no more restraint in his expression now, no more hesitation. Whatever had been holding him back had finally frayed beyond repair, and you could feel the shift in him— the quiet, barely contained need that was simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

“I can’t—” He started to speak, but the words died on his lips, his voice rough, almost broken. It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, it was that there were no words left that could explain what was happening between you. Whatever this was, it was beyond reason now, beyond logic or explanation.

It just was.

And that was enough.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your breath catching in your throat as you finally leaned into the pull, into the gravity that had been drawing you both together from the start. Yuuta’s fingers tightened around yours, his other hand lifting slowly, hesitantly, as though he was still trying to hold himself back— but only barely.

When his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch was feather-light, almost trembling, as if he was afraid of what might happen if he let himself go any further. But the weight of his hand was enough to send a shiver down your spine, enough to make your breath come out unsteadily, the heat of the moment settling deep in your chest.

You looked up at him, and for the first time, you saw it clearly— the quiet desperation in his gaze, the raw, unfiltered intensity that had been simmering beneath the surface all along. He wasn’t just looking at you. He was seeing you, in a way that felt almost too much, too overwhelming, like he was trying to drink you in, trying to consume you whole.

It was the look of someone who had been holding back for far too long.

And it made your heart race.

“Yuuta…” you whispered, the word barely audible, but it was enough to break the last bit of tension between you, enough to make him close the final gap.

His hand slid from your cheek to your jaw, his grip firm but still trembling slightly, as though he was still fighting against himself even now. His eyes flickered down to your lips again, and this time, he didn’t look away.

His breath was warm against your skin, and when he finally leaned in, the movement was slow, almost hesitant, like he was still giving you the chance to pull away—to stop this before it went too far.

But you didn’t.

You leaned into him instead, your breath mingling with his as the space between you dissolved completely, the tension snapping into something more intense, more immediate. His lips brushed against yours, light at first, like a question. But when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned into him, he finally let go of the restraint he had been clinging to for so long.

The kiss deepened, slow at first but quickly becoming more urgent, more insistent like the floodgates had finally opened and everything he had been holding back was spilling over. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the weight of his presence was overwhelming, mouth lapping at yours, hungry, absolutely starved.

There was no hesitation in him now, no more uncertainty. His fingers curled into your hair, his grip tightening and allowing him better access to devour you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours in a way that made your pulse race, your breath coming faster now, more unsteady.

The room seemed to spin around you, the air thick with heat. Yuuta’s hand slid down your back, his touch a possessive grasp, pulling you closer and closer to him, as if he was never ever going to let you go.

And the thought of it—of being his, of letting him consume you completely—made your heart soar, the heat between you growing more intense. The kiss deepened–all saliva, teeth, and tongue.

The air was still thick, charged with the aftermath of what had just passed between you. Yuuta hadn’t pulled away. His body was still close to yours, his hand resting on the back of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too quickly, and though the kiss had ended, the weight of it still hung between you like a heavy cloud.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There were no words that could make sense of what had just happened, no explanation that could satisfy the raw, electric energy that still simmered beneath the surface. It was as though time had stopped, the world around you shrinking down to just the two of you, suspended in the tension that had finally snapped, leaving both of you gasping in its wake.

Yuuta’s eyes were dark, heavy with something you couldn’t name, and though his grip on you had loosened slightly, his body remained tense, as though he was still holding himself back, even now. His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his gaze flickered down to where his hand rested against the small of your back, his touch still firm, still possessive.

“I shouldn’t have…” His voice was quiet, rough, like he was trying to find a way to apologize for something neither of you wanted to take back. But the apology never came. He trailed off, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

It wasn’t regret you saw in his eyes. It wasn’t hesitation either. It was something darker, something that had been there all along but had only just begun to surface.

Possession.

He hadn’t just wanted to kiss you. He had wanted to claim you, to make sure that whatever was between you wasn’t something you could walk away from.

“Yuuta,” you whispered, the sound of his name enough to break the silence, to make his grip on you tighten again, pulling you closer once more. His breath hitched slightly at the sound of his name on your lips, and you could see the way his restraint was fraying, the way the darkness in his gaze was growing, becoming more insistent, more all-consuming.

His fingers tightened in your hair, and his other hand slid down to grasp your waist, holding you there as though he was afraid to let go, afraid that if he did, you might slip away, and this moment might disappear.

You lifted your hand to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding him in the intensity of what was happening between you. His breath came out in a sharp exhale, and for a moment, you felt him tremble beneath your touch, as though he was still trying to hold himself together, still trying to keep from losing control.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips before you could think better of them. But it was the truth. You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to pull away. 

Yuuta’s breath hitched again, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His grip on you tightened his body tense with the weight of everything that was happening, with everything that had been left unsaid. And then, slowly, his lips found yours again, softer this time, moving down your jaw and trailing to your collarbone. You laid back and guided him towards you as you bore your neck, allowing him better access as your hands slid up to the back of his neck, your fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer.

Yuuta’s kisses felt hot against your throat, love bites and bruises left in his wake as he sucked at your skin. They left you dizzy, your senses filled only with your darling Yuuta. 

His hips made a home between your legs, the hardness beneath his pants rubbing at your clothed heat as your hips moved up to grind against him. You gasped, letting out soft moans as Yuuta rutted harder and faster against you, your slick building and seeping through your panties. He could keep at this all night, if you let him. Perfectly content with just dry humping you until you came against him over and over again. Alas, you wanted more than that.

“Yuuta,” you whined, hands clawing at his belt, desperation heavy in your voice.

“What do you want?” Yuuta asked, voice rough as his breath tickled your ear, “Tell me.”

“I want you. I want you. Please,” You beg, unsuccessfully trying to unbuckle his belt, fingers clumsy and desperate against the worn black leather.

Yuuta’s eyes darkened at your words, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of them sank in. His hand, still resting at the small of your back, tightened, pulling you closer, and you could feel the shift in him—the way his possessiveness mirrored your own.

Yuuta’s breath was unsteady, his forehead resting lightly against yours, as though he needed to feel you close to stay grounded. But even in the closeness, you could sense the restlessness in him– the way his fingers still gripped your waist, the tension in his body that threatened to spill over.

From your waist, his hand moved to snake its way to the source of your slick, fingers carefully dancing across the heat of your skin down into your soaked panties. Muffled moans escaping your lips as his fingers rubbed against your swollen clit, calloused fingers dipping into the folds of your dripping-wet pussy. Yuuta’s breath hitched, cheeks flushed as he realized how needy you were for him.

He felt absolutely haunted by the way your soft little moans made his heart swell.  ‘Addicting’, he thought, he wanted to strum you like a chord and make you sing a melody that never stopped looping in his mind.

Your thighs shook as Yuuta unbuckled his belt, pants drooping around his hips as he pulled out his cock. It sprang to life, your mouth watering at the size of his member. He smiled sheepishly as you moved your hips towards him. He moved to situate himself over you, his leaky tip rubbing against the swell of your clit. He worked himself against your slick, coating himself as he teased your dripping hole, smearing his sticky precum over your pussy.

He sighed as he pushed into you, slowly, carefully. The air was knocked out of your gut and your legs wrapped around his waist, welcoming the satisfaction that came when he made a home in your tight walls.

Yuuta’s fingers dug into your hips as he bottomed out into your cunt, his head kissed your cervix in a way that made your eyelashes flutter. He started off with slow, languid strokes that only began to ramp up pace as the two of you fucked into each other. Sloppy noises filled the room as you both moaned breathless puffs into the crisp air of the room. The quiet thrum of show still going on outside, bass reverberating and vibrating against the walls lost on the two of you.

Yuuta made sure to make a mess of you, pushing your knees up against your belly as he continued to pound into you, his painted nails and calloused hands digging into your flesh, his dark eyes peering down at you adoringly. You could only stupidly grasp at the leather beneath you, seeing stars every time his tip fucked the deepest parts of your guts. 

He loved the way your pussy tightened around his cock, the view of him pulling out of you only to sink deeper and deeper into you. It was mesmerizing, the way your back arched above the couch and your hips found their way to meet his. He adored you, he adored you, he adored you.

“Ah, you’re so cute, so good for me. I’ve always dreamed of this,” he rasped, “You’re perfect.”

“Yuu— Yuuta,” you cried, “Feels good, feels so good.”

Yuuta’s fingers moved up your shirt to fondle at your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples while he drilled into your poor sopping cunt. You sobbed as your mouth went slack, drool pooling down your pretty lips. Your eyes rolling into your head. You think you look so stupid, Yuuta thinks you look like an angel.

Your cunt felt stretched to the brim, overstimulated to the point where all you could do is cum around his cock, your dripping pussy spazzing around his girth, a pool of slick coating him.

“Fuck, fuck— I’m never letting you go,” Yuuta groaned through clenched teeth. His pace only became more erratic, his hips working into you when he drops down to give you a gentle kiss despite him ravaging your body. 

It wasn’t long until he was spilling himself into you, pressing deeply to make sure you got every last bit of his seed. His tongue and teeth swiping over your open mouth, as if he was fully trying to consume you whole. It made your heart skip a beat, your arms moving to caress the back of his neck, guiding him somehow even closer against you.

“I don’t know how to…” he started, his voice faltering, rough with the aftermath. His forehead pressed harder against yours, “I don’t know if I can ever let you go.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed, “I won’t let go, either.”

The intensity in his gaze deepened, something darker, something raw flashing behind his eyes. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair again as though he needed to feel the weight of you in his grasp to believe that this was real, that you were here with him. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But you did. You did know. And that was why you wanted it even more.

“I do,” you said, your voice low but steady, filled with the same quiet urgency that had been building between you the whole night. “I do know. And I want this just as much as you do.”

Yuuta’s breath hitched again, his grip on you tightening as though your existence would evaporate before him. His eyes were dark and desperate, “You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice so low it was barely audible, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness in his tone, the way his fingers dug into your skin as though he was marking you. “I really won’t let you go.”

You brightened at him, beaming, “I know.”  You didn’t pull away. You didn’t hesitate. You belonged here.

Yuuta’s lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, more deliberate. His fingers curled into your skin as though he couldn’t get close enough. His breath was warm against your mouth, his body tense with the weight of everything he had been holding back.

You looked up at him, your breath shaky, your heart pounding in your chest, and you knew it too. You had felt it from the moment you had first seen him, the moment you had started following him, inexplicably drawn to him.

“You’re mine, too.”

[s4no]

+ feat: ken ryuuguji x fem!reader

+ cw: sex work (draken is an escort), virginity loss, oral (r), ptv, size difference

+ summary: after years of failed attempts at losing your virginity, you decide to take matters into your own hands and buy a night with the most expensive male escort tokyo has to offer. (5.4k words)

+ a/n: i decided to rewrite one of my old fics so if you recognize the title and/or plot, it's from my archived account; written in the adult timeline

Your nerves are in shambles as you approach the unfamiliar building. Your legs feel weak and your fingers clutch your wallet tightly, as if you suspect someone may try to mug you and steal it. For all that you know, it's possible. You’ve never been in this part of town before and you're grateful you haven't run into anybody you know. You’d definitely get questioned if someone saw you walking down the main street of Tokyo's Red Light District. Or more specifically, into a brothel.

It isn’t like you're out here on a whim. You’d thought about this for a long time, pondered over it many nights after hours of tossing and turning, and after five very long— and equally as frustrating years, you’d made your decision. You wanted to lose your virginity and you’d use all the resources at your disposal.

You didn’t have much luck out on the dating scene, which mainly consisted of Tinder and a couple of the local bars out in Roppongi. You’d tried it all: blind dates, speed dates, double dates. None of them ever resulted in a relationship— or even a one night stand— so you’d been forced back to square one each time. After five years of trying and failing, you’d given up on finding love for the time being.

But… not pleasure.

That’s how you find yourself walking into the luxurious lobby of the most popular brothel in the city. The smell of jasmine invades your nose and the sound of smooth jazz drifts into your ears, immediately creating a sensuous atmosphere that leaves you gawking. Red velvet couches line the walls, some accompanied by golden side tables where clients can sit their drinks while they wait to be called back.

At the front of the room sits a large mahogany desk with a woman seated behind it, tapping away at a computer. Swallowing, you timidly approach the front desk and lean in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello, I’d like to… Um, book a room.”

The woman doesn’t even bother sparing you a glance, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Male or female bodied?”

“Male, please. I’d like… the male with the best rating, if possible.”

Your cheeks flush when the woman stops typing, her eyes glancing you over before responding. “I’m sure you would,” condescension colors her tone, “but I’m afraid there are premium rates for our top-tier employees.” Ones that are out of your price range, she suspects.

“I’m prepared to pay as much as it takes.” Unzipping your wallet, you spread it open to reveal a thick stack of crisp ten thousand yen banknotes. You’ve been saving up for this since Christmas, working a full-time job along with attending classes at the university nearby. It’d been stressful and you'd worked yourself ragged, pinching pennies for the last few months, but tonight is going to make it all worth it.

Her eyes flicker between you and your stuffed wallet for a moment before she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “I see. Well, I’ll have to check if he’s available. How long did you want to book him for?”

“…Three hours.”

Her eyebrows raise at that but she otherwise remains professional, nodding and picking up the phone on her desk. She quickly dials a number, sighing as she waits for someone to answer. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if you’d like to accept a three-hour appointment.” She pauses for a second. “Yes, she’s here in the lobby right now and prepared to pay the fees upfront.” Another pause. “Okay. Thank you, Draken. Bye.”

Putting the phone down, she turns back to you. “He should be down shortly to take you back. That’ll be ¥120,000.”

— ღ —

After handing over the wad of cash, you take a seat on one of the velvet couches and run a hand through your hair. The room feels significantly warmer than it had when you first walked in and you realize it's because your heart is racing. It's happening. This is actually happening.

You'd almost chickened out this afternoon— considered using the money to take a nice little trip to Okinawa. You could swim with the fish and read out on the beach, eat some good seafood, blow off some steam. You'd definitely enjoy yourself but what happened once you came back? You'd find yourself back at square one, a hundred thousand yen poorer and filled with regret and immense sexual frustration.

There had been a couple of times you'd come close to achieving your goal. You'd gone to a frat party a few weeks ago, drank and danced your heart out. Even wore a pair of jean shorts that barely managed to cover your ass. When you ended up getting hot and heavy with one of the brothers, he took you back to his room only for you to walk in on his roommate having a threesome with two very talented blondes.

In March, when you first created a Tinder profile, you'd matched with a cute grad student who wanted to take you out to dinner. He drove you to a hotpot restaurant and halfway through the date, you two retreated to the bathroom to have a quickie. Your panties were around your ankles when you realized you didn't want your first time to be in a restroom stall beside a grimy toilet. You didn't want it to be a five-minute escapade that would leave you disappointed and unfulfilled. It's obvious to say the drive home had been awkward.

You're so deep in thought that you don't notice when a man walks out from behind the beaded curtain and approaches the front desk. You don't notice him at all— not until he's standing in front of you with a small smile playing on his lips. Onyx eyes roll over you slowly, long hair of the same color tied back in a braid. There's a black dragon tattooed across the left side of his head, and you have the oddest urge to reach out and trace your fingers atop it.

“You must be my client for tonight.” His voice is deep and smooth like molasses and a trill runs down your spine as he wets his lips, “I’m Draken.”

“Hi… I’m (y/n).” You offer, extending your hand out to which he lifts a brow.

He repeats your name back to you, drawing it out like he savors the taste of it on his tongue, and then takes your hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he interlaces his fingers through yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “C’mon princess, ’m on the top floor.”

Nodding weakly, you’re practically in a daze as he leads you back through the curtain of sparkling beads and into an elevator that’s every bit as fancy as the room you were just in. He fishes out a silver key from his pocket before turning it into the lock beside the button labeled seven, and up you go.

The enclosed area only emphasizes how large he is compared to you, how much space he takes up. He’s well above six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that bulge inside the sleeves of his silk button-down. You can feel him watching you as you ascend but you don’t have the courage to meet his gaze. Tension bleeds into the air, and coupled with the stark silence, it’s nearly suffocating. You have to make a conscious effort to take deep breaths as you will your heart to calm down.

When the dinging of the elevator sounds like church bells, you aren’t surprised. You’re pretty sure heaven awaits you on the other side of these doors.

You find that heaven looks a lot like a bachelor’s pad. Filled with dark wood and sleek furniture, it’s a mini-paradise; complete with a fully stocked bar, a king-sized bed, and a balcony leading out to a hot tub. Music plays softly from the surround sound system and you breathe in the faint aroma of juniper and tobacco as you walk inside.

“I hope R&B is alright.” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go of it, kicking off his slippers and making his way over to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water?”

His brow lifts again but he nods, “Sure.”

“Thank you.” You look around while he pours out your drinks, taking in the scenic view of the city below. “You have a very nice place.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” When you turn around, he’s standing behind you, holding out a glass of water with a shot of sake in his other hand. “Be so formal.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You quickly accept the drink, muttering out a quiet apology. You’d done so much in preparation for this moment, but not once had you ever thought about how awkward it would be in the beginning. You hadn’t thought to look into the… ‘etiquette’ of brothels. You settle on giving him an honest answer. “I’m not entirely sure how to act.”

There’s a knowing smile on his face as he reaches out and tilts your chin up. His thumb glides lightly across your cheek, the calloused fingertip burning where it touches your skin. “Just relax. I promise you, you’re in good hands. I’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

You know the gesture is meant to help reassure you and lessen your nerves, but all it succeeds in doing is sending your pulse skyrocketing. Apprehension bubbles low in your stomach and your voice wobbles when you respond. “O-Okay..”

“Let me ask you a question.” His thumb moves from your cheek to your mouth, feather-light as it ghosts over the curve of your lips. “You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flare at his question, eyes widening in shock. Is it that obvious? “No, I haven’t.” You admit reluctantly, “I just— Well, I’m tired of waiting. I know the first time is supposed to be special, but… this is special in a way, right?” You watch as the comforting smile falls right off his face. His eyebrows furrow and you mimic the action, worrying what you’d said to elicit this type of reaction. “What? What’s wrong?”

He blinks at you as he processes the information and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. “First time?” His expression turns serious, his hand dropping from your cheek. “I was talkin’ about coming to a brothel, not having sex.” He shakes his head, “Look, I’ll take you back downstairs. Sana will get you a full refund—”

“No!” You cringe when you blurt it out, interrupting him. “Please, you don’t understand. I want to do this. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not a matter of if you’re sure or not.” His voice is stern now, taking on an edge that slices right through your pounding heart. “It’s a personal preference. I don’t sleep with virgins, not at work.”

“I— I can pay you more money, however much you want!” You know you sound desperate but that’s because you are. You’ve worked your ass off to get here, to have this experience, and now you’re grasping for straws as you feel it slipping through your fingers. “You don’t even have to accommodate me, just do your thing and—”

It’s his turn to interrupt you. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” You can hear the anger in his voice, it’s almost palpable. “You can’t just go around tellin’ people they can have their way with you. It’s your first time. You should be accommodated. Now, follow me. I’m walking you back down to the lobby.”

You don’t move when he walks back toward the elevator, keeping your feet planted on the hardwood floor. “If I should be catered to, then why don’t you do it yourself? Because if you take me back down to the lobby, I won’t be getting a refund. I’ll just ask for someone different.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers as it clenches, his eyes narrowing down at you as if that will help him discern whether you’re bluffing or not. But as you hold his gaze, unwavering and earnest, he realizes you’re telling the truth. Heaving a sigh, he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should be calling security right now, have you escorted out of the building. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of conceding to your demands.

Yet, there’s something in your eyes as you stare up at him— a certain innocence that has him willing to break his rules. Just once. He’d indulge you this once, if only because he doesn’t trust anybody else here to treat you right. “…Fine, but we’re doing this my way.”

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. “Thank you, Draken. It… that means a lot to me.”

“I know it does.” Normally, he isn’t so forgiving toward people who threaten him but he can recognize the desperation in your voice. And desperation can lead to dangerous things. Other men would take advantage of that, and for some reason, he hates the thought of some old sleazebag taking your first time. At least with him, he’d make sure you’re satisfied. “Here, let’s sit down.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Should we… take off our clothes?”

Your heart flutters when a chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You’re as awkward as you are stubborn and he finds it strangely endearing. “No, not yet. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, m’kay?” He scoots closer, turning to face you. “But I am going to kiss you.” He raises a hand to your cheek, his thumb resuming its stroking. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

He waits until you nod before beginning to lean in, slowly so you still have every chance to change your mind. But when his lips press against yours, claiming them with a tender kiss, you know there’s no going back.

His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours, and you kiss him back— albeit clumsily because of how nervous you are. He doesn’t seem to mind though, more than willing to take the lead and pick the pace. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the exchange, and you allow it, humming contently as the taste of spearmint and tobacco fills your mouth.

His hand moves to grip your jaw as the other trails up and down your side, and despite the shivers that ensue, it helps ground you in the moment, brings you back down to earth just in time for him to draw away. You’re left breathless, sucking in deep gulps of air to clear the dizziness that’s muddled your mind.

“You still want to do this?” Warm breath fans across your face, obsidian eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. He doesn’t find any.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “I meant it when I said I want to do this.”

That’s all the consent he needs before he captures your lips again, this time with an intensity that makes your head spin. His hands move to unbutton your blouse, slowly working their way down to the bottom and slipping it off your shoulders. He doesn’t break the kiss as he starts palming your breasts, massaging them over your bra, and you can’t help the whimper that rises up from your throat in response. His tongue continues to explore your mouth, tangling with yours until your core is throbbing with need.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He murmurs against your lips, palms splayed across your chest. One of them snakes behind you and nimbly unclasps your bra, letting it fall forward just enough to give him a peek at what lies underneath. “Lay back.”

Your body responds naturally, following his order without hesitation. You pull away and lean back until you’re pressed against the mattress with him looming over you, his eyes drinking you in as he slips the garment off your shoulders. “Fuck…” He mutters, “Look at you.”

Your nipples pebble beneath his gaze, pretty and pert and begging to be played with. He licks his licks lustfully, rough hands coming down to cup and squeeze them. Your head turns to the side when he starts to pinch the peaks, rubbing them between his fingers and forcing another whimper to escape.

He maintains eye contact as he lowers down, plush lips wrapping around one only to flick his tongue over the bud. “Draken…”

“There you go,” he breathes out, pulling back to admire the view. “Just relax, baby.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugs it off, discarding it with the rest of your clothes before turning his attention back to you. “Don’t be afraid to touch me.” He leans forward and grabs your hands, moving to press them against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate, the rhythmic thumping beneath your palm. It’s a sharp contrast to yours which beats wildly against your ribcage, threatening to burst out of your chest.

With the sight before you, who can blame you?

His body is built and toned, corded muscles rippling across his torso and leading down to a delicious set of prominent v-lines. Your mouth waters as they flex and you drag your hands down to feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, a trail of dark hair descending down from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You’re all but mesmerized.

“Like what you see?” He teases, his head dipping down to the curve of your neck. Straight white teeth graze across the tender flesh before suckling on your pulse point. All you can do is nod, your breathing shallow and uneven as his fingers continue tweaking your hardened nipples.

He knows the pace he’s setting is slow— deliberate— but he wants you more aroused than you’ve ever been, dripping wet for him when he finally takes you.

With soft pants falling from your lips, one of his hands slides down to your waist, his index finger dipping into the hem of your skirt. He could very well just pull it up, sneak his hand underneath it, but he resists the temptation, determined to make you squirm in anticipation.

And you do, every purposeful touch kindling the fire within you until it’s a blazing inferno. Your blood boils in your veins, your skin beautifully flushed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re in danger of overheating.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” He mutters, letting the waistband of your skirt snap back against your skin. Your hips eagerly buck at the small sting, making it easy for him to tug it off and toss it onto the floor, and then he spreads your thighs apart to reveal a large damp spot in the middle of your panties. “Shit, so fuckin’ wet…” He curses, his eyes getting impossibly darker.

You nearly clamp your legs together as his eyes rove over you but the adoration in his expression bolsters you, gives you the confidence you need so badly. You stay still and let him look, trying to memorize the image of him between your thighs as he does.

Time seems to slow down. Seconds tick by and with each one that passes, you grow more and more uncomfortable. Your pussy aches, the desire he’s so carefully cultivated inside you becoming almost unbearable. But he either doesn’t notice the need swimming in your eyes, or he doesn’t care. He remains hovering over you, gaze zeroed in on your clothed cunt.

“Touch me,” the plea escapes you before you can stop it, and the corners of his lips tilt up into a small smirk. “Please.”

He hums as if he has to think about it. You’re about to start begging when his fingers press against you, applying enough pressure to make you mewl. “Don’t get greedy, princess.” He chastises gruffly, “You’ll take what I give you, remember?”

You nod obediently so he rewards you, circling your panty-clad clit until your hips are shifting back and forth. Moans fall freely from your lips but it still isn’t enough. You need more.

“Please,” you whine, eyebrows cinching together as you gaze up at him. “Draken, please…”

He hums again and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties before dragging them down to your ankles. “Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” Completely bared to him, apprehension saturates the air, your stomach doing backflips as he leans down and blows out a puff of air against your folds. When you clench at the sensation, a growl sounds. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

The pink flesh glistens in the dim lighting of the room, every inch soaked with arousal that drips down the inside of your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. If you weren’t a virgin, he doesn’t think he’d even need to prep you.

Calloused fingers rub between your puffy folds, collecting your slick until his fingers are covered, and then one of his digits prods at your entrance, easing inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as he curves it in a come hither motion, your hands flying out to grip his shoulders. “Fuck..!”

You should be embarrassed at the deep laughter that leaves him but you can only focus on the way he’s knuckle deep inside of you, adding a second finger and beginning to thrust them both in and out. “Your reactions are s’cute. What if I were to just…” He trails off as he lowers down until he’s face-to-face with your pussy, and your hands strike out to grab his cheeks so you can hold him back.

“W-Wait..” You stammer before swallowing thickly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no… I just… No one’s ever…” Your blush spreads to the tips of your ears.

He cocks a brow up at you. “No one’s ever eaten you out?” But he already knows the answer. Your mortified expression is as good as any verbal indication. Shock flickers across his face, but he takes the new piece of information in stride, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh. “Lemme taste you, baby. You don’t need to be shy.”

Your insecurities melt away under his encouragement but when you merely nod, he nips at your skin. “No, use your words.”

“O-Okay.” You breathe out shakily, “Go ahead.”

The words have barely left your mouth when you feel his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue expertly swirling around the sensitive bud and tearing a gasp from your throat. His fingers resume their curling motions, and suddenly a familiar sensation begins building in your stomach. It reminds you of all the times you’ve touched yourself, all of the times you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy chasing your orgasm. You’d rut against your pillow only for your legs to start trembling, too weak to climb the last few inches to the peak.

Admittedly, your legs do start to shake, your body tense and on the verge of locking up. It’s like you’ve conditioned it to expect the worst, that you’ll get close enough to taste the high and then be denied like all of the other times you’ve attempted to pleasure yourself.

“Draken,” you moan, the sound so depraved you don’t recognize your own voice, “Don’t stop— p-please, don’t stop..!”

A groan erupts from his chest as your walls tighten around his fingers and the vibrations of it cause another wave of heat to wash over you, threatening to pull you out to sea and drown you in its depths. You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been before.

It’s when his mouth suctions around your clit that you’re flung off the precipice. Pleasure blooms out from between your thighs, shooting through your limbs and out to the tips of your fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut as it consumes you, bleeds into all your senses until you’re writhing around in the sheets, hands blindly grasping for something— anything— to ground you.

Even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking, keeps licking, long fingers thrusting inside of you to prolong the orgasm for as long as possible. “Good girl.” He praises, drawing away when you finally come to. You’re panting from the physical exertion, pupils blown with desire as you slowly lift your head to look down at him. His lips, cheeks, and chin are shiny with your slick, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so lightheaded.

“Thank you… that was amazing..” And even that was a gross understatement.

Rising up from between your legs, there’s a smug expression on his face. “Save the thank-you’s for later, princess. We’re not done yet.” As if to emphasize his point, his hands drop down to start unbuckling his belt, your eyes following suit and widening into saucers when you see the bulge in the front of his pants.

“Oh my god.”

It’s… he’s huge.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his pants and lets them drop around his ankles, your eyes boring holes into him when he pulls down his boxers and reveals both the prettiest and thickest cock you’ve ever seen. The shaft is long and curved, the tip flushed and leaking. A large vein runs down the entirety of the length and you swear if you look hard enough, you can see it pulsing.

He grips the base of it, stroking it a couple of times before prowling forward. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “Worried ‘s not gonna fit?”

“…Yes.” You squeak.

He chuckles at your candor, opening up a drawer on the bedside table and fishing out a small plastic square— a condom, you realize. It only takes him a moment to tear it open and slip it on, the action effortless from years of practice. “Don’t be scared. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word if nothing else.”

Crawling onto the bed, he captures your lips in a kiss that can only be described as comforting. It’s slow and gentle, even when his tongue dips into your mouth, and his hands come up to cup your cheeks, holding you in such a way that you can’t help but feel cherished.

“I’m gonna start now,” he murmurs against your lips, “Remember, if you want me to stop, just say the word.” You nod in acknowledgment, and with that, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock prodding at your center. “Squeeze me as tightly as you need.”

Your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders right as he starts to push inside of you and your nails bite into his skin at the stretch, leaving crescent indents behind. A strangled noise bubbles up from your throat when pain takes hold of you, burning bright like the sun in the middle of summer.

“I know,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over the edge of your jaw, “I know it hurts. But it’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Tears prick at your eyes as he pushes deeper inside you, but soon his fingers are circling over your clit, blending the pleasure and pain until one is indiscernible from the other. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His movements are so controlled, it’s impressive— even as the slew of foreign sensations threatens to overwhelm you, you’re able to recognize that much. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his breaths coming out in hot puffs that skate across your heated skin. And ever so slowly, he works you open, sinking into you inch by inch. By the time he’s bottomed out, a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his voice strained when he says, “You did so well, baby, ‘m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

You only whimper in response, turning your head to the side so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. You feel so full, inhumanely full. So much so that you’re genuinely surprised you haven’t been split in half because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what it’d felt like. Your only saving grace is the way he hasn’t stopped rubbing your clit, hasn’t stopped praising you for taking him so well.

It’s a testament to his self-restraint the way he manages to remain still, buried deep inside you, while he patiently waits for your walls to adjust to his size. If he were a lesser man, he’d push aside your comfort, neglect your needs and pound into you to relieve his aching cock. But he waits, waits until your pained whimpers morph into soft moans, until you start to squirm beneath him as your body tries to create the friction it needs so badly.

“Move,” you beg, your hands sliding down from his shoulder to grab onto his hips, attempting to move them yourself. “Please… need you to move..”

A pair of large hands tug yours away from his waist before they pin them down on either side of your head. There’s no real force behind the maneuver but you don’t fight him off as he threads your fingers between his, just like he did earlier this evening. “Look at me, (y/n). I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

Tentatively, you turn your head so you’re staring up at him. You’re not sure what he sees but approval shines in his eyes and a sincere smile graces his lips. “Good girl.”

With your eyes glued on his, he finally starts to move, drawing his hips back and pushing into you in small, shallow thrusts. Your lips part into a gasp, your breath hitching every time he’s fully hilted inside of you. Tears line your lashes but this time, they aren’t from pain. They’re from pure, unadulterated pleasure— the all-encompassing kind that leaves you in tatters on the floor.

“Feels s’good.. So fuckin’ tight.” He groans, his pace speeding up as more moans pour from your lips. The sound of skin slapping skin ensues and you cry out when he shifts his angle, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll.

Your pleasure heightens and you think that this must be euphoria as your tears overflow, spilling down your cheeks and dropping onto the pillow beneath your head. Yet, you don’t look away from him. You don’t dare shy away from his gaze, not even when the coil inside you begins winding tight, warning you of your impending orgasm.

He squeezes your hands as your body goes taut. You’re panting now— sucking in breath after breath as your bodies collide— but you can’t seem to get enough air. Up you climb, higher and higher until you begin to tremble beneath him, your hands holding onto his like they’re a lifeline.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks through gritted teeth, “Gonna cream on my cock?” He curses when you nod, dropping his forehead down so it rests against yours. “Well, go on then, princess. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

As if on command, the cord inside you abruptly snaps. A violent shudder wracks through your body, bliss clouding every single one of your five senses. It’s enough to wrench a deafening sob out of you, your back arching up off the bed so your chest is pressed firmly against his. He continues to drive into you as your walls pulsate around him and a growl reverberates up from his throat at the same time you feel his length twitch inside of you.

He stops after a few more thrusts, slowly pulling out of you and turning over to lie on his back. You whine quietly at the loss, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to complain.

“Shit…” He says, his head turning to look at you after a couple of minutes of silence, “How do you feel?”

Somehow, you summon up enough energy to smile through the exhaustion that’s seeped into your bones. “Definitely not like a virgin.”

He lets out a laugh at that, flashing you a brilliant white smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Well, we’ve still got two hours left, sweetheart. Don’t go tappin’ out on me yet.”

[3lectra-he4rt]

the hollow bday headcanons 🙏🙏

reeve : JANUARY ALL THE WAYYY and he def pulls out the “well im older than you” when he and adam argue

vanessa: i feel like february but headcanons that she has a later bday and is 15 also kinda make sense to me??

skeet: june bc he’s a summer mf. was gonna say may but that was js me liking ptv honestly

adam: august, i think…idk y tbh its summery but almost fall and i feel like that fits

kai: december LATE ASFFF 😭😭 (twin..where have u been?) lowkey should be 15 instead of 14, and only has a year gap w the rest of the group despite him being 14 lolz

mira: MAY no not bc of ptv but bc i feel like the month of may fits her. no questions please

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 5 >> Chapter 6 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader w/ a chapter cameo of reader/yuzuha

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: ptv sex, oral (blowjobs & eating out), choking, degradation and praise, cock worship, edging and orgasm denial/control

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: ~10.8k

A great clenching of his bowels catapults Rindou into consciousness. Nausea and the certainty that he is going to puke chases soon after. Rindou stumbles to his feet in the direction of the bathroom only to discover the door is not there. The pressure in his head increases, a high vibrancy of pain accompanied by a vertiginous warping of his vision and equilibrium.

He vomits right on the carpet.

When his stomach is empty, Rindou takes stock of his surroundings. He is shirtless, wearing an unfamiliar pair of YSL sweats. The bedroom is twice as large as his with a sitting area opposite the bed and subdued paintings of hunting dogs and long-dead kings peering down from the walls. By the puddle of bile seeping into the fibers of the carpet, a meowing British Shorthair pokes around curiously until Rindou shoos it away.

This is Ran’s bedroom.

Regaining his bearings, Rindou makes his way to Ran’s bathroom. He helps himself to Ran’s toothbrush and drinks water straight from the tap until his guts gurgle miserably and he vomits again, this time into the toilet. The process repeats itself one more time before his hangover recedes enough to risk leaving the bathroom. He grabs a hand towel to throw over the mess he left on the floor in a quick detour before he hunts for his brother.

It is some indiscriminate hour of the day. The curtains are drawn tight in every room, blocking the sun or moon from view, and Rindou can’t find his phone in the master bedroom where he slept, which should concern him more, but he is too disoriented to worry. Ran isn’t in the kitchen or dining room, his study or living room, so Rindou checks the guest bedroom.

A long, thin lump shaped more like a body pillow than a man though much too tall, hides beneath the comforter in the guest room. A grandfather clock with the chimes removed shows the time to be near one, presumably in the afternoon. Too early to wake Ran without a fight.

“Oi, where’s my phone?” Rindou barks. He wants to ask why he’s here because somewhere between vomiting the second and third time, Rindou realized he has no memories of how he came to sleep in his brother’s bed. He remembers the sight of your teary face in the bathroom – it’s crystal clear unfortunately – remembers finishing the bottle of bourbon in the car, remembers driving – oh fuck and he should not have been driving black out last night. Shit. The memories grow glossier as the hours progress, the scope of his mental vision shrinking like a burning photograph, until eventually there is nothing but emptiness left.

He wants to fill in the blanks of his hazy memory, but admitting to Ran that he blacked out like a sorority girl after her third vodka cranberry is too harrowing, so Rindou asks after his phone instead.

The lump that is his brother groans and shifts but does not emerge from beneath the covers. Rindou grips the railing at the foot of the bedframe and gives it a weighty shake until Ran’s head pops out. His eyes are covered by a sleep mask, hair a mess.

“Phone. Where is it?” Rindou says.

“Go away,” Ran hisses, or at least that’s how Rindou interprets the garbled words as Ran burrows back beneath his blankets.

“I need my phone now, dickhead. Come one, where is it?”

Only Ran’s arm appears this time, feeling around on the bedside table until he finds a paperweight, which he promptly flings at Rindou’s head. It is well-aimed and thrown with enough force to knock him unconscious but too slow by half, and Rindou easily dodges aside.

“Ran –!”

“Coffee! Coffee first!” Rindou tries to interrupt but Ran talks right over him. “Coffee!”

Resigned and more than a little annoyed, Rindou returns to the kitchen and brews a pot of instant coffee. No sugar, no milk. Exactly the way he knows his brother hates. While rifling through Ran’s cabinets for a mug, his stomach flips again, so Rindou decides to eat a late breakfast.

Thirty minutes later, Rindou sits, chowing down on a fried omelet, leftover onigiri found in the fridge, and a bowl of steamed rice when his brother finally emerges from his den. Ran beelines to the coffee and drinks the first cup without pause before pouring a second. This one, he bothers to treat with milk and gomme syrup for taste. Ran follows Rindou’s example then, starting on his own breakfast, expertly carving up a grapefruit as the first caffeine blast hits his system. Rindou can see the moment sleep fully leaves his brother’s eyes.

“Well, good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” Rindou scoffs.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to mock. I did, after all, let you sleep in my bed last night. You’re welcome for that.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks. I threw up on your floor by the way. Probably want to deep clean that,” Rindou returns.

Ran cranes his long neck heavenward as if searching for divine intervention. “Little brothers…the gift that never stops giving.”

“Anyway, I’m gonna head out. Just hand over my phone,” Rindou says.

“Can I trust you with this?” Ran asks seriously, unearthing the phone from the pocket of his silk pajama pants.

“Uh…yeah?”

“Convincing,” Ran grimaces, but he tosses the phone Rindou’s way anyway. “She didn’t call or text by the way.”

Rindou ignores this unasked for information in favor of scrolling his notifications: a few nonurgent business emails, a call from Mochi he should return, and an update on an MMA match he follows. When he flips to his calls log to check what time Mochi called, he sees a slew of outbound calls, 34 to be exact, all to your number. He slumps in his seat and groans.

“Don’t tell me you blacked out,” Ran sneers, missing nothing as he watches Rindou over his cup of coffee.

“Piss off.”

“I gave you so much advice last night, too. Some of my best work, and you went and forgot it. Well, don’t think I’m going to repeat everything for your benefit now. You’ll have to settle for the Cliff Notes version.”

“I don’t need advice,” Rindou snaps.

“Oh, don’t you? Why don’t I fill you in on what you forgot? I got home from work this morning around 7 AM, and what did I find? My baby brother sleeping on my front step. No idea how long you were there by the way. I figured, okay, he just needs to sleep it off. But, oh no, you spent the next two hours talking my ear off about your girl problems. Crying intermittently, I might add. Really moving stuff if you’re the type for it. I had to take your phone after the ninth time you tried calling her. It was getting pathetic.”

The timestamps on his outbound calls show the last attempt was logged at 7:45 AM true to Ran’s accounts. If anyone but Mikey blew up his phone that much, he would block them on principle. Considering the lack of reply, you probably did just that.

Rindou doesn’t remember any of it.

“The long and short of my advice, by the way, call her. Today. Tell her you’re so sorry and want to be with her, just her. No wait, tell her, you’re sorry, and that you just got scared because you’ve never felt this way about a woman before. Tell her you love her and that you want to be with her and only her. That no woman can compare! That she’s more beautiful than Lady Kiritsubo, sexier than Kyoko Fukada and Naomi combined, more bewitching than Lady Murasaki, that you would not stop at the murder of 130 men but would fell 10,000 if only to look upon the moon of her face. Are you writing this down? This is good stuff,” Ran says.

“I’m not saying any of that stuff,” Rindou groans.

“Fine, not sure why. That sweet girl of yours would just about cream herself if you compared her to all those literary figures, but whatever. For some reason, she likes you, so I’m sure whatever you say will move her,” Ran allows.

“I’m not going to say anything to her.”

The knife contacts the cutting board with a sharp knocking sound that rings out in the otherwise silent kitchen. Juices from the grapefruit drip off its serrated edge. The British Shorthair, whose name Rindou remembers is Tortoiseshell, leaps onto the counter and winds her bushy tail along Ran’s arms in an affectionate gesture, like she can sense Ran’s growing ire, neck going red and heat rising higher by the second.

“And why the hello not?”

“Because she told me not to call her,” Rindou says simply.

“Sure didn’t stop you yesterday,” Ran says, but Rindou waves that away with the excuse that he was drunk. Ran sights like his personally pained by Rindou’s stupidity. “When she told you not to contact her, she meant don’t waste my time. I promise you, she did not mean, don’t call me and give me everything I want and am asking for. Tell her you’re a one-woman man from here on out, and it should work out just fine.”

“But I’m not. I’ve never wanted to be a boyfriend or whatever. That’s not what this was, and she understands that,” Rindou says.

“So, you don’t want to be with her?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then, you want to be with her but not as much as you want to be with other women? There’s something other women are giving you that she can’t?” Ran tries.

“Not necessarily.”

“Then, what? Because I’m getting mad like I’m the girl you’ve been stepping out on. You’re not making sense. She does all the freaky stuff you’re into. She’s the best lay of your life,” Ran says, brushing aside Rindou’s threatening glare. “These are your words, Rin. Not mine. You said so last night. You also said that she loves you and that you love her.”

This time, when his stomach flips, Rindou knows better than to blame it on his hangover. He almost accuses Ran of lying, but he can read Ran’s facial tics and mannerisms as clearly as directives in an instruction manual, all concise, clinical language and the steps in sequence. There is no lie hidden in Ran’s hands as they wave about, punctuating this or that point, only frustration at Rindou’s stubbornness in the tilt of Ran’s chin.

He remembers the track of your tears down your face. How they stubbornly clung to your jaw line, refusing that final plummet until new tears slid down and forced them away. Overcrowding. The memory is so clear in the way memories can be, meaning it is false and true at the same time. In his memory, there is only the facsimile of a public toilet, and the edges fade to black like they do on film. The counters of your face are so familiar to him, so easy to trace, but an aura of white, hot light shines around you, transforming you into an angel, the kind built for God’s bloodiest wars. The details of your hair and clothes are wrong, but not the tears. Those are clear enough that he can imagine wiping them away with his thumb here and now.

As Ran carries on, Rindou downs an entire bottle of water without coming up for air as if by blocking one sense, he might drown out whatever Ran says next. The words – about how Rindou pledged his love for you last night – reach him regardless.

Neither brother speaks for several minutes. Both busy themselves in their respective breakfasts and eye the lined marble of the tabletop like its trajectory of cracks map to the elixir of life. Rindou tries to deaden his mind, to ward off thoughts second and feelings first.

Eventually, Ran sighs and sits down at the counter opposite him. All that remains of the grapefruit is the sticky rind and guts clinging to the forgotten knife.

“Do you remember our time in family court before we went to juvie?” Ran asks. “I was so pissed they were locking us up. I didn’t wanna leave Miki behind or what we’d built in Roppongi, but I was so damn pleased when we walked into lockup that first day. You and I together. Felt like it was just another neighborhood, just another street war, and we were going to win it.”

Rindou smiles faintly at the memory. He remembers their first days with less fondness, but he also left nothing behind when they were sentenced away. All he claimed in the world was his brother and his own body, and they couldn’t take either away from him. It was hardly a punishment at all.

“I never told you, but Izana said something to me a couple months in. Something I never forgot…He asked me why I didn’t…why I didn’t tell them it was all me. Try to take the fall for everything and get you off,” Ran says.

“What are you talking about? They had us on everything. With witnesses. You couldn’t have gotten me off.”

“Probably not,” Ran admits dully. “But maybe…maybe I could have told them that you never wanted any of it. That I was kicking your ass at home and forcing you into the gang life. Maybe they would have believed it, been lenient.”

“No one would have believed that,” Rindou scoffs.

“Maybe. Probably not. But the point is…the point is I didn’t even try.” Ran lets the words sit between them for a long moment, eyes on his plate but mind turned inward to the sins of his past. “Because it had always been you and me. We didn’t need a gang so long as we were together. And that’s exactly how I wanted it. Us against the world. I’ve lost things. But I chose this, all of it, for better or worse. You? I watch you sleepwalking through life, and I can’t remember if you ever really chose anything, or I just dragged you along behind me. I wonder if you’re just on a bullet train, and it’s moving too fast for you to get off, and you’ve been on it so long, you figure you might as well ride it to the final destination, just speeding along, doing what you’ve always done.”

When Rindou tries to swallow, all the moisture in his mouth evaporates, and his throat stutters over a rough, empty path to his gullet. He struggles to even look at Ran. His entire being shrinks away from his brother only to find that sentiment waits for him wherever he retreats. Ran’s sincerity, the power in these hypnotic, never before spoken words, cows him into submission. He breaks free only through an extreme display of will.

“You’re telling me I should quit? Settle down with a wife and kids and become what? A salaryman?”

“Fuck no! No, you don’t up and quit. We’re in this for life,” Ran says, flicking his fingers in Rindou’s direction as if to signal that he finds his brother’s lack of intelligence exhausting. “I’m saying that you have a chance to make a choice and change things for yourself right now. I’m saying that opportunities like this don’t come around all that often, get rarer every year we get closer to the grave, and I’m saying that if you let this chance pass you by, I’m going to blame myself forever.”

“I’m never drinking again,” Rindou groans because it is easier than searching for a grain of sincerity to match Ran’s earnest sermon.

Thankfully, Ran depletes his stores of sincerity in the same moment, tossing his parting words over his shoulder, “I’m going back to bed. Your clothes are in the dryer. You puked on them, too, by the way. You really are the greatest house guest. Can’t imagine why we don’t do this more.”

Ran disappears back into the dark, tunnel-like halls for a few hours of much deserved sleep. Rindou stays at the table for another long half hour, not thinking. In fact, he uses every ounce of his brain’s considerable powers to avoid thinking altogether. By the time he leaves, he is an expert at meditation.

--

In the days that follow the explosion of your relationship – less plane crashed into the side of a mountain and more nuclear holocaust – Rindou descends into his own nuclear winter. The days are short as snow blankets the city. It weighs down telephone lines and cartwheels down slanted roofs. Pipes burst from the cold. Rindou foregoes his car and walks to the store, no gloves or hat, hands wind-chapped and roughened to hewn wood. Boots left to dry in the entryway, he steps into puddles of melted ice whether he comes or goes.

The roads clear quickly, and he returns to work. Then, he returns home.

Amidst the wreckage, Rindou wiles away the hours with thoughtless labor. His bottom line thrives. Not that anyone but Kokonoi notices enough to comment on his newfound dedication. All the inroads he made with his fellow executives in the last several months dry up, the waters of goodwill between them polluted by the radioactive dust typical of any nuclear fallout. He finds his colleagues too loud, too vulgar, too happy, too miserable, too much, too much, too much. And so, he avoids them entirely.

He goes through the motions, relying on pure muscle memory to wake his empty husk of a body in the mornings, to carry it to the gym, to navigate rush hour traffic, to feed it just enough to survive. Little else reaches him. He does not touch another human being.

The days repeat with so little variation that when Rindou lies down to sleep at night, he struggles to remember what he did that day. He tries to retrace his steps and form something coherent from the detritus, but the effort exhausts him, and he often falls asleep without making any progress.

Like he is bunkered down in a fallout shelter, he lives but does little else.

Weekends pose the most harrowing challenge. He sleeps as many hours as his body will allow, which for the first time since adolescence means half the day. When he blinks awake to a messy bedroom in the evenings, he turns to video games to pass the time. Music irritates him. The notes are discordant and false. Sometimes, he reads. Not your books, never those, kicked into a dusty corner under his bed, but books on dinosaurs, the deep sea, space, anything long ago or far away from here.

In one chapter on Newton’s second law of motion, he reads about the earliest understanding of “inertia,” how scientists billed it as the resistance to motion, assuming that stillness was the natural state of any object. He reads that the word “inertia” is derived from the Latin “inertem,” meaning, amongst other things, inactive, helpless, and weak.

He notices his foot has fallen asleep, that he has not sat up from his slump on the couch in hours.

Yet another weekend, he surrenders himself to the authority of the television. He skips past sitcoms with their long-married couples, dramas with their tender romances, sports with their screeching optimism, and finally settles on documentaries. Despite his sleep-saturated body, he drifts off to one, waking up to a scientist crooning to his captive jellyfish. The scientist explains that the jellyfish he raises are biologically immortal, that after reaching sexual maturity, they are able to regenerate to the polyp stage once again, return fresh and renewed. They could continue forever and ever this way. The documentarians fawn over the jellyfish as an elevated being, their cells key to humanity’s future immortality. He half-hallucinates, half-images the documentarians talking to him from the screen, promising him that there will be no end to this, that they will inject him with jellyfish venom and return him to this purgatory again and again and again.

He turns off the TV and dreams of drowning.

The temperature rises as March dawns, the sun beating heat down on the back of his neck for the first time in as long as he can remember. And that’s not all. He remembers the child throwing a tantrum outside the konbini as he walks to work, he remembers a joke Sanzu tells to no laughs before a meeting, he remembers the taste of a cold beer breaking on his tongue.

Spring draws near and winter thaws, and with it, Rindou lets himself feel for the first time in nearly three weeks. He misses you terribly.

The memory of you is a blistering wound, barely healed enough to touch, but he tries, remembering every time he made you laugh, every time you made him laugh in turn. He remembers soft flesh yielding in his hands when he gripped your waist and the equally soft flesh of your inner thigh. He remembers your bottomless appetite for new experiences, how you wanted to experience the world with him at your side. He remembers until the past and present merge into a stagnant stream, until the only thing he can’t remember is why he refused monogamy so insistently when it means an eternity without summers.

There is no autopilot, nothing natural at all about texting you after so long apart, but he chooses to anyway. His fingers move key by key, every word carefully considered and chosen, and then he chooses to push send. He moves.

It is as simple a message as he could manage: Can we talk?

That night, for the first time in a long time, Rindou does not dream.

--

Rindou is well-acquainted with the exterior of your apartment block. It is a relic from when architecture built out rather than up. Each apartment has its own front door and step. The building is an ugly white block of cement and plaster, but the neighborhood has planted symmetrical stripes of shrubbery between each apartment to liven it up, and you say that in the spring when the flowers bloom, the block is transformed in a vibrant display of every imaginable color: soft blue nemophilas and sickeningly yellow canola flowers, plump purple tulips and tender pink plum blossoms. Now, with the frost barely thawed, the flower beds lie dormant.

A minute passes after he knocks on your door, and he wonders if he dreamed your response last night when you invited him over to talk. At his feet, a cat meows. Rindou makes eye contact, and the cat flees into the bushes that separate your stoop from your neighbor’s. He watches for some sign of the cat, but the bushes don’t so much as rustle on your quiet street.

Maybe he dreamed the cat, too.

Just as Rindou decides to shoot you a text, the door opens, and then there is you. You, just as he remembered, all light and life and color. A lifetime’s worth of tension plummets off his shoulders at this measly, first sight of you.

Voice clear and lovely and unavoidable as the chiming of a temple bell calling him home, you usher him inside, past the entryway and up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. You chatter away about how you are in the middle of laundry, and would he mind if you do chores while he talks?

Under normal circumstances, he would closely observe your childhood home, looking for clues to the person you once were in the wear of the tatami and pictures framed on the wall, but the mere nape of your neck enthralls him and fixes his gaze. You shine like a beacon, the kind of light that doesn’t merely attract but blurs and blends the shadows until he can see nothing else.

Your clothes hang drying on the balcony, which is too cramped for two to stand comfortably, so he opts to hang back in the attached living room, while you fold your clothes into a basket. Rindou realizes that the task gives you the perfect excuse to avoid eye contact, which you have gracefully evaded since he arrived. It is a worrying sign perhaps, but it means he can study your face shamelessly as you work. There is a layer of grease atop your scalp and no makeup to cover the shadows that border your eyes. He looks no better, of course, but at least he’s been sleeping, and he frowns at these signs of neglect. Even so, he could get drunk on watching you unhindered like this.

The tension of all that is left unsaid writhes until you can’t help but break the silence, always the first to snap.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you ask.

“I know you asked me to leave you alone, but I don’t want to. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you confess quietly.

Something stronger than relief blooms where there has been so much pain, and Rindou spits out his response, words tumbling into one another without pause.

“Then what are we doing? Let me take you out!”

“Rindou, we can’t just go back to how things were,” you sigh. “I don’t mean that I won’t. I mean that I can’t. When things started between us, I thought I was just down for the ride, and I had no expectations of you or us, but then…everything just kind of snuck up on me, and when we were together, I felt so safe and cared for, like I never have before, and it was wonderful. Then, with a snap of your fingers, all of that just went away, and I was left with nothing, and it sucked. Trust me, I’ve thought about calling you a hundred times a day because it’s been so hard. But if I break now, I’m going to have to start moving on all over again from scratch, and I can’t do that. I need to just…get it over with.”

“Well, I don’t want to just get over it.”

The sun beats down on his brow through the glass, and a base sheen of sweat bursts from beneath his skin. The way you express yourself, honest and eloquent, as if inviting him to truly understand you, will never not amaze him, never not leave him scrambling for something half as true to share with you in turn. Words have never been his weapon of choice; he leads with his fists, his wits if pressed, the allure of fresh banknotes, but never his words, and now, they are the only thing that may save him. He had hours to prepare something to convince you to give him another chance, but the words sounded so stupid in his mind that he threw out every option as fast as he could imagine them. His memory has been shaky lately or he would recite the speech Ran wrote for him verbatim. His brother had been right. He should have written it down.

So, it is with no plan and with brains scrambled like a cracked egg that Rindou continues, “You’re not the only one who things snuck up on. You’re the best part of my day. Even now, as shitty as things stand between us, you’re still the best thing in my life. I never wanted to be a boyfriend. But I’ve had lots of time to learn that I want to lose you even less. A lot less. If you need me to give up seeing other women, to commit, or whatever else, then I’ll do it. If it means you can feel safe with me again, I’ll do it.”

“I’m not trying to trap you, or change you,” you sigh.

“Too late! I’m fucking trapped! And I don’t care. I want you way more than I want my freedom.”

Finally, you turn away from the laundry, back to the horizon, and look at him. You are guarded, no fake smiles to reassure or disarm. You are, however, listening, and Rindou lets himself hope that somehow, somehow, he has found the words powerful enough to undo the damage he wrought.

“That all sounds really nice,” you admit, “But you obviously don’t want to be my boyfriend, or we would have had this talk a while ago. It took you weeks to realize you want me.”

For such a smart woman, you could say the stupidest things, and Rindou is incensed enough at the very idea of not wanting you that he tells you as much. A spark of fire, something finally more impassioned than dull resignation sparks in your eye at the insult, but he plows forward before you can snark back.

“I knew I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. And I always miss you the second you leave my side. What it took me weeks to admit was…well shit, that I can’t live without you because I love you.”

A gust of wind weaves its way between the taller buildings that flank your apartment to blast past the balcony just as your fingers fumble removing a white tee-shirt from the clothesline. The shirt flies out on an updraft. As if dancing with the wind, it whirls in tight circles just out of reach of your outstretched hand, a brief white flag before the wind dies down and it plummets to the street.

You lean over the balcony, like you might leap to follow it, but finding no escape in that direction, you turn to face Rindou’s love confession head-on, just as he once faced yours. He had expected the words, “I-love-you” to hurt, to tear open his throat on their journey out and to ache like a rotting tooth. After all, people lost their minds for love. They died for love. And when love was gone, they cauterized the wound, all decayed flesh and mindless bumbling through the motions, like living zombies. Love hurt or some shit, right?

Yet, he doesn’t regret telling you now, even as you stand quietly without returning his feelings. A million possibilities for heartbreak manifest in front of him, but Rindou feels stronger than he has in weeks. There are so many secrets that still divide you, but this one fundamental truth is undeniable, unretractable. Never again will he be able to claim he’s never loved. This love will forever be a part of his history, and Rindou embraces the fixedness of the path that lies before him, one that is forever imprinted upon by your shared love.

“You’re making it nearly impossible to refuse you,” you sigh out.

“Good. You shouldn’t,” Rindou agrees.

The screen door squeaks as you close it behind you, stepping close enough that he can faintly sense your body heat and lavender scented detergent emanating from the laundry basket. You stand together at a precipice. Your mouth twists to the side in what he recognizes as fear.

“I’m scared,” you whisper. “If we do this, and I get hurt again…I can’t –”

“Do you remember our first date, when you told me all about your favorite story? The one with the girl whose brother kills her?” Rindou blurts out. He doesn’t know where he is going with this. Inspiration hovers three steps ahead of his brain.

“A Smiling Death’s Head?” you ask uncertainly.

“Yeah, you said you hated that one version of it because the woman dies for a man who won’t choose her in return. You like the one where the woman is brain and risks everything – her honor, her family’s honor, her life even – for love, and the man she loves is willing to do the same. I’m thinking, that’s us right now. I’m here, baby, and I’m choosing this even though you might hurt me now. I don’t care what shit there is down the road, I’m choosing you, and I want you to do the same. Be brave like the women in your books and take this leap with me, please.”

Like a sunflower to the sun, your whole body leans in his direction as you say, “That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I’d tell you not to get used to it, but who knows? This is the first time I’ve ever been in love. Maybe I am a romantic. You’ll have to choose me to find out.”

Pure joy knocks you off balance and tumbling into his arms. In seconds, you are tangled together. Your thighs clamp tight around his hips and your chin tucks into the notch between his neck and shoulders. His nose buries into the crook of your exposed throat, breathing in the balmy scent of sweat and sun. Just as naturally, your arms wrap around his waist as he holds you aloft. There is no space between your bodies. Nothing has felt more right since he first drew breath upon entering the world.

He has made his choice, and now you have made yours.

Rindou carries you into the open kitchen, sitting you on a high countertop, where neither of you need loosen your grip on the other. In fact, as he no longer needs to support your weight with his hands, he is free to tighten the embrace, wrapping two big arms around your back to clutch you even tighter to the heat of him.

Together like this, you both breathe through what feels like two blissful eternities that make the time spent apart seem like the passing of a few errant seconds. Time stops when you are gone, and it races when you are near. Rindou doubts he’ll ever return to the days of idly passing the time again. Not so long as he has you.

It is one of the happiest moments of his life. Not the happiness of a victory, but the absolute relief of a stay of execution, a sparing of the hangman’s noose. You are so unbelievably warm and soft as you cling to him. Little noises escape your mouth and get lost against his chest. It takes him a moment to recognize those sounds are words: “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

The fabric of his shirt sags from the weight of your tears as you weep, and he hates to imagine how exhausting the last several weeks have been as you ran yourself into the ground to avoid your heartbreak. He promises to care for you even when you can’t, or won’t, care for yourself. And now is as good a time as any to get started.

“No more tears,” Rindou cajoles, loosening your embrace just enough to draw your head up and look into those pretty eyes.

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” you hiccup-laugh. “I’m just so happy.”

He pinches the fat of your cheeks between his fingers, squishing your face into an adorable pout that stops the tears in their tracks.

“Now that I’m back, you’re going to be a good girl and listen to me, right?” he coaches.

You attempt a nod around his grip on your face, an eager half bob at the command.

“Good. First things first, you’re going to tell me everything I’ve missed while we were apart. And, I mean everything, baby. What’s going on with school, your mom, your friends. I want to know how Naoto’s work event went, how things are at the library, what you’re reading. If you read the nutritional information off a cereal box, I want to know about it,” Rindou orders.

“Yes, sir,” you slur through his fingers, and somehow you manage to sound perky and enthused despite your pinched lips and bloated cheeks.

“And you’re going to start taking care of yourself now that I’m back. No more all-nighters or studying until you collapse. You get seven hours of sleep every night minimum. You eat three meals a day. And you take at least one hour every day to do something fun, I don’t care what.”

“But sir!” you protest.

“That’s an order. Blink twice if you understand me.”

As your wet lashes bat down twice, Rindou notices the dreamy film that descends over your eyes, that recognizable, sleepy slide towards subspace as you relax your brain and surrender entirely to his will. All it took was the sound of his voice to affect you. And that’s not all. When the fingers of his other hand, the one not manipulating your cute little face, shift slightly on your neck, not even a full caress, you suck in a powerful breath like the touch might shatter you to pieces.

He vows to never take this, the power he commands over you, for granted again. Because as ardently as you react to his slightest touch, he is just as devoted in the hunt for those same reactions. He drinks up your sighs and pleasures and delicious little nose scrunches like an alcoholic at an open bar.

The sun filtering into the room is dimmer now, lighting up the dust mites as they float past the window. Rindou massages the base of your neck with a firm hand. Like a kitten, you purr and cant into the touch. He could stay like this until nightfall, until forever. Based on the little shivers that wrack your spine, the pathetic whimpers you can’t suppress, you are less contented, calves winding around his hips in a suggestion he only pretends to ignore.

“I have to tell you something,” you murmur, lips trailing his neck until they reach his ear. “I have to tell you, I was bad while we were apart.”

Rindou hides his smile in the base of your neck, continuing to stroke you like a beloved pet, “Were you now? I find that hard to believe.”

“I was, Sir. I came three times without permission. Twice on my own and once at the club,” you report.

Technically, you had his permission at the club when you came on Lady’s fingers as he nodded along with the audience, but he doesn’t tell you that, too amused by the eager way you tattle on yourself in the hopes he’ll spank you clean through a dry orgasm, thighs flexing around his waist as you imagine it. And he might punish you yet, but not today. Not when the weight of you in his arms feels like returning home after an odyssey, and unlike Odysseus, Rindou would have forgiven you anything – any infidelity, any betrayal, any treason – in his relief to find peace here once again.

“Hmm, you have been bad,” Rindou plays along. “And what do you think I ought to do about that?”

“Whatever you think best, Sir,” you offer, trying and failing to perform meekness as your excitement grows.

Rindou untethers you from his body, making sure you are seated securely on the counter beside an overflowing drying rack before he slides down, down, down to the floor, dragging your sweatpants along with him. You loom over him like a mountain in your half-naked glory, built like you were hand-crafted by a divine power for his enjoyment, designed to be worshipped. He belongs on his knees.

He lifts a foot to his mouth, tongue teasing past the toes, where he knows you are most ticklish, and pressing steady kisses to the arch. Slowly, he laps higher, passing your ankles, laving the muscles of your calves, and dedicating special attention to the sensitive skin behind your knees. An unstoppable giggle breaks free at the tickle, but your eyes warn him this is no laughing matter. His descent is achingly slow. Every centimeter he rises on your left leg must be repeated on his right before he will go higher, drawing out the torture until your breath goes shallow. It is an unhurried kind of worship that relaxes as well as arouses. There is a voluptuous surrender in the way he lingers on your legs, ignoring where you most want him as if time presents no obstacle to his exploration. All the while, he maintains eye contact, violet eyes transfixing you in place.

At your inner thighs, Rindou can’t resist, and he sucks twin hickeys onto each side. It’s the silken softness of your skin there, where you are never exposed to the sun. It’s the way your cunt smells, so close to his face as he marks you. You haven’t shaved in a few days, but the fine hairs hardly detract from the pillowy flesh. His cock aches for you.

Your panties join your sweatpants on the floor. For a solid minute, Rindou can do nothing but stare at your pretty pussy, so familiar and so missed. His hot breath dances over the sensitive skin, and you squirm, begging for the return of his mouth.

He smothers your cunt and himself in the process with open mouth kisses. Wet trails of his spit glisten in the wake of his lips. He uses his fingers to pinch at your hood until your glossy, little clit peeks out for him. The kisses he lays there are purposeful, devotional.

“Rindou, sir, please,” you whimper.

“You want me to eat this pretty pussy the way my pretty girl likes it?” Rindou asks.

You nod eagerly, and Rindou makes a show of considering it. The kisses he just gifted you were merely playful, a pantomime of what you really needed. Even as he toyed with your clit, your hips bucked greedily against the anchor of his hands at your hips, begging for more pressure, more, more, more.

“I was going to reacquaint myself with this perfect body from your toes to your eyelids. If I get distracted here, who will play with the rest of your body? Who will play with your pretty tits? Do you still want me to lick this cunt?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer swiftly.

“Well, since you’re being so polite,” Rindou hums, rubbing a firm hand up your inner thigh until you arch. “I’ll do it, but only if you play with your tits just the way you know I would. You’ll have to be my hands, baby.”

It is an uncharacteristically kind decision, but Rindou can’t summon up the will to call you belittling names or deny you too badly. You may be a pathetic, needy cockslut, but he is the one who couldn’t survive three weeks without the hug of your cunt, so what does that make him? At least, for today, he is simply too drunk on your body to degrade you the way you deserve.

Even without his firm hand, you are still an obedient little thing – one of the things he loves most about you – so you hasten to show off, tugging your tee-shirt up over your breasts and grabbing handfuls of your own flesh. He loves the way your fingers leave marks from how hard you grope and squeeze them. Rindou slips a hand in his pants, so that he can thumb at the head of his cock, watching the way you touch yourself. The foot he previously licked plants right on his shoulder to keep you spread open for him. Then, he dives back into your pussy.

With his tongue, Rindou laps out the wetness that collects at your entrance and smears it up to the top of your mound. It is messy. You practically flood his mouth at first contact, and he relishes that familiar tang. He buries everything – from his tongue to his nose – between your folds, lapping and sucking until your thighs quiver. With your clit, he is merciless, all pressure and speed as it has left the defenses of your clitoral hood and now beckons to him, an engorged button for him to tweak and nudge and suction into the hot wetness of his mouth.

You express your approval of his efforts by overenthusiastically abusing your tits. When you pinch your nipples, you tug that extra amount until they’re sore. When you squeeze them, you grope your tits like a pervert, hard and merciless. When you caress the undersides, you follow up with a stinging slap to the center that alights your nerves and brings tears to your eyes. It is masterful, a work of pure artistry, for an audience of one. And what an appreciative audience! Rindou shucks off his jeans, so he can palm the head of his cock as he watches the student become the master. He taught you this, this brutality, this unrestrained use of your body, and he wonders whether you spanked your ass raw in his absence, pretending your little hand was larger, meatier, his.

The toes on his shoulder clench, and he knows you are going to cum. All of those signs particular to you and your pleasure are committed to his memory and on display now as he worries your clit with his tongue.

So, of course, Rindou pulls back from your cunt, breaking a strand of spit that connects him to your pussy with his hand.

It is adorable the way your hips arc, humping at air like that might give you the stimulation you need to fly over the edge. As soft as he feels towards you in the new dawn of your shared love, Rindou can’t help but laugh at the pathetic display. It is easy to bat your hand away when you move it towards your own pussy, funny how the pitiful moue of your lips trembles at being denied. You must be out of practice to think for a second he would let you rut yourself to orgasm without permission. An out of practice needy hole in need of discipline. He can’t even feel disappointment. It’s simply too pathetic. Too pathetic and too intoxicating.

Nothing in his long life of vice compares to the knowledge that your pleasure belongs to him. His to control, his to provide. Like a headrush, a heady sense of his own power and gratitude for it stuns him into stillness. Rindou has always liked this power, enjoyed the needy pleas of the women he fucked and the way they would surrender beneath his hands, hoping, praying, that he might let them cum. He would snicker and mock their desperation even as the blood rushed to his cock. But there is an opposite side to the coin as well, a kind of self-flagellation because even as he denies you, he is simultaneously denying himself. Because the only sight better than your miserable cries at an edge is the glorious sight of you coming undone, brain blitzed and tongue heavy and breasts heaving and stomach clenching and…

“I didn’t tell you to stop abusing those tits,” Rindou warns.

He simply watches and you spring back to action, drawing the meat of your breast as high as it will go to try to tongue at your own nipple. When you aren’t satisfied, you spit and use the slick to rub aching little circles over each nipple. Your neck arches back at the feeling. Rindou can see when a zap of pleasure rolls through your body in the way your throat swallows, in the way your untouched hole spasms around nothing. He jerks his cock rapidly, splitting his attention between your performance and that clenching hole.

Two minutes pass after your first edge before Rindou decides he can safely return to your clit without immediately sparking an orgasm. Rindou licks his fingers, messy and thorough, before guiding them to your entrance. There is a nudge of resistance as he sinks two fingers inside as it’s been weeks since he last used you here, and he imagines that same tight pressure massaging his shaft, suffocating him at the root.

Sunk inside to the second knuckle, Rindou maneuvers until he finds your front walls, and then he plunges his fingers repeatedly into that spot as you shake and moan. He doesn’t even need to touch your clit now as it all but vibrates at the internal stimulation. One hand plants on your belly to hold you in place as he picks up speed, fingering your tiny cunt expertly until your squeals are as loud as the wet gushing from between your thighs and the sound of blood pounding in Rindou’s head.

Rindou works a third finger inside you, so that you won’t shatter when his cock breaks you open later. Then, he kisses up and down your stomach to where your cunt is stretched open by his fingers and only just grazing your clit with his passing tongue. Your head lolls like a broken doll, waist twitching one way then the next. Your twitchy little hole tells him that you will cum soon, fluttering like a vice around his fingers. He leaves it to the last possible second, so that he almost worries his mistimed it before abandoning your pussy again.

This time, you don’t try to alleviate the ache but bite down on your own fist in a childish cry of grievance at what is taken from you. He can literally see your hole clench around nothing, an enticing invitation for his neglected cock. An invitation he has ignored long enough.

Rindou stands, lifting you off the counter and depositing you knees-first on the cold tile. His cock hovers at face level, hard, demanding, weeping from missing you too long.

He smacks the meat of your cheek with his cock. A few heavy blows that bounce the head off your lip, leaving it stained with his essence. Whenever Rindou jerks off, he is vicious with his prick. His hand would blur from how fast he jerks it, but in contrast, you are always so delicate to start, all kitten licks and starry eyes at his cock like it is a rare book or something equally valuable to you. It is not so different from the worshipful way he learned your body. He craves that show of devotion from you, its own kind of commitment ceremony more powerful than swearing oneself in front of a priest or signing some stupid papers. He wants to see you pledge yourself to him in the basest ways imaginable.

“No hands. No tongue. No mouth,” Rindou says, voice too tight for the command to land as one, but you listen anyway. You are perfect like that.

The skin of your cheek is soft as you rub yourself against him like a cat. You twist under his cock, so that it rests heavy across your pretty features. A fan whirs overhead, but Rindou can clearly hear the deep breath you take through your nose as you soak in the smell of him. Laid out like this, his cock is nearly as long as your face.

Despite the limitations he imposed, you find a way to shift his cock, so it stands to attention between his stomach and your face, which you then rub up and down in time to his heartbeat. You have eyes only for his cock, so close to your nose that it crosses your eyes. The understimulation combined with your debauched face is the worst kind of torment. He has known hell in broken ribs, in a child’s empty belly, in the devastation of the drug trade he peddles. He has known hell. But he has never known a hell that lived so close to heaven as this.

“Go ahead and add your hands and tongue. Still no mouth,” Rindou urges.

Your hand is gentle when it grips him at the base and strokes. His skin stretches forward as you skim up, up, up the length of him. He jumps when slim fingers ghost over the head.

Both hands begin to work in tandem, stroking in opposite directions, different rhythms, so that every centimeter of him is caressed. Like you want to tempt him to sink into your mouth, you open wide and let his tip sit on your tongue. The pink little muscle writhes against the underside where he is most sensitive. Too often when he uses your mouth, he chokes you on the length of him until you flounder, wild-eyed and proud in your accomplishment. This, letting you take the lead and showcase all your skill and study of him, may become a guilty a pleasure for him though. As you trace your tongue up the vein lining his shaft, he realizes you know his body every bit as well as he knows yours.

“Please, can I suck it, sir? I want to make you feel good,” you plead.

“You’re already making me feel good. And besides, you look too pretty like this,” Rindou murmurs, gliding a hand down your spit-stained cheek.

“Like this, sir?”

There is nothing submissive, sweet, or innocent in the way you lick a wet streak from base to tip. So terribly slowly that by the time you kiss the plump head of him, his eyes have rolled back in bliss.

Then, like a secret, you whisper into his cockhead,” I love you, sir.”

By you, he is undone.

Most likely, Rindou thinks, he lowered you gently to the ground then, but this is pure speculation as one moment you are on your knees, and the next you are on your back, legs wound his waist, and his cock bullying its way into your pussy.

It is like coming home when your hips meet with a loud smack, as close as two people can be, cock pressed up and into your stomach. He is gentler when he pulls out, making sure your walls can accommodate him. Your heels dig painfully into his ass at the slow slide. They tighten as if to keep him there when he sinks back in deep.

The only way he could possibly fuck you after everything you shared today is deep. Not too hard or fast, but penetrating, inescapable thrusts that make you wail when he bottoms out.

A cunt is a cunt, he always thought. There is only so much variation in depth, in tightness, in slickness, in heat from one woman to the next. And that’s true of yours, too, except when he’s inside you, he’s not only feeling your walls massage his cock, he’s also smelling the natural perfume that emanates from your neck and thighs. He’s tasting the sweat off your delicious breasts. He’s soaking up the cries and moans that you offer him like a votive.  Yes, you are deliciously obedient and hot, but you are also just you, and that is manifold times more addictive than the drugs he sells for a living.

His balls draw up, and Rindou is shocked to realize he could cum already. He empties his mind, counting his breaths until the urge to fill you ebbs away to more manageable levels. Still his balls ache fiercely.

You fare little better as each thrust breaks you open. His hips grind into yours, pressing him tight to where you folds spread open, where your clit is engorged and primed. Your hands rub through layers of sweat on his back to press him even closer. Nose-to-nose, so you trade breaths and groans through open mouths.

“Please, can I cum, sir?” you ask.

“You wanna cum?” Rindou grits out.

You grasp his wrist, the one not supporting his bodyweight off the floor, and guide his hand to your bared throat. Instinctively, his fingers curl around your pretty neck, not pressing, just there, like a favorite necklace.

“Make me cum,” you say.

Your hand folds over his own and flexes until he begins to squeeze, cutting off your air supply. A little smile of pure contentment curls your lips as you ease into the sensation of being choked. Without air, your brain panics, the cock digging its way to your center begins to feel less welcome, less safe, more startling and therefore unignorable. And then, your brain slackens, and his grinding cock becomes the center of your universe. Just feeling remains and nothing else.

It is a wonder you still trust him enough to let him do this.

A wonder. That’s what you are.

“Cum for me, baby,” Rindou prays, lips to your ear. “Cum as hard as you can.”

His hand loosens to allow a windfall of air to flood your lungs and short circuit your brain. The sudden relief compounds the way he speeds up his thrusts, so that your cunt is filled just the way he knows you need it.

You start to cum sometimes on the second stroke. The little bit of slack he had to maneuver inside you disappears. It is a vice that wraps around his cock. Your pussy pulses haphazardly, like a clenching fist, and he floods your womb with cum.

Lips meet in a messy kiss. Off-center and desperate. But neither of you have the brain power for artistry. His cock is too busy with the aftershocks, managing seven hot spurts into the haven of your cunt after the initial torrent. And you are practically crying into his mouth; a short but obliterating orgasm that wracked you to your core and left you devastated in the aftermath.

This must be what people call ‘making love.’

--

Sometime in the aftermath, Rindou remembers that you share the apartment with your mother, and that he cannot make a bed here on the kitchen floor with a soft cock buried in her daughter’s cunt. First, impressions count after all.

On autopilot, he takes you to the shower, where you both clean up, bodies limp against one another. At no point do you stop holding hands. Even when you pee after. You remain tethered to each other every step of the way.

Your mind wakes up just enough to direct him to your bedroom afterward. The bed is only a twin, but he prefers it, the way it forces you both to stay wrapped up entirely in each other’s arms. You practically lay across his thigh as you both fall into a deep sleep.

An hour or two after judging by the angle of the sun seeping through your window, Rindou wakes up. Vaguely, he notices for the first time his surroundings. The duvet on your bed is threadbare and patchy, but the sheets are surprisingly soft. The room is mostly neat with dirty clothes tucked away in a hamper and clean clothes folded away, though the desk in the corner is piled haphazardly with books and looseleaf notes. A pen must have rolled off your desk earlier because the wheel of your desk chair is lodged atop it. The walls are painted a delicate eggshell yellow, and there are no embarrassing childhood posters there but rather tacked-up photos of you and your friends, you and your mom, you and him.

Rindou finds it hard to swallow when he sees the photos, looks away.

“Morning,” you rumble sleepily into his skin.

He kisses you soundly before correcting you that it is sometime in the early evening. It doesn’t matter either way. Time has abdicated its power. Whether it’s six in the evening or six in the morning, he will stay in this cramped bed, holding you. Short of the police breaking down the door or a zombie apocalypse, nothing could compel him to stop.

“I didn’t dream it,” you murmur to yourself.

“No,” Rindou confirms simply. He has never been a man of many words and now that the time for speeches has passed, he finds himself exhausted of them. He prefers to listen anyway, missed your songbird voice in his ear.

“And you’re not going to regret it?” you say.

Rindou shakes his head.

“I can introduce you as my boyfriend now?” you question.

“Mmmhmm,” Rindou hums, placing a delicate kiss to the crest of your ear.

Your fingers curl tightly around his hand, and you say urgently, “Please don’t cheat on me. I think it’ll kill me.”

“Shh, stop worrying. I won’t even look at another woman again, okay?” Rindou promises.

This little bout of insecurity passes, unable to survive the absolute security of his deep-voiced assurances. Then, you proceed to tell him all about your time apart. Rindou hardly speaks a word, soaking up the way you effortlessly create a full-bodied narrative of details and characters and feelings. You talk mostly about schoolwork and the library, your friends weaving in and out of the periphery of your stories. Occasionally, he asks a question, sparking new stories that outrun the clock until the sky is dark outside and your voice scratchy from overuse.

It takes Rindou by surprise when you say seemingly out of the blue, “Earlier, when you said you would never even look at a woman again…I don’t think you have to take it that far. I mean, unless you want to, but I’m not asking you to.”

“Thanks, that would have made leaving the house kind of hard,” Rindou laughs lowly. “But seriously, I won’t touch anyone but you. You have my word.”

You squirm out from the cocoon of his arms, and he unconsciously chases your body heat. Once you are sitting up, sheets tumbling over your peaked nipples, you say, “I don’t mind if you do, a little.”

Now it is Rindou’s turn to sit up.

“You don’t mind if I touch other women a little?”

“Oh, this is so embarrassing,” you groan at the disbelief in his voice. “I just mean, when we first met and you flogged that woman…I thought that was so hot, watching you. And I could see us wanting to go to the club again sometime, as a couple, and it would be okay with me at least, if you wanted to umm, do a scene with someone else. I think I might even like it. Or, umm, so long as it’s not sex, I think it would be fine even if I’m not there so long as you tell me all about it,” you say.

“What does sex mean to you?”

You think about it for a moment. “Anything that gets your dick wet.”

A beat later Rindou starts to laugh. He laughs until his stomach hurts, while you beat your fists into his shoulder and insist it’s not funny. But it is funny! It is funny that he wasted so many weeks thanks to his stubborn pride when you weren’t even demanding his forever faithfulness, leaving the door wide open to all kinds of sins and debauchery so long as he what? Maintained open communication?

All you ask is that he gives up sticking his dick in other women and in exchange he gets…everything. He gets everything.

When Rindou finally catches his breath, he eyes you like the marvel you are and says, “I really don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Funny, I feel the same way,” you smile. “So, I don’t want you getting your dick wet with anyone else, and I want to know what you do with other people. I may change my mind down the road, but I actually thought about it a lot after everything that happened, and I think that’s my boundary. So, until I do change my mind, that’s the rule. What about you? What boundaries do you have for me?”

Rindou has put little thought into it, assuming a vanilla-style definition of monogamy would be your future together, but half the answer comes instantly, “I control your orgasms. No cumming without my permission.”

“I like that,” you agree.

“And no dating anyone else. Watching you with Lady was fucking hot, and I wouldn’t mind sharing you with other doms if you are interested down the line, but no cumming and no going out with them.”

“Oh, no dating for you either! No dating and no falling in love. And you can’t do scenes with the same woman over and over without me. I don’t want you developing feelings for anyone. I didn’t think of that,” you say.

Rindou nods. “It sounds like we’ll both have to work out the details as they come along. But I’m open to changing the rules as we go because all that really matters is that we’re together, and you’re happy.”

“You’re going to make me happy?” you tease.

You smile beatifically, an angel on earth. A sun to his sunflower, a planet to his moon sucking him into your orbit. Rindou never believed he could make anyone happy, but he knows now that he is going to try until there’s no fight left in him.

“I’m going to make you very happy,” he vows.

It is a rebirth, and it is a start. And you both think in that moment that you hope there is no end to the bright future that lies in front of you.

This is love.

A/N: editing this was a saga, so sorry if i missed anything!

Easing in her slender forearm for a pillow - Matsuo Bashō

[cafe-con-letty]

re: my last post: what i think the 118 & co’s spotify wrapped looked like + my reasoning behind them (pt. one)

***this is all just headcanon please be nice 🫶🏽

****also this is a LONG ASS post, so i did put a cut just in case you want to scroll past :)

bobby:

completely based on vibes alone. i was going to add bruce springsteen but i forgot :(. i think that bobby belts in the air tonight on his way to work every morning and if he pulls up before the song is over, he stays in the truck with the windows up until it’s done.

chimney:

idk i just feel like he listens to really bad music. as you can see, to me he is unironically an ice spice fan. i actually fw gwen stefani, but the everybody else on his top 5 is trash imo. obviously, art is subjective, but i feel like 4/5 of his top artists are universally acknowledged as terrible. i also feel like he doesn’t know he has garbage music taste and actually insists it’s superior to everybody else’s. they will not hesitate to put him in check though.

hen:

this is also based off vibes but also kinda pulled from music aisha has put on her story (namely that she is a fan of rap/hip-hop). also hen is canonically a beyoncé fan and i think we should acknowledge that more. it was a toss between noname and rapsody for a moment, but i reeeeally like noname 🤷🏽‍♀️ no hate to my girl marlanna though. in my head hen and buck went to a migos concert together and screamed when they came out. i also think that she was a fan of drake when he first came up, but post-scorpion he kinda fell off so she leaves his newer shit alone. when denny’s in the car she plays age-appropriate common songs for the social commentary and life lessons they provide. because of this denny’s favorite song is currently the light.

buck:

lowkey inspired by obama’s summer playlist, but a little less eclectic because there’s overall less on it. originally i had blackpink and iu on his top artists and songs, but i changed my mind because ptv fan buck is very important to me. i feel like his music taste as a whole has probably been derived from all the people in his life, which is why aaliyah’s try again is number one on his top songs. we know that maddie used to pick him up from school and i cannot get the image of a young buck was in the passenger seat of the jeep singing his heart out to whatever love song he definitely cannot relate to out of my head, sooo…here we are. i have a lot of thoughts about his music taste but that is for another post.

eddie:

this was literally the easiest one i did. i also think he likes corridos but there were too many artists in the pool if i included them so i kept it down to country. i feel like nobody who follows me knows what corridos are, but just know that eddie’s love of corridos is included in pretty much all of my writing featuring him. ofc i had to put selena on there because i love selena and i think that eddie, being the tejano man that he is, also enjoys selena. idk why whiskey whiskey is on there. let’s just say he’s in his edmundo noches era or something idc. he also likes to listen to songs that chris liked when he was little because he thinks it’s funny when he covers his ears and stares out the window, but also a little bit because he misses baby chris in the backseat singing along to florida georgia line. he is very delighted in five years when chris takes his girlfriend to a florida georgia line concert as a date though.

ravi:

this one was harder because Ravi The Landlord definitely listens to the fit and fresh podcast on his way to work in his stupid cybertruck (because i know he has one okay) but also i feel like he has to listen to music, so i took songs off my spotify wrapped from last year. i don’t actually like drake that much, but her loss was my SHIT when it first came out + i do think that ravi very much enjoyed search & rescue. he is team kendrick for all intents and purposes though. unfortunately ravi and i are both sufferers of rod wave syndrome. nobody lets ravi pick the music at any event because he will put on great gatsby. i also think he likes kevin gates but that’s something i will not be addressing today.

[stumpgirl]

About me: I obviously love FOB but I also enjoy Panic!, MCR (I do not support Waycesters but all other ships are fine), PTV, and other emo bands. I love chubby men (Frank Iero 🤤). I'm not a fan of SP or SRAR Patrick. He's still handsome, don't get me wrong. I just don't like skinny guys in general. I post some racy stuff about Patrick's body but it's all out of love. If you don't like it, skip it or block me

I am angel_loves_stump on ig (formerly angel_loves_beebo). If you've bullied me over there, I appreciate you NOT using my videos and blocking me RIGHT NOW. You know who you are and I have a very long memory.

I am hesitant to rejoin the Panic! fandom for many reasons but, since Brendon is back, besties, I am obligated to say the following. I loathe Dallon Weaks (intentionally misspelled). So, fair warning, if you post about him, I will most likely block you. I defend Urie and Stump to my dying day and he's said awful shit about both of them. Anyone who loves one or both of those beautiful beings should hate that jealous, petty bitch imo. And if you're a "pre-split only" person, please DNF. It's been 5 albums. Get over it. (No hate to Ryro, Spencer, or John. I would love to see them return but let's be real now).

[xxgamefr3akxx]

Bands that I listen too that I think Carl Grimes would listen too! Part 2!

🎸black veil brides🎸

-you cannot tell me he isn't a fan of them

- loves them so much!

- he probably had an older cousin who showed him bvb

- his favorite album is set the world on fire

- ( he wishes he could/j)

- wretched and divine is HIS song!!!

-like think about it "I am the innocent

I am what could have been" screams him!

- his favorite songs are : sweet blasphemy, knives and pens, perfect weapon, youth and whiskey, ritual,savior (the irony) I am bulletproof

-sang savior to Judith when she couldn't sleep

- every now and then she'll remembered the tune and very little lyrics of a song she doesn't know the name too. Little does she know her older brother who she barley remembers would sing it to her.

- found a black veil brides cd on a run a was so happy since he hasn't heard them since the apocalypse started.

🎸 Eyes set to kill 🎸

- discovered them on a run

- he was looking through a record shop when he thought the album cover to the world outside was cool

- now obviously he didn't want to judge a book by its cover but he thought he should check them out

- as soon as they started playing he fell in love with them!

- from then on he was a big fan of them

- Favorite album: The world outside

- Favorite songs: darling, heights, ticking bomb, violent kiss

🎸 Sleeping With Sirens 🎸

- did you really expect this boy to not be a fan of sws when he's ptv fan???

- he was bound to find them out

- one song he enjoys but is a bit suspicious about it

- dead walker Texas ranger...

- Like how did they know!????

- Anyways

- Favorite album: with ears to see and eyes to hear

- Favorite songs: Kick me, If I'm James Dean, then your Audrey Hepburn, tally it up, settle the score , postcards and Polaroids

🎸 Get Scared 🎸

- oh what's that? You don't think he would listen to them? WRONG!

- cmon like of course he does

- why wouldn't he???

- relates to keep myself alive (the irony...)

-I'm just saying this now every older sibling is into this band (saying this as an older sibling)

- Favorite albums: Built for blame, lace with shame, best kind of mess

- Let's face it he loves all of their albums equally like he cannot chose

- If your were to ask him what's his favorite album oooh boy he is sweating!

- Favorite songs: keep myself alive, don't you dare forget the sun, drown, scream, parade

🎸 Honorable mentions 🎸

- asking Alexandria, escape the fate, cute is what we aim for, evanescence, jack off jill, scary kids scaring kids. Ghost town, silverstein, Chiodos

Well that's all!! I'm just saying carl grimes is emo! Also these are just my personal headcanons!!

[smoosnoom]

ok so . moon. i Luved all the songs so much !! i think my fave was your love . it was just so good ?? the Sounds were very pleasing to my brain lol. i did already know scary love and its one of my fav the nbhd songs tbh. i only know a few somgs from glass animals (it's all so incredibly loud, the other side of paradise, mama's gun and poplar st) so i will Definitely check out that album tmr or smth <3

and!! i have some song recs for u too (tho im very bad at matching song vibes so its just kinda random soz) :

make up your mind - florence + the machine

safe - all time low (very mike wheeler imo)

avalanche - bring me the horizon

at least i have nothing - saint motel

resilience - pierce the veil (very will byers imo)

oh another will byers coded song ive been obsessed w lately is arsonist's lullaby - hozier, as well as in the woods somewhere .. i've just been obsessed w hozier lately tbh lol

ok thats all or else i will starting listing songs for days lol . me and my 2,013 liked songs on spotify r always open to give recs tho 🫡

ok . after several days of not answering this i am Finally here, sniffly nose and all, answering this 🫡 first of all IMS SOSOOO HAPPY U LIKED THEM 🥳🥳🥳🥳 i did think "your love" was ur vibe so im very glad 2 hear that :D if u ever check out their album let me know all ur thoughts !!!!

ok so . ive been trying to get into flo+the machine, and this song . is so good i loveee her vocals and the instruments building up with it, this and hozier give me very similar vibes !!! i really enjoyed it !!!!

honestly . all time low in General is so mike wheeler core he would so get into a poppunk phase i said what i said . also the idea of everything mike considers safe immediately leaving 🙂 goodbye why would u put this in my head

walk the moon i know very scarcely, but i think i should definitely check them out properly since this is like . their fifth song ive heard and enjoyed !!!! it was very nice, very similar vibes to the other ones ive heard 🥳

same thing with saint motel !!! ive heard a bunch of their songs and i liked this one just as much :D also ive realized u recommend many that have a vibe of just . leaving everything behind and pursuing something else

omg i had a brief ptv phase back in middle school LOL and oh my god ur so right this is so will byers 😭 mj Please . crying

i love love loveee hozier, i think he was top five listened in 2021 LOL he is so . i love his lyricism his music his Everything !!

thank u 4 the recs :)

[odette-blackrain]

december 10.24

the semester is almost over. i'm so fucking exhausted. i'm struggling to find reasons to stay alive. rn my only two reasons are daredevil having a comeback and my ptv concert. not even my boyfriend is reason enough to want to keep going. i feel like shit bc i'm treating him like trash and he's trying to be so good to me. altho that may be after our little incident, but that is a trauma dump for another day. atm i just wish to be drunk but i've already finished the bottle before getting a nice buzz going. i don't like being sober. i don't want to deal with my thoughts. i don't want to deal with people. everyone annoys me. i want to be left alone. i would kill to have 24 hours all to myself where i don't have to deal with my pathetic life. i don't contribute to anything. i'm a waste of oxygen and space. how could anyone even care for me? i'm a horrible person. people tend to just point out all the bad things i do. i do nothing good, nothing important. and i don't even want to be important. i just want to live a simple, happy life. but we cannot have what we want. all my life i've felt this void in my chest that i cannot fill. i've tried all i can to and it stays there. a constant reminder that i'm nothing but a waste. i'm nothing. if i live or die, the world will keep spinning. how do hell have i been foolish enough to make it this far. i have no plans. i didn't think i'd make it past 18. now i'm just making shit up as i go and it's exhausting to live a life you never thought you'd have. i've had to learn all i know all by myself. the easy going kid is actually a depressed, suicidal adult who can't even care enough to kill themselves properly. why do i keep caring to make things right for others? why was i made to be so sympathetic of others? why do i have to clean up other people's messes? why am i so fucking nice to people who don't deserve it? nobody is nice to me when i need a fucking break. maybe i should go back. things were easier when i was there. granted, i should've stayed longer. maybe my problem was i left too early. but silly me, caring for others feelings before my own. can i stop feeling for a bit? can i stop existing for a bit? i know my problems pale in comparison to others issues. but, fuck, can i at least cry without someone telling me i have no reason to be upset. i have all the damn reasons to be upset and to be selfish. had i been selfish i may have done better for myself. i think once the semester ends i should just quit. being a teacher is exhausting. i care more about my students well being than my own. and all that's gotten me is beefing with snotty kids who don't give a fuck about how they end up yet i fucking do. because i wish i had someone that cared for me during those years like i do right now. kids shouldn't have to deal with their fucked up parents. why do these assholes always end up having children? they obviously won't give them the love they deserve. can you see my mommy issues showing? i'm tipsy and all i can think about is a million things wrong about me and everything around me and just want to blame my mom for that. bc i do blame her for everything. she shouldn't have had children. she shouldn't have had me. one of my earliest memories of my mom is me crying in the living room bc she left me to do god knows what. i was probably crying for hours before she finally decided to appear and she was mad at me for crying. i was 4. i realized my mom was messed up when i was 6. i wanted to put up a new poster i got and i wanted to put it in the same spot my mom's poster was. i tried so hard to not tear her poster but i nicked a piece of it. she saw what i did and proceeded to yell at me, tear my poster to bits, throw the pieces at my face, then beat me up with a belt. i was 6. you see, to me the world is filled with people like my mom. people i need to care for, over my own well being, bc i had to parent my mom bc she didn't know how to parent me. so she ended up with a messed up kid who wants to kill themselves but doesn't, because i clean up other people's messes. thanks, mom.

[tr4g1c-g1rl-j4m13]

Oct. 7,2024

i'm liek really bored and idk what to do w my time, plus i haven't posted here in like a year. i seriously need WWWY fest to post their schedules for each band bc i need to plan fr :(( i don't even know what im gonna wear the day of the fest tbh.. liek i''ve never been to vegas, idk how cold it gets at this time of the year. i only have 13 more days till i go to WWWY fest bc i'm going on the second day :0 i am very VERY excited. i've seen FOB and PTV live, but i'm mainly there for MCR and cobra starship (i'm literally gonna die). i also wanna see millionaires, but i'm going to the fest w my parents, so that would be really embarrassing to sing to with them there. i think i should go full emo for the fest, it's basically emo fest so it only makes sense; i was thinking kind of scenmo tho. this also means i need to make like 50 bracelets for all the bands i like.. so excited to be hunched over on the weekend trying to make bracelets like it's a sweat-shop. ngl i've literally been stalking mikey's insta stories bc he's the only member of MCR the actually updates :( and i guess frank too, but not as much. i need to udpate my spacehey profile too, i've had the same one for liek months and months. ALSOOO, i wanna try to get a purple sweater so it could be like gabe's in the viva la cobra era, it's actually such an iconic sweater. i'll prob find one on amazon or smt. also also, idk what i'm gonna do for my nails bc the press ons that i have are liek lowk not very emo OR scene, and i can NEOT have that. but at the same time, i suck at painting my own nails. might have to ask my friend to do it and pay him >.< i literally saw his nails tdy and he had BLUE CHEETAH PRINT and it looked so good, so i'll prob bring him nail polish and ask him if he could paint my nails. the only thing is, i'd have to buy new nail polish bc i only own dark colors and i want like highlighter pink cheetah print. ANYWAYSSS i've been yapping for long enough i really need to lock in with school, the point is i'm very excited for the festival. FANGS UP >:))

have a good morning, evening or night

-Jamie :))))))

[vi-inylrecord]

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO TOBY MY FAV 💕 (at least, one of em)

i know, i know, i’m lazy… BUT i hadn’t been able to hear for like 5 days until now and every. single. time. i used any sort of light source my eyes would water 😭‼️‼️ but i’m good now n on amoxicillin

so, for his birthday, i feel like i should post (some of) my fav headcanons !!

also drew him so uh if you’re interested in that check it out !!!!!!

I - when driving with lyra right before the crash, she had the aux and was playing some sort of popular girly song. although he doesn’t remember what song or why he practically despises it, he knows the song has some sort of significance because he heard sally listening to it on some old boombox jeff found and he started violently ticking and got a severe ringing in his ears (starting off strong with some angst 💕)

II - i see some people that say his “father” ruined alcohol for him, but honestly… i could see his resentment for his father being stronger than his distaste for alcohol so he totally drinks on occasion. like, he has this very strong “fuck you dad, i’ll do whatever i want !! you can’t ruin that for me” attitude that RADIATES off him. also, considering the CIPA, he doesn’t get very bad hangovers (LUCKY BASTARD ??!??)

III - i also see a lot of people saying that his music taste would be alex g and car seat headrest, a bunch of male manipulator music, but… that man listens to midwest emo. like, his original design?!???1( THE SIDESWEPT FRINGE ?!??(?!1 yeah. he listens to ptv. (saliva, ptv, get scared, american football, shinedown, and probs even picked up some heavier music ((i.e. sludge/nu metal like acid bath and mushroomhead)) from jeff)

IV - knows when to keep his mouth shut, he just doesn’t feel like it most of the time or has some smartass retort he’s just GOTTA say (realest)

V - his canon ticks are cracking his neck, bending backwards, and like one other one i always forget… building off of that, i feel like he’d also erratically twist his head to the side as if someone slapped him across the face (wonder where he got THAT from…), clack his teeth in like a biting motion, whistle, imitate water droplets (YK WHAT I’M TALKING ABT), and he uh… randomly yells “FUCKFACE”. specifically because it was what he liked calling his dad 😭

VI - i imagine him as somewhere undefined on the ace spectrum, like 60% of the time he’ll be sex-repulsed and the other 40% he’s uh. fuckin’ odd to say the least. omniromantic with a male lean and is violently trans-masc (OMG ME TOO !!?!! not self projecting guyz i swearrrrrrrrrr🙁🙏‼️)

VII - he’s german, we all know that, but bro. PERSONALLYYYYY i think he’s german, some irish n italian, and native american !! give that guy some depth 🙁 also, his skin is like an olive-y tone and it’s pretty tan, just not as tan as it could be because he was homeschooled (meaning he probs spent most of his time inside), and the tree canopies of the forest provide quite the shade from the sun.

VIII - he knows how to cook/bake but his ticking kinda interferes with it so he doesn’t do it often, but when he does he makes little treats like mini bundt cakes or german chocolate muffins, and one time cooked pancakes n bacon for all the creeps he’s close with (he cut some livers in halves kinda like butterflying and made it into “livercakes” for ej… 😭

that’s all my brain could conjure up !! thank you for reading it all if you did and notes/rb are always appreciated, never expected !

have a nice day/night 💕🎀🐺

[thissithhappens]

Okay fuck I miss johnny :( tiffany said she thinks i shouldn’t have left him but i ran out of patience. my person is back in my life again, how am i supposed to say no to that? but there were things johnny and i shared that he and i dont. it’s so weird, they were complete and total foils but both wanted to be with me at some point and brought unique impacts into my life. johnny was heat and duality, stefan is chill and electricity. one burns the other zaps. one is yin yang the other is always looking at yin yang. one asks me to differentiate the soft food textures i do and don’t like, the other remembers the numbers i prefer on the radio volume. both of them, knowing me and being close to me. hard to let go. leaving and coming back. dreaming and calling. kissing and confessing. smoking and secrets. who’s gonna see PTV with me?? but who’s gonna talk about the problematic aspects of drag that i had been WAITING for a place to speak on?? if i could slam you both together into one amalgamation of man i think you’d be perfect. but wouldn’t i just essentially be the combo of both? you both have layers that remind me of my own and i deeply admire the ones that are different. i am the in between, aren’t i? so what does that mean. i am my own partner? probably. definitely. that should be the primary relationship, after all. how do i get there? i’m so in love with myself, i always have been; for me it’s wanting to see that reflected. as if i need the final seal of approval before i can officially say im worth anything. fuck. fuck this.

johnny and i should’ve stayed friends. I shouldve left him alone. It’s too late for that thought though. He deserved better, actually, and especially with the ending. i’m so sorry johnny, i’m sure it probably hurt stupid especially after all the drama as it was. im sorry im sorry im sorry. i lost 2 good friends in this. rip mount greenwood.

[zvaigzdelasas]

An emerging media narrative in Pakistan is raising questions about its longstanding policy of recognition of Israel conditional on Palestinian statehood.

Opinion pieces in major newspapers, alongside guests on television talk shows and social media influencers, have opened a discussion about the prospect of unconditional recognition of Israel - something hitherto unimaginable in Pakistan, where rallies in support of Palestine can draw tens of thousands onto the streets.

The main trigger for the current round of commentary on the issue was a visit to Israel last month by a group of mostly US-Pakistani dual nationals who met Israeli President Isaac Herzog [...]

the visit caused outrage in Pakistan when it emerged the delegation included a Pakistani television journalist, Ahmed Quraishi, who was not a dual national and for whom it was therefore prohibited under Pakistani law to travel to Israel.

Quraishi was fired from his job with the state broadcaster PTV. [...]

[Imran] Khan criticised Quraishi at rallies in which he also said the current government led by Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif had been “tasked with recognising Israel”. [...]

Writing in Israel’s Haartez newspaper, Kunwar Khuldune Shahid said Pakistan’s recognition of Israel was now “inevitable” because of Islamabad’s economic dependence on Saudi Arabia and the kingdom’s own direction of travel towards normalisation under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. [...]

An unconditional nod of approval towards Israel would send a message that Pakistan as a state has given up on the Kashmiri cause too,” said Alam. [...]

Should Pakistan’s own leaders choose to follow the Emiratis, Karim said they faced a real risk of provoking dangerous unrest. [...]

In November 2020, Imran Khan revealed that Pakistan had come under pressure from the US and other countries to recognise Israel. Asked whether he meant Muslim countries, Khan said: "There are things we cannot say. We have good relations with them.”

Rumours within Pakistani foreign policy circles suggest Saudi Arabia was one of those friendly countries pressuring Khan's government.

28 Jun 22

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 4 >> Chapter 5 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader w/ a chapter cameo of reader/yuzuha

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: bdsm play feat. reader/yuzuha (gasp!), bondage, overstim, vibrators, exhibitionism, group BDSM feat. 2 other subs getting masturbated (one fem!AFAB and one fem!AMAB, idk crowd jeers, a little bit of degradation, bad communication & angst, drinking)

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: ~8.5k

The black dot may have been nothing but a circle, a representation of the sun or an eye, except it is written, which makes it punctuation. As a symbol of punctuation, it may have been a period at the end of a sentence, except there are three, which makes it part of an ellipsis. As an ellipsis, it may have indicated a trailing off of a thought except it accompanies a blank space on his screen, an auto-generated signal from his phone, which means you are still typing, as you have been for the last five minutes with no message yet in response to his text.

It should not take this long to respond to an invitation to dinner.

With every minute that passes, his ire rises higher.

Rindou strains through another set of lat pulls, refusing to let you and your silent treatment slow him down. Opposite him, Benkei deadlifts a stunning 300 kg. When the bar hits the floor, the clang echoes off the mirror-lined walls.

There is a gym in the basement of his apartment complex, guaranteed to be empty in the early pre-dawn hours, which he prefers for the privacy it offers. Wakasa’s gym is never empty. Fighters practice boxing, MMA, and jujutsu with retired pros morning and night. Most of the customers sport tattoos from one syndicate or another, and Rindou often recognizes the guys on his own payroll by the free weights or sweating in the saunas. Rindou only started returning to Wakasa’s gym for the occasional practice bout or strength training session in the last few months. Wakasa’s been filling his ear with the idea of taking you and his girl on a double date, a vacation to the mountains when your semester wraps, and Rindou has been coming by to talk the details.

A text finally lights up his screen, and Rindou forces himself to ignore it for a solid minute while he finishes his set even as his eyes dart back against his will.

I can’t do dinner. Plans with Naoya. But I could do drinks.

Wakasa lopes forward, hands in his pockets, before Rindou can answer. It’s his turn to leave you with the ellipsis of anxiety and doom. He locks his phone and tosses face-down on a bench.

“Wanted to tell you we got the goods through Nagoya yesterday,” Wakasa says tonelessly. “Ushioda’s really come through. My guy says customs not only didn’t check, they agreed to decrease security personnel during offboarding. Ran is going to be a menace about being the one to make this happen, but he’s worked his magic on this.”

Rindou matches Wakasa’s subdued attitude beat for beat, but in his mind, he runs through a month’s worth of memos and emails to recall if he knew about this plan. “You sent a shipment of girls through the port? That’s fucking brazen.”

“Mochi wanted to test the limits early with something cheap before we put our expensive shit through there,” Wakasa said.

According to Takeomi, Ushioda begged on bended knee for clemency for his son. It was hard to say whether love or shame drove the father, but the outcome was the same. Acme Corp would smuggle Bonten contraband through the Port of Nagoya, so long as they streamlined into their regular shipping schedule to avoid setting off any alarm bells.

This was the second shipment received through the port after moving a little marijuana through a few weeks earlier. Rindou tries to keep his expectations in check as operations continue smoothly, but his hopes rise against his better judgment.

“Mochi says he wants to do a few more runs, but that you should start thinking through where you could source the heroine,” Wakasa relays.

They could source through the triads as the Chinese and Russian gangs already have inroads with the producers, but they would each take their cut and ruin Bonten’s margins. The drug would be new on the market. Rindou doesn’t want to price high outright. Start cheap and once the clientele can’t live without their fix, then drive the prices up. They could run a deficit to start, but that would mean Koko up his ass. Cutting the triads out completely isn’t an option either as they would need to ship out of China, but if they could build their own supplier network, they could negotiate a better rate.

“It’s gonna be too obvious if we have guys coming in and out of Afghanistan all the time. They don’t even run direct flights out of Seoul. We’d get picked instantly. I’m thinking we could get away with sending someone through to Turkey though. With a little palm greasing, they can cross into Iran without getting their passport stamped. The IRGC run the heroine trade through Afghanistan, so we could develop our own connections from there,” Rindou says.

Wakasa nods along at what he already figured. “Who you gonna send?”

“Not me if that’s what you’re thinking. I hate plane rides,” Rindou says.

“Of course, not you. We need you. I was thinking Hanma.”

Rindou groans. “I fucking hate that guy.”

“We all fucking hate that guy. But that’s why he’s good at this shit. He’s done great work in Hong Kong. Send him over there. He knows how to make the coldest man sweat,” Wakasa suggests.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He finishes another set of lat pulls, while Wakasa and Benkei chat away about the insipid rise of Peloton. Endorphins rush to his brain, and he feels magnanimous enough to finally shoot you a reply.

See you at 5.

If he has anything to say about it, Naoya will be eating dinner alone tonight.

--

Two people could not be dressed more oppositely. Fresh from his post-workout shower, Rindou wears nothing but a pair of sweats. Droplets of water scatter across his bare shoulder blade as his long, wet hair drips freely. Strong chest and arms still pumped from muscle training great you at the door. You, meanwhile, dressed for an Arctic exploration in a floor-length parka, bulging in all the wrong places, a fluffy scarf wound three-times round your neck, and an equally fluffy, fur-lined hood. A mask completes the look, so the only skin he can see is a sliver of your forehead and your narrowed eyes.

“Just looking at you makes me feel cold,” you scowl.

“Just looking at you is making me cold.”

You barge right past him into his apartment. The heater works overtime to keep the entire complex a toasty 23 degrees. Past the entryway, where you slip out of your boots, the dining room table is lined with boxes of Chinese takeout; Unsure what you’d want to eat, Rindou opted to order a smorgasbord of options.

Beneath the unflattering coat, you wear a black dress. The long sleeves and tasteful length contrast a daring vee that dips down to show off the swell of your lovely, little breasts. You’re packaged like a delicious gift for the unwrapping, and Rindou can’t resist planting a soft kiss to the back of your neck as you hang your coat. He expects the battle tonight will be a long and painful one, but still you dressed up for him.

“Good to see it’s you under there. For a second, I thought it might be an assassin,” Rindou jokes.

“Easy for you to laugh all warm in here! It’s freezing outside. They’re calling for snow tonight into tomorrow, which sucks. I can’t miss class at this point in the semester,” you complain.

“Well, I’ve got everything you need to warm up,” Rindou says. He gestures at the table laden with food, and then, more critically, brandishes the bottle of wine bought just for tonight. “And if the weather’s too bad tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll cancel. You can just hang out here all day.”

“My professors are all sadists. I wouldn’t put it past them to host class as they get double-bypass surgery. They’d have the surgeon right there in the lecture hall,” you grumble.

Rindou half listens as you launch into a prolonged rant about your upcoming finals. His attention is understandably split as he searches your lively expressions for the ugly shadow of jealousy. Behind every word, he hunts for double meanings.

The look of pure betrayal on your face when he ran into you yesterday in Chiba will not soon leave his mind. It colored his scenes yesterday with Mayuri, turning him mean and unmerciful as he bound and belted her ass red. She deserved his full attention after putting her trust in him, but Rindou twice almost walked away to call you. Had you answered, he might have berated you for daring to look at him like that, like you’d caught him fucking your mother or murdering the family pet. Like he’d done something unforgivable to you.

Now, as you gripe about exams, every bit the picture of the beleaguered uni student, your words ring false. Like you are filling time and space to put distance between the you of yesterday, so judgey and offended, and the you of today. You tell him how exams are two months out, and like a good student, you are already studying in earnest in the pits of what you dub “flashcard hell” as Kii has taken to posting flashcards over every expanse of wall in her apartment, springing prep questions on unconsenting listeners, and crying periodically about how she should have spent fewer hours sleeping and more time reading the supplementary materials. Rindou hums in sympathy in all the right places, and he almost, almost begins to relax into the conversation. Like an idiot.

“Are you feeling the dumplings or the pork?” Rindou asks, plating up a hearty helping of food for himself.

“Neither. I can’t eat, remember?” you say.

“Oh, come on. Stay the night. It’s too cold to be going out.”

“True, but I promised Naoto. We’re going to this really fancy curry restaurant, and he said he’d pay, so I’m planning to go all out and get dessert,” you say.

Noticing his wine glass is running low, Rindou drains the last dregs and pours himself a healthy portion. This will be easier drunk. He debates pouring you more as well, wondering if a little tipsiness would make you spunkier or mellow the worst of your impulses. Because he senses the fit approaching, the moment you break your pretense that everything is fine and well and force a confrontation.

“You know, I don’t like playing games,” he says.

 “I don’t like playing games either.”

“Then, don’t.”

Rindou says it shortly, definitively. The barest hint of command reinforces his voice, and he watches the way you receive the order, squirming in that delightfully submissive way of yours before you reject your inclination to obedience. You set your jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

Rindou sighs. He expected you would be difficult but not passive aggressive. Not like this.

“You have dinner plans with Naoto? Seriously?”

“Yes?”

“Bullshit,” Rindou snaps. “I expected you to be immature about what happened yesterday, but this? You’re better than this. Forget your conveniently timed dinner plans, and let’s act like adults. Then, we can have a nice night.”

“It’s a work event. Naoto was nervous about going alone, so he asked me to come with him. This was planned weeks ago. I just forgot until he reminded me,” you insist, standing up from your chair, like the added height will strengthen your lie.

“Convenient,” Rindou sneers.

In the six months you’ve been together, you have never had a genuine fight or even argument. Seeing your smiling face typically puts Rindou in too good a mood, curbs the worst of his temper, so he is slow to pick fights. You, meanwhile, listen so well, adapting your behavior without him having to utter a word. Bickering typically becomes flirtatious banter in a matter of minutes, the kind that ends with your panties in his pocket.

So, Rindou doesn’t know what to expect from you in a real fight. He half expected you to fold at the slightest correction. You are still young, so he doesn’t write off the possibility of some kind of petty manipulation either, the silent treatment maybe, or more probably breaking into a mess of tears, the kind that bring so many men to a panic; Unfortunately for you, Rindou doesn’t capitulate to a woman’s cries or begging, going cold at any miserable attempt to manipulate his emotions.

Faced with you now, the tendons in your neck pulse as you square of against him without any sign of crumbling. You worry your lower lip between your teeth until it is red and swollen. It is the only sign of anxiety. Otherwise, you stand strong.

“If you feel like I’m somehow attacking you, it must be a guilty conscience. Because I haven’t said or done anything to you.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?” Rindou demands coldly.

“You’d have to tell me. Because I thought about it all day and night –”

“See, I knew you were wound up about yesterday –”

“I thought about it all day and night,” you raise your voice to drown him out. “And, yes, it was weird to see you with someone else. Yes, it hurt. It was so unexpected. But, if you think I’m trying to punish you over it, you’re out of line because my eyes are wide open. You’re not my boyfriend –”

“No, I’m not. Which is why you shouldn’t –”

“I know, I know. How can I be hurt or angry when you’re not my boyfriend? You didn’t cheat on me or break any promises. I have nothing to be upset about.”

“Right.”

Confused and more than a little wary, Rindou sits back down at the table. He has held conversations like this a few times in his life. Most subs understand the importance of negotiation implicitly and take him for what he is. There have been a handful of in the past, however, usually inexperienced women like you, who struggled to work through the limitations of their relationship with him, crashing futilely against the boundaries of what he offered.

Because he doesn’t do relationships. Blame it on the dangers of his work, the secrecy inherent in the lifestyle, or some intrinsic flaw in his makeup. Regardless, he never plans to tie himself down to one woman. All that road offers is the erosion of his freedom.

“Since you wanted to talk about it so much though, bringing it up and all, I would like to ask about what I should expect,” you continue. “Because I didn’t realize you were seeing other people, and that raises questions. Like, are you practicing safe sex with these women? Have you been getting tested for STDs? Should we be using condoms? And, are you looking for more long-term subs? How would you even fit in another sub? Would we have to see each other less, so you could make time for a new one? What should I expect going forward?”

Each question is too reasonable to deny, so Rindou answers plainly, “You’re the only person I see regularly, so I use condoms with everyone else and get tested on the first of every month. If you want to use condoms together, that is entirely your decision. I’ll accept whatever you decide. I’m not looking to train anyone else right now. If I found someone that suited my tastes, I might consider it though, and yeah, that would mean adjusting my schedule around because I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you would not be open to training together.”

“No!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rindou says.

“How many women have you been with since we got together?” you demand.

There is no good answer, and Rindou groans, “Seriously? Don’t start overreacting now.”

“I’m cool! I’m being so cool. Just answer the question,” you smile, but it is a mockery of your normal, gleaming smiles. Teeth clenched tight together, it is more like an animal baring its fangs.

“No! I don’t owe you a fucking itemized list of every woman I’ve fucked. Just like I don’t run around town telling them about you. I haven’t cheated on you. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I just wanna know how and when you’re finding time to meet other people.”

Rindou rolls his eyes. “Because that’s rational. You don’t actually want to know the answer to that.”

“I just don’t know where you’re possibly finding the time to meet all these women –”

“Again, you’re exaggerating. Not all these women. Some, like Mayuri, I knew before you. Some I meet through work. Straightforward stuff.”

“Mayuri is the woman from yesterday?”

“I think we’re done with this conversation now,” Rindou says tightly.

A shininess blurs the color of your eyes then, and Rindou sighs. He wants to wrap you up in his arms and praise you for being such a strong, beautiful girl because despite all your tough words, this isn’t easy for you. If he could be a better man for you, he would consider it, but there is only so much he can offer, and the burden of accepting that is on you.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I really do need to head out and meet Naoto, but I’ll think about the condom thing,” you murmur.

“Baby, don’t leave like this,” Rindou tries. There is no more fight in your stance and now that the threat of conflict is ended, he finds the energy draining from his whole body.

“I’m fine! We’re fine. Seriously, Rindou. I’m not going to overreact or stamp my foot at you like that might change something. My eyes are wide open like I told you. I understand where you’re coming from completely. We can hang out soon,” you say.

Rindou doesn’t like the idea of you leaving when your foundations are so shaken, wants to stuff you full of gone-cold Chinese food and cuddle on the couch until you fall asleep on his shoulder. Even if neither of you yelled or descended into insults, he feels like he fought a war, and the only way to recover is in your arms.

He follows you to the entryway.

You redon your winter gear in a hurry. The puffy coat is plush and cozy as he pulls you close and kisses you long and slow. You return the kiss with wind-chapped lips not fighting him at all. The heat that always explodes between you blazes, and he cups and caresses you through the barrier of the coat.

He wants you to stay.

You break the kiss after only a minute and smile.

“I’ll call you, ok?”

And then, you are gone.

--

When Rindou sleeps, he dreams of shopping malls built like mazes, window shopping displays of the finest goods, and he understands without knowing that to obtain even one miraculous product from these stores would spell his salvation; But whenever he tries to enter one of the stores, the maze shifts, redirects him until he is walking forwards again, searching. Still searching. During the slippery seconds between sleep and waking, that liminal space where dreams and life converge, he stews in resentment for what he can’t possess. That resentment often follows him into the day, though he tries not to dwell on it. The recurring dream started sometime in his early twenties. He remembers that dream joining him in sleep on at least a monthly basis, but for all he knows, he dreams it every night only to forget with the rising of the sun.

The weeks that follow the lingerie incident remind him of that dream only there is no supernatural force reworking the architecture of time and space to prevent him from entering the store. It feels like he’s piloting a plane headed straight for a cliff. There is still time to push the emergency button and eject to safety if he is only willing to abandon the plane to its solitary, fiery fate. But, he is a pilot, and the plane is all he’s ever known, and the longer he goes without pushing the button, the slighter his chances of escaping unscathed.

Because you are not fine.

The three weeks that follow pass at a crawl. Time reshapes itself into molasses around the giant you-sized absence in his days. It is easy, at first, to deny the obvious as you offer such convincing excuses to blow him off. After all, your friends do often lean on you for emotional support, and finals are drawing close, and your mother does deserve a break. So what if you leave his texts on read for hours at a time?

On the fourth day, he calls you in the free period he knows falls between your Wednesday lectures. When you answer, Rindou mistakes your sing-song hello for the voicemail you have relegated him to recently. You apologize for not having time to talk, squeezing more words into a breath than humanly plausible as you explain your packed study schedule. You promise to see him soon before you hang up.

You sounded fine on the phone. The same voice, light and airy like spring personified, that Rindou knows so well.

But you are not fine.

The ice wall between you thaws a little in the second week when Rindou reminds you that he bought tickets to the Inaba/Salas tour. Again, you surprise him by joining as planned at the stadium. Throughout the concert, you smile and cheer along, and the open delight on your face as you groove to the music invites him to join in the fun. At the end of the night, he drives you home to where you swear your mom is waiting. He kisses you breathless in the front seat of his car. You sigh hot and sticky into his mouth, notched into the crook of his shoulder like you have carved a space for yourself there, and whisper “Sir” with more fervor than a prayer. Everything seems fine.

But you are not fine.

Only a few days later, you agree to a date. The familiarity as he texts you details and soaks up your liberal usage of emojis relaxes him into thinking all is well. He takes you ice skating at Tokyo Midtown Gardens. With your little gloved hand in his, you half carry each other around the rink, equally graceless without the surety of solid ground. Rindou laughs more than he has for two weeks. You both fall again and again, Rindou toppling each time so as to shield your body from the worst of it. As you sprawl on top of him, padded from head to toe in winter wear, you promise to kiss his purple bruises better and call him your hero. Back at his apartment, you do just that, licking and kissing every part of his body, losing track of time. The trains stop running, so you sleep where you belong in the cradle of his arms. He wakes up at 6AM to the sound of you shuffling, halfway out the door citing an early start to the day. You would have left without a goodbye, but at his groggy inquiry, you tell him you are fine.

But you are not fine.

Rindou wants to confront you about the change. He hates playing stupid games more than accusations or tears and would rather have it out at this point. But, whenever you visit, he never broaches the subject. Because you are so singularly you! And fuck it. He misses you. The contrast between seeing you fives time a week and this drought is stark. Now, when you leave, you don’t send him dumb memes or answer his calls to talk about your day. You don’t rush to make plans to see him again either, and Rindou knows he can’t accept your lame excuses anymore. Something is fundamentally broken.

For the first time in maybe ever, Rindou throws himself into his work. The timing is convenient with recent developments, so he offers to take the meetings outside the perimeter of Tokyo when before he might have dragged his feet. He personally briefs Takeomi every day. When Kakucho mentions a security threat in passing, Rindou volunteers to help even though it falls well outside his purview. Anything to keep the body active.

You had come to fill up the hours of his day, to be the dessert he could look forward to after a meal of veggies. Rindou can’t comprehend how he used to fill the interminable hours between six PM and sleep without your assistance.

So, he works, and he tries not to think about anything much at all.

The plane soars onward without any assistance on his part. The details of the exposed cliff face, jagged and unforgiving, grow clearer by the hour. There will be no escape. When he crashes, Rindou knows he is going to explode.

--

Ran once said all of Bonten has PTSD in one form or another. Overexposure to high stress, life-or-death situations puts too much stress on the adrenal system, so now half the executives drop to their stomachs when a car misfires, stand with their backs flat to the nearest wall in every new room, avoid crowds like some people avoid traffic tickets. Rindou considers himself free of this affliction, but on the road, hands flexing on the steering wheel and eyes split between mirrors like a car might strike out into his lane at any moment, he is every bit as activated.

The hour is late, creeping towards midnight when Rindou pulls onto the expressway. There are predictably few passenger cars sharing the road. Semitrucks kick up a mist of rain that obscures his windshield.

To fill the sleepless hours, Rindou is developing all kinds of new habits. Driving, brain preciously blank to all but the threat of traffic, is one of them. So is going to the office. Just today, he went to the Ueno office of all places rather than watch the hours of the day tick by in his apartment. There is no email unanswered, directive unissued, or memo unread to keep his brain occupied. He wishes there was because his apartment holds as little allure now as it did this this morning.

A notification lights up the display. It’s a reminder that the BDSM club in Roppongi – the one where you first met – is open for play tonight. Rindou palms his cock, and it feels like an animal, a dead one, in his pants. Not even a stir. His mood is too black and distracted to responsibly dom anyone, so he dismisses the notification.

Screeching the tires, Rindou almost misses his exit. He brakes hard down the ramp until he shoots out on a quiet street. At the drab buildings, he does a double take, recognizing the north entrance to Nakano Station.

He has driven straight past his real exit and an extra twenty minutes without noticing to arrive in your neighborhood.

Rindou feels drunk despite not taking a sip of alcohol all day. He pulls into a gas station and refills the tank. While it pumps, he pops his contacts out of sore eyes. Everything blurs like a photograph in soft focus. He closes his eyes against a headache and breathes deep for 120 torturous breaths. Back in the car, he unearths his glasses from the glove compartment. They’re the same style, though a stronger prescription, that he wore as a teen. Catching his reflection in the rearview, Rindou sees the boy he once was. Just as lost, letting things happen around him without a thought, only leaping to action when stronger powers (namely Ran) prompted). Someone who watches as life happens.

Nothing is in his control.

The BDSM club is five minutes closer to Nakano than his apartment, a negligible difference, but after the driving mix-up he changes course. Nostalgia takes the wheel to lead to where you first met, where he has not visited since.

The ticket takers at the theater don’t recognize him, hesitating until he points at the tattoo on his throat. He looks unkempt: hair ratty and unbrushed, jacket slung over his shoulder and button-up crumpled at the ends, and his glasses highlight the eyes of a man who has barely slept in days. It is no surprise that subs don’t flock to him when he enters. He doesn’t look like the all-powerful dom tonight. Best he sits back and watches.

Rindou pays for a full bottle of bourbon, served neat and hard on the taste buds. The club is busy as it’s Saturday, and couples and groups clog the four stages. There are no tables left close enough for a view of the action, so Rindou stands in the corner, taking heavy swigs straight from the bottle until his stomach cramps.

There is little variety on stage. Three doms whip, cane, and flog their subs. All older man with younger women. They are impersonal, showing perfunctory delight at the infliction of pain. These are the kinds of scenes that bore him when done without finesse.

On the fourth stage, he recognizes Lady X, a domme he knows from many shared nights spent just like this, bringing women to their knees. Lost in his memories is Lady X’s real name. Yuzu something…Yuzuriha? Yuzuyu? In the clubs, she always goes by her alias or is called simply Lady, but Rindou remembers her vaguely as the sister of the tenth gen leader of the Black Dragons.

Lady is the antithesis of Rindou as a dom.

If Rindou finds control in manipulating a pliant body and acceptance in a sub’s embrace of his touch, whether it offers pain or pleasure, Lady finds release in giving her subs what they want. Where Rindou hoards women’s orgasms like precious jewels, flaunting his ownership of them only to hide them away again, Lady distributes them like cheap birdseed, doling out orgasm after orgasm to her thankful subs. Eventually said thanks turns to pleading, as one orgasm becomes four and the pleasure twists to something monumental. Lady then ups the vibrator or nips the woman’s clit with blunt teeth because, as she told Rindou once over a drink at this very bar, her goal in every scene is to create a world where her subs’ worst problem is the existence of too much pleasure, not its absence, nor its inverse, pain.

Tonight, Lady commands the largest audience of patrons. No surprise there as she strikes quite the picture herself, tall and lovely in a pencil skirt as she brings three subs on stage to piteous tears. Rindou slides closer to her stage for a better look.

Suspended in a harness of ropes, the first sub weeps wretchedly. There is a hitachi wand held to her clit. The setting must be high because the buzz travels from the stage to his ears. The woman cries but does not beg for mercy. There is the sheen of the acolyte behind her eyes, like she might commit unspeakable acts if they only bring her back here to Lady’s ropes and generous toys.

A second sub at her side stands restrained but not suspended. Her arms are tied above her, so that she can do nothing while Lady strokes her cock. Lady’s little hand smears messily over the tip, which is an inflamed red. There is a puddle of cum on the floor from the woman’s past orgasms. Little drips of semen harden on her legs. Every touch must hurt, but Lady keeps playing with the tip, forcing her back to hardness whether she likes it or not.

The third sub is just an ass in the air. A perfect ass at that.

Bent over a wooden block and shackled at the ankle, so that her legs are to the audience, the sub’s pussy is spread wide around a vibrator taped to her clit. Her feet kick ineffectually against her restraints, little trembles jiggling her thighs.

Rindou enjoys watching Lady work, so self-assured, so competent at bringing her subs to the brink and past. His eyes stray again and again to the pretty ass in the air. A stir in his pants makes him question his decision to abstain tonight. It has been over a week of his own hand.

After fifteen minutes of more of the same, Lady releases the first two subs from their ropes and cuffs. They are felled heaps on the stage, panting in puddles of their own slick and cum. Lady rounds to the third sub, leaning toward that hidden face in private conversation. Then she stands, and sighs for the audience’s benefit.

“Here I am being so generous, telling this slut to cum as many times as she wants, and she hasn’t cum once! What to do?”

Lady answers her own question by crouching down in front of the sub’s spread pussy and burying her whole face in it. There is a lull in the music, and Rindou can hear just how lewdly Lady laves that pussy with her tongue. Her fingers stretch the sub’s hole at a brutal pace. The woman keens loudly and kicks her feet again. Everything from her little naked toes to canting hips look beautiful in the throws of overstimulation.

Of course, Rindou knows without knowing. A presentiment colors the scene. He leans forward with interest, compelled toward that wet cunt, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but his stomach sickens too. He ignores the sensation, blames the bourbon warming its way down his belly.

Lady tuts as the sub continues to hang on the precipice without teetering over.

She turns to the audience and says, “Little slut is having a hard time coming without permission from her old dom. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? Why don’t you let her know she has permission to cum? Tell her to squirt all over my hand.”

Eager to join in more actively, the crowd of about thirty hoot and holler in encouragement, mixing in obscenities about the sub’s wet cunt and place beneath Lady’s toys. Rindou claps along.

Four fingers slam in and out of that sloppy hole, and the time between shakes and cries from the sub evaporates until she is blubbering at the stimulation. Lady yanks her up by the hair to gift her the added sting at her scalp, and it pushes the sub over the edge.

Correction: it pushes you over the edge.

Because Rindou knows that ass, and he knows those toes, and even at a distance with the lights too bright and a row of people in front of him, he knows that pretty pussy, too. That pretty pussy now clenches around Lady’s fingers in an orgasm far too long and powerful for your overstimulated body.

Rindou watches your face screw up in pain and tears, an expression just as familiar to him. It is an expression that should belong solely to him.

All three subs follow Lady dutifully off stage after your orgasm finally settles. She bundles you all in blankets, heaping compliments and affection down on you as is your due after such a trying scene. Rindou hovers within earshot as Lady pets your head and rubs a tear from your check. Twenty minutes elapse as you come out of subspace, during which time Rindou drains half the bottle of bourbon.

“I look like a racoon. I’m gonna head to the bathroom and fix my makeup,” you laugh, pointing at the streaks of mascara that paint your cheeks.

You replace the blanket with an overcoat to shield your nakedness then weave your way through the crowd. Compliments on your performance rain down from all sides. Rindou shadows your step. Not far from the bathroom, you drop your phone. When you turn to pick it up off the floor, Rindou is there, already scooping it off the ground.

“Rin – Rindou!” you yelp.

“Not trying to scare you,” Rindou says immediately, defensively, and he passes the phone back to you without even scanning the lock screen for a peek at your messages. “Just saw you and wanted to say hey.”

“Well, hey…um…”

“You might wanna fix your makeup. You’ve got…” Rindou gestures at the cakey residue you already know is there, and you curse.

“Yeah, sorry. I need to go to the bathroom and deal with this.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rindou says, opening the door for you.

“Rindou, you can’t come in here with me,” you whisper.

He almost tells you it’s his club and he can do whatever he wants, but Rindou wears his secrecy like a second skin and only smirks at your worries before following you into the women’s bathroom. It is a six-stall affair with a wall mirror above the sinks. He can hear a woman pee behind the door of one stall, but he ignores the stranger’s presence as you ignore his, turning to the mirrors.

“You did good up there. Looked like you had a lot of tension to work out, which isn’t surprising considering all the studying you’ve been doing. Didn’t you have a paper due this week?” Rindou prompts.

You rub dry fingertips against your cheeks. When that doesn’t work, you wad up three paper towels, wet from the sink, and scrub.

“Yeah, I had a paper on Bashō’s references to music and instrumentation in his poems, which was due on Thursday. It could have been a lot worse honestly. I like the subject, and I thought my first draft was good for once. Of course, I had a complete breakdown on Wednesday after dreaming that the paper was really supposed to be about Nishiyama Sōin and that I’d miscited every source in there, but um, I managed to calm myself down.”

“Good. I don’t know why you always have nightmares about your papers. You always get an A.”

“Not always,” you say darkly.

The woman in the occupied stall hurries out, casting a few curious glances Rindou’s way as she washes her hands. She doesn’t dry them, leaving little splatters of water on the counter. Then, they are truly alone.

“Are you planning to stick around now that you finished your scene? Can’t imagine you wanna do another after that? It looked intense.”

“You really watched that?” you ask.

“Most of it,” he confirms. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” you say without looking at him. You dry your hands while staring at your now streak-free reflection in the mirror.

“If you don’t wanna stay, I could take you home. Or, if you’re hungry, I know a 24/7 breakfast place not far from here. You never eat enough after a scene,” Rindou says.

“Um, I’m good…Have you been coming here often?”

“No, it’s my first time in forever. You?” he asks in a tone that just misses casual.

“It’s my second time in the last two weeks. I’m kind of trying out stuff right now,” you say.

“Trying out stuff…” he tests the words.

“Are you okay? You look a little tense.”

Normally, Rindou chooses his words with precision, but he finds himself unable to process his surroundings. He exists somewhere outside his body, outside his brain, outside this room entirely. He peers down on the scene almost like a security camera, removed and distant. No, rather more like footage from a security camera, viewed days after the fact in a little room by someone who neither knows nor understands the context of the scene. Trying to think through the likely consequences of his words or choosing an alternative phrase, he finds his thoughts vaporous and ungraspable. So, he simply speaks.

“I didn’t like it.”

“Like what? Watching me with someone else?” you say quickly.

He grunts because that’s easier than searching for any kind of answer.

“You said we could fuck other people.”

“I know. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rindou agrees. It is the correct and automatic response, but he can’t resist tacking on the truth at the end. “I didn’t like watching.”

“Well, that’s flattering at least,” you mutter.

In a different reality, one where he sent you up there with a pat on the ass, he might have liked watching Lady work your cunt up to a waterfall before returning you to him, still hovering on the precipice, edged and needy. He might have liked teasing you all night with the possibility of an orgasm. But he did not like watching you cum for someone else. Not without his permission. Even with a filmy gauze slowing down his brain from the half bottle of bourbon, he knows that much.

“We’re not okay, are we?” Rindou asks.

“No, Rindou. We are not okay.”

“Well, can we talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about it without you making me feel like a complete idiot?” you snap.

A woman pushes open the door to the bathroom, but upon hearing the direction of your conversation, she turns right around, leaving you to a privacy tinged by history. The door creaks back into place with a choked slam.

“Like a…? You’re not an idiot?” Rindou insists.

“I know I’m not an idiot! I have spent the last few weeks going back and forth between feeling so sad and then so goddamn angry with you! Because I know that I could not have been more chill about things if I had a lobotomy to remove my frontal cortex first! I was so cool about everything, so understanding, so kind, and you treated me like, like some fucking bother you had to get out of the way!”

The first feeling to reemerge from the confused pit you dumped him in is embarrassment at himself as he is admittedly slow on the uptake, stuttering out, “Wait…this isn’t about…? This is about our conversation at my apartment?”

“Yes!” you hiss, hands flapping emphatically and voice echoing off the tile. The overcoat swallows you whole, a sea of black fabric trailing the floor, but somehow you stand tall within it. “Yes! I came that night so prepared to listen to your side of things and be reasonable and empathetic and all the rest, and you treated me like I was a hysterical child that you had to manage. Far be it from me to criticize the great Rindou! Not that I even did criticize you before you were jumping down my throat. I am not unreasonable. I am not hysterical. And I am not a child. I did not appreciate being treated like I was.”

Rindou remembers back to the hours before you arrived at his apartment that day. How he’d been so sure you would accuse him of cheating or play mind games to negate your own jealousy. The whole time you were there, he maintained that sureness even when you acted contrary to those expectations.

It, he admits, hadn’t been fair.

Worse, it may have been patronizing.

He groans, not at you but at the memory, and rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, yeah, yeah, you’re probably right. I see that. I didn’t want you to blow things out of proportion, so I tried to shut you down before you could. But I guess I acted like a prick.”

“A prick might be understating it. I came to you to have a conversation in good faith, and you made me feel so…small. Insignificant. Like, I’m just this easy thing to you. Like you could use and discard me, so I better shut my mouth before you throw me away.”

Rindou opens his mouth to give a rebuttal-like reassurance that you are wrong about your supposed disposability to him, but you plow forward, pointed finger punctuating every word, which is a welcome distraction from the look of raw pain on your face. It is like the sun. Too painful to look at directly.

“I know what that feels like, Rindou, because I’ve been treated that way before. I’m young and people call me sweet, and that means people think I’m stupid or superficial, but I’m not. I’m capable of dealing with the hard things and having the hard conversations, and I do not deserve to be treated like I’m too naïve to know how things work.”

There is a layer of grime on his tongue. He focuses on how foreign it feels in his mouth rather than the thumping organ in his ribcage. The way his heart races and the room feels too small is not dissimilar to the sensations he feels when someone fires a gun, when his life is momentarily suspended. A kind of physical panic that quickly settles into alertness.

He breathes deep, calming. Rindou smells the antibacterial soap and weak air freshener blowing from the vents. The colors of the room appear saturated, more contrast and more details accessible to the eye. Most importantly, he sees you clearly. The veins of your throat strain as if bursting with tension your body can’t contain. There are new smudges at the edges as tiny tears wet your eyeline. There is every emotion in those eyes from disgust to anger to sadness, but most of all, there is a question lingering there as you silently beg him to answer: where can we go from here?

“I have never thought of you as some easy thing. I fucked up. I don’t know what was going on in my head that day, but you’re right. I wasn’t seeing you. I should have shut my fucking mouth and listened. I’m sorry.”

Relief warms your eyes.

“I accept your apology,” you say.

“Really?” Rindou asks. After weeks of brewing resentment and your impassioned speech, he didn’t expect a speedy turnaround no matter how many pretty speeches he made himself.

“Yeah, I don’t like being angry. It takes a lot of energy,” you half laugh.

The abrupt about face from anger to laughter throws into stark relief that the is very drunk and very tired.  Beneath that, Rindou recognizes a more abstract emotion, too: happiness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I didn’t realize what you were upset about,” Rindou says, and then he adds helpfully. “Because I’m stupid. Thanks for forgiving me.”

“Yeah, you are stupid, but I figure you deserve a little grace because this was the first time in six months that you disrespected me. So long as you never treat me that way again. Seriously. My mother taught me to never put up with that from anyone,” you say.

“On my honor,” Rindou vows. “So, can I buy you something to eat now?”

The happiness explodes out like a shaken soda bottle. One second, he’s filled to the brim with it, and the next it’s gone, bubbling to nothing on the tile because you don’t say yes. Instead, you stare grimly at the wall, all traces of reconciliation gone as you clutch the sleeves of your overcoat tight.

He wonders if his apology is not enough, if he might prove his sincerity to you in some other way. If you were Mikey, he would cut off his pinky. He would gladly gift you the ring, index, and middle fingers of his left hand, too, if you demanded them. But fingers out of the question, he has nothing to give you to prove himself, and you don’t say yes.

“Rindou…I do accept your apology for insulting me, but that’s not all…The truth is, I tried to be cool about it, but I’ve had weeks to think, and…I’m not okay with things going back to how they were if you are dating or hell, sleeping with other people. I’m jealous and hurt. And I can’t accept it,” you say.

“It’s normal to be jealous,” Rindou tries, tone bracing and supportive. “I got jealous today, but I worked through it. I’ve been a dom since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been tied down to one person before. It’s not the way I know how to do things. That’s why I didn’t make any promises when we got together. I didn’t cheat on –”

“Please don’t start that again! I know! I know you technically didn’t do anything wrong. And I know that I can’t make you stop seeing other people. It’s your relationship, too, and you can have your boundaries, but…”

“But?”

“But if I can’t ask you to stop seeing other people, then you can’t ask me to keep loving you.”

You clap a hand to your mouth as if shocked by the confession, or like you might herd the words back into your mouth where they will remain unspoken. But it is too late. He can count on one hand the number of times anyone has told him they loved him, and he will not forget this.

“Baby…” Rindou tries to reach for you, but you scramble away, and now tears fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the problem, ya know? It hasn’t just been sex or hanging out for me. What we were doing, for me at least, was love, and it hurts too much to love someone who…I tried to take a step back, just have fun with you every once in a while, but there’s no medicine for falling in love, and every time I saw your stupid face, my heart started doing backflips. It doesn’t listen to me when I tell it we shouldn’t love you anymore. And that’s why…”

Your face blurs. It takes Rindou several confused seconds to realize his eyes are wet and blink the moisture away. When you reappear, you have steeled your nerves for the finishing blow.

“That’s why I don’t want to see you anymore. I need space and time to get over you, so um, please just stop calling and texting and all the rest. Just stop.”

Your face blurs again, and this time Rindou knows it’s because his eyes are watering. He blames his stupid glasses. He needs a stronger prescription.

There is no such excuse for your tears that drip past your chin to land on your collar. You wipe fruitlessly at the leakage, too slow to stimmy their fall.

If you say anything after that, Rindou doesn’t hear you over the ringing in his ears. Three women enter the bathroom arm-in-arm and immediately jabber at him about how he isn’t welcome, like three harpies sent to drive him away. Rindou doesn’t fight them as they push him out the door with their words.

Outside in the club, in the dark and music, far from the bright quiet of the bathroom, Rindou feels like he’s stepped onto the surface of Mars. Like he’s planets away from where you are, and he might as well be.

He doesn’t know how to find his way back to you because he stands now amid the wreckage, engine on fire, wings cracked. The plane has finally crashed.

A/N: entering my villain era

"'I was always watching you.' This could have been a breathless declaration of love or a final farewell." - Yōko Ogawa, The Diving Pool: Three Novellas

[everye]

tell me please, why on earth this game supposed to be so impressive ?? ..

yeah im sitting here guessing wut am i doing to my life so i feel like share w my sorta theory

in nowhere section, alessa's hospital room after one cutscene you can hear a strange sound resonating in your ears

kinda scratching inside braincase

as it turned out, this eerie soundrack (BLESS AKIRA AND HIS MUSIC—) accompanied us for the rest of location

it's almost funne how such small detail could trigger neuron activation and lead me to conclusions LIKE THIS lol

the first link of the chain was immediate thought that harry might have a mild headache or dizziness near this place

idk how to explain this properly maybe it's just a vibe ..

but air w h i s t l e s around that hospital bed with blood-stained sheets even though it's empty

as if it keeps remains of some energy trace so far

what kind of ? good question

if you recall dahlia's monologue, it's the place where God had been nurtured for long 7 years, endless pain threshold test and immense suffering for one little girl

A Very Heart of the Nightmare

don't feel like taking it like a bunch of empty, meaningless words so let me be clear – presence of God in alessa's womb could have real, physical effects on environment or even more, living creatures. i imagine it like some kind of radiation emerging out of her body, that badly affects a human condition and reduces lifetime in general

yeah just trying to find the reason why dahlia had turned into an old hag to the moment of the first game in precisely short time and kauffman looks kind of pasty and pale w his yellowish skin like he has a serious problem w liver. other member of the order who were attending the ritual could at least develop chronic diseases

i'd like to remind here the order was a sect of private religion and had really dangerous people in it. their influence grew into various areas of town's life, we already know abt kauffman being the director of alchemilla hospital

lisa mentioned the series of strange assassinations of officials who were intending to bring some economical changes into structuring of silent hill's life, also later we discover abt murders of the drug traffic case investigators – and it can be said they're responsible for all of that

the order operated discreetly to keep existing power structure as it was

one day, lisa garland – the member of alchemilla hospital's staff was appointed to take care of new special patient

should i describe amount of shock she probably experienced? it was tremendously cruel that someone who had suffered burns covering their entire body that far beyond the fatal level – and still struggles to breathe. but since the girl was impregnated she couldn't die, the malevolent deity simply wouldn't let her. so nurse's new duties included making sure that holy mother's body – one big solid open wound – wasn't eaten by larvae

lisa was terrified so much in the face of that new circumstances, even expressed her plea to be out of that business which is totally understandable

even though she begged superior suspend her from that case, lisa was just an innocent resident and good soul. she couldn't offer them more but a honest promise

no girlie, work it

lisa had to handle it on her own without anyone's help, because the less people know about what really happened that day is better. and just one drug-addicted nurse from uninitiated is pretty convenient number to control the situation. moreover judging from the newspaper article, it was believed alessa died in the fire caused by blaze of antiquated boiler in gillespie house's basement

ok can't say why in the game initially exclusively medical staff were among possessed human enemies known us puppet nurses and puppet doctors. but we know during its events cybil becomes the same species as them and red liquid aglaophotis makes it possible for harry to rid her of the parasite's influence and save her life

now i'd like to remark that aglaophotis and ptv are both produced by white claudia – a plant indigenous to the region where silent hill is located

in other hand, this recreational drug is meant to help member of the order to communicate with the spirit guides and spiritual realm

lisa in her diary states she suffered from severe hallucinations that suspiciously clear remind of some otherworld features: insects, blood and pus coming from bathroom faucet. even though the otherworld itself firstly appeared only at the period of game? amount of ptv her organism received only grew over time, maybe it gave her some immune against spiritual realm's invasion and helped visualize true picture of suffering beyond human comprehension in this room

im inclined to think lisa eventually wasn't allowed to leave her work space at hospital's basement at all. guess, it wasn't too difficult for order to manipulate another fact in the face of public to cover lisa's sudden disappear

the thing is, she spent really dangerous amount of time in close proximity with alessa. she felt bad at the first time with constant need to throw up, but i believe her state became only worse because of God's poisonous influence. it caused breakdown of internal organs and gradually, lisa's hair and nails fell off, her skin sloughed off and finally melting flesh dripped off her face and body

and for some reason i was sure the case of lisa's death was drug overdose: by accident or on purpose. but things got more complicated when m. ito confirmed she was actually killed by valtiel. idk what to think abt it maybe an act of mercy ??

so lisa's bloody scene probably was an allusion to her body decaying and falling apart, that is to say, very light version of what could happen to her through the years of nursing her secret patient

and as long as alessa was bedridden for life she was forced to watch how the only sincerely good person in her life turns into a literal piece of meat in due of her mere p r e s e n c e

just by being there, with alessa's body

the order went too far playing with fire, no wonder why alessa acts like this. the only option left for her to prevent the birth of God is destroying the whole town and probably killing every single person in there

because she firmly believed there's a fate worse than death