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guppyfish77 · 3 months ago

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So about the Battle Subway Trains

Hi, I love trains! And the Trains in Unova have a surprising amount of detail? And nobody talks about it? And if I don't talk about it I will explode!?!!!

So despite Unova being inspired by New York you'd think the Battle Subway Trains would be based on The New York Subway Trains? However they look like they are more based on Japanese Railway Trains!

I'd like to preface before going into this that despite talking a lot about the Japanese Railway, I am not Japanese, while I did my best to research as best I can, some stuff may fly over my head, I also used an online translator for some information so it might not be 100% accurate.

Alrighty lets get into this! This is mainly for fun and its going to be under the Read More because it is verrrrrrrrry long, I hope that you enjoy!

If you aren't aware, each train in the Battle Subway has lore! All the lore comes from this Worker NPC on the bridge in Anville Town. Depending on the day, a different train will show up on the turntable, and he'll give you a little dialogue for that train! This dialogue is what I'll be mainly analyzing :]

Single and Anville Town Trains:

"This is a Single Train! It's the oldest train in the Battle Subway. It's for a loop line to go around the Unova region! Do you know Tubeline Bridge? The train that runs on it is this Single Train."

"As you know, this is a local train to Anville Town! Isn't it just so cute? This one is a little slow and heavy. When it runs, the whole train sways. The train car is the same model as a Single Train. Because it is an old train car, I hear the maintenance is hard, but it's the one I always ride, because I loved it as a kid!"

So! The Single and Anville Town Trains are the same model of train, you can actually see this in their designs where they both share the same face but they differ in the livery. (Livery is a term referring to the train's decor/color, the color is often associated with a particular company or in this case a particular train line.) I'm going to use this fact to assume that if one train has one feature, then it's likely that the other train also has that same feature. Such as how the description of the Anville Town Train says it sways as it runs, if that is the case then the Single Train also probably sways. (which sounds kind of awful to battle on, unless you have good train legs I suppose X_X)

It is stated that the Single Train is the oldest in the Battle Subway. I believe though, that it means the oldest train that is currently running in the Battle Subway. As there is another train that seems much older and no longer running, but I'll get to that train much much later.

Older trains are indeed harder to maintain, and expensive too. This is because the older the equipment, the harder it is to get its parts as they become more obsolete. Though I will say this, trains can last a long time! The average service life of a train is about 30-50 years, it really varies from train to train. These trains would most likely be on the older side.

There is a slight possibility that it has been continued to be maintained past it service life. Given how fond the Worker NPC talks about the train, it might have high sentimental value. Therefore if it is past its service life, it has not been scrapped or recycled yet because of it. I doubt this is the case though, usually it is never worth the maintenance cost (especially for regular operation.)

Like the description says, you can see the Single Train running on the Tubeline Bridge, here's a video of it! Apologies for the way I am recording this, I don't exactly have a capture card, but I wanted to show you guys regardless

You can see how fast the train is going as it passes below you! At least the just Singles Train anyways, seems to me like it's going about 20-30mph? I tried doing math to find the exact speed but that's difficult for several reasons (no idea how large a "tile" in Pokemon really is and objects in the overworld are not very accurate in size so I can't exactly do any comparisons. The perspective of the camera also makes it tricky.) Given how the Anville Train is described as "slow and heavy", I would hazard a guess to say that the other trains of the Battle Subway may run faster than this.

You can also see that each train is made up of 7 cars as it passes below you if you slow down the footage. Which is not surprising, you have to win 7 battles in a row to complete a "set" where you are then dropped off at a rest stop. I believe the Battle Subway trains to be electrical multiple units (EMUs) so it would probably make them 7-car sets.

It also looks like the Singles Line is very busy with the trains only being seconds apart! Now I know this is more a visual thing so the environment would be interesting to look at, but I'd like to think it indicates that the Battle Subway/Singles Line is very popular! (and very well organized!)

As for Real life train inspirations I think perhaps the Tobu 10030 series?

The Tobu 10030 is a version of the Tobu 10000 series with some minor changes, such as the design of the face and using a bolsterless bogie. (Bogie is a part of the train that refers to a frame that holds sets of wheels as well as the suspension, breaks, etc. in which the body of the train car rests upon.)(A bolster is a part that connects the side frames of the bogie and the underside of the car's central pivot point.)(A bolsterless bogie is a bogie type that doesn't have a bolster). The front of the train is covered in fiber reinforced plastic and the outer panels are "bead molded" (which... I have no clue what that means...) This series has been going under renovations since 2010.

Double Train:

"This car is a Double Train! This is a mass-produced car from a decade ago! Compared to a Single Train, the number of parts was reduced so it could be built for a lower cost. The number of parts influences the budget and construction time. The streamlined and beautiful design of the Double Train is still valued today."

So the Double Train is at least 10 years old! (That's what decade means!) Honestly though, I think the Double Train might be older than 10, in Japanese the description just says that it is a "mass-produced train from a long time ago" and doesn't mention a number... Another reason is that in the Multi Train description, it mentions that it is a test model for future trains that will replace the Double Trains. Which means perhaps that the Double Trains may be reaching near the end of its service life, which again average 30-50 years. It could be a possibility that this train may have a shorter service life than usual, who knows. This all speculation really.

As for lowering the amount of parts, from what I found it makes the train lighter. It would also probably lower the cost as well like the description says (trains are really really expensive to build! EMUs can cost $2mil-$10mil per car!)

It also mentions that it is a mass-produced car! It's a train made with mass production for commercial purposes! I believe it's usually for train lines that are really busy, where they would need a lot of trains? It typically means that there are a lot of them. (All this makes me wonder about train production in the Pokemon World...)

As for Real life inspirations, I think that the Double Train is inspired by the Tokyu 1000 series train.

The Tokyu 1000's design and equipment is similar to another train, the Tokyu 9000 series, with improvements such as improved handling and making it easier to do inspection and repair work. As well as reducing the amount of spare parts from the Tokyu 9000.

Multi Train:

"This car is a Multi Train! Few cars of this model were produced. This is a test car to develop future mass-produced cars that will replace the old Double Trains. The technology born during the creation of this train car made the Super Single Train and Super Double Train possible!"

The multi train is a test/prototype train! A little surprised that an entire line is running off a few prototypes. Like the description says, not many are produced as the purpose of a prototype is to test features and improve upon them if needed before they are put into mass production. Given that it says the technology from this train was the reason the Super Single and Super Double Train was made possible. I'm thinking it was most likely testing some eco friendly features? As it is the Super Single and Super Double Train's main feature.

Perhaps them using a model with so few trains means that the Multi line isn't that busy/popular? (Surprising then the train platform is not swarming with more train photographers haha!)

As for real life inspirations, while the livery may not be the same I think it could be the Keisei 3000 (2nd Generation.)

The Keisei 3000's body is made of lightweight stainless steel and the passenger doors have a paper honeycomb structure. When they were designing this train, they wanted it to be both environmentally (energy saving) and customer friendly (being accessible to elderly and those with disabilities.)

Super Single and Super Double Trains:

"This Super Single Train is a new mass-produced car! It's an environmentally friendly train, because they revised all the parts to drastically reduce power consumption! Newer trains have to be built in a way that's both functional and environmentally friendly. Compared to the past, they've improved significantly."

"This Super Double Train is a new mass-produced car! Such a streamlined and refined design! Beauty and utility working together! That kind of beautility is unique to mass-produced train cars! It uses the same train car as a Super Single Train. The only difference is the appearance. It is a superb train car that will go down in the history of the Battle Subway!"

The Super Single and Super Double Trains are the same model. Honestly the description of these trains doesn't give me a lot of information besides the fact that these trains are eco friendly. So I'll talk about what trains do to make themselves (even more) eco friendly!

They are stated to be eco friendly by reducing power consumption. I think it could be referring to a "VVVF inverter control" (it stands for variable voltage variable frequency. In English its mainly called the VFD or variable frequency drive.) A VVVF is a type of system for an AC motor that can reduce energy consumption! (There are two types of electrical current, DC or Direct Current and AC or Alternate Current. An AC motor is a motor that is driven by AC electricity.) It is important on energy saving trains! I won't get too much into how it works, but essentially it controls the AC motor's rotational speed by controlling the frequency. By controlling these, it can control the speed and acceleration of a train. You'll find that a VVVF is often paired with a three phase motor (I will not go into that...) Let's just say that these systems are very efficient at using power and help save energy.

Really, reducing power consumption usually means being more efficient at using power. Like using LEDs, using better insulation to retain cooling or heating, and generally using parts that use less electricity. It could be that the train is lighter in weight too (lighter vehicles use less power.)

Both of these Super Trains are mass produced! Which tells me that there are a lot of Super Single and Super Double trains! Its lines are probably busy.

As for real life inspirations, it is very much inspired by the E233-2000 series train

The E233-2000 is a little bit of an oddball in the E233 family exterior design wise. Its design was inspired by the Tokyu 5000 series. Its basic running equipment is the same as the E233 trains before it though.

I think it is a bit of a stretch, but I'll mention it anyways. The E233 (which the E233-2000 is a subsection of) is a train that has won the Laurel Award in 2007. The Laurel Award is an award given to trains by the Japan Railway Friends Association for trains with an excellence in technology and design (specifically geared towards commuter trains.) It could be what all the "beautility" comments could be referencing to? They do look verrry different though, and the E233-2000 came after the award was given...

Super Multi Train:

"This train car is a Super Multi Train! This is the latest train car! Improved acceleration and deceleration! Automated train-car controls! It's full of cutting-edge technologies. Also, a regeneration brake system, a car-body tilting system, a whatchamacallit system, a thingamabob system... I don't remember all the details, but it's just a big festival of all the latest technology!"

Ohhoho! The Super Multi Train description is a goldmine of details! This train is the whole reason I wanted to make this post! Let's run through its features!

Improved acceleration and deceleration means that it can run between stops faster, allowing for quicker operation time.

Automated train-car controls or ATC is a safety system on trains that prevents trains from going over a certain speed! If the train goes over the maximum speed permitted then the ATC will pull the brakes automatically to reduce the speed and release the brakes when it is below maximum speed. It also displays the maximum speed to the driver. It is an incredibly important safety system!! From what I understand, the term ATC is very common in Japan, in other countries the ATC would simply be a part of cab signaling (it is a safety system mainly for the driver and train crew, it tells them track status and condition information) and train protection technologies. ATC is installed on all Shinkansen trains, it is also installed in some subways and heavily used railways.

Here's an example of what it looks like! The green triangle there is the (current) maximum speed. There are a lot of different types of ATC systems and this ones a D-ATC (stands for Digital Automatic Train Control) from within an E233! There are a whole lot of different types of ATC, and they can come in many looks! I would show more examples, however, I have hit the image limit on this post... :[

A regenerative brake system is a special type of breaking that allows a train to generate electricity via breaking! The electricity can either be used immediately, stored, or returned back into the line. You might've heard this feature on electric or hybrid cars. It is a common eco friendly feature!

A car-body tilting system is a feature in trains that allows the body of the train car to tilt into a curve! It allows the train to go faster on a track (not needing to slow down on a curve) but the feature is mainly for passenger comfort! When you ride, you don't feel the centrifugal force at all when going around a curve! And it makes the ride so smooth! Here's a short video demonstrating what it looks like:

youtube

There are essentially two major ways to do a car body tilting system. There is active tilting (forced body tilting) or passive tilting (pendulum system). A forced body tilting system uses computers to tilt the train using track data or sensors, telling the train when and how much to tilt. If the calculation is not done correctly, it can leave passengers with motion sickness (An infamous example is the Advanced Passenger Train in the UK). The tilting itself I believe is done via hydraulics. Forced Body Tilting is more popular in European and American trains.

As for passive tilting, the train in the video uses it! (A controlled pendulum train!) It means it uses natural forces to tilt the train car. I'll dive deeper into this type of tilting in the Wi-Fi train section because it actually mentions it's a pendulum train! As to which tilting type the Super Multi train has... it could honestly be either.

(Ah! I forgot to mention this, but tilting trains are especially useful in mountainous regions, where there are a lot of curves.)

In the Japanese version of the Super Multi description, it also mentions that it has a "earthquake warning system" and a "tornado monitoring system".

An earthquake warning system is not something fully installed into the train, rather it's mainly a set of sensors installed along the track, coast, and major inland areas. For passenger rail, if any signs of an earthquake are detected, it will alert any trains in the affected area and drivers are required to apply their emergency brakes. For shinkansen trains it will cut off power to the affected area which will automatically activate the emergency brakes.

Well, I found something close to a tornado warning system. There is a "gust warning system" where sensors measure wind speed and to predict where strong gusts of wind would go. Again, it's not a system that is installed within the train. From what I could tell, they would restrict travel speed during strong winds. If wind speeds are too high, then they would shut down the lines. (I suppose would be very useful, especially when there's some legendaries that cause powerful storms roaming around.)

In the Japanese version of the text, it also states that the Super Multi Train is also a test train. Which again means there's also not a lot of this train. It also states that some of it's features are unnecessary due to it being a test train lol

In the description all these features are stated as "cutting edge" and "a festival of all the latest technology" when these features are not all that new? And Regenerative breaking seems to be pretty common? (Every irl train I have shown thus far all have it.) Eh, I don't think it's that big of a deal. They are just fictional trains after all.

I originally thought the train looked like an Eizan Railway Deo 800 series, but thanks to the leaks, it looks like that the JR East 205-500 was used as a base to design the Super Multi Train? With probably heavy modification to the final design. (While I don't condone the method that these leaks were obtained, curiosity did get the better of me. This is the only train that I ID-ed this way.)

This Train was exclusive to the Sagami Line, though it ended operation in 2022 and every one of these trains have been scrapped. The blue color I believe is an homage to the Sagami River that runs along the line. The Train used a semi automatic door system for its passenger doors. Which means that rather than the conductor opening and closing the doors, the passengers would press a button to open the door when the train has stopped.

Wi-Fi Train:

"This train car is a Wi-Fi Train! It is the fastest long-distance high-speed train in the Battle Subway! This is called a pendulum car. Its body tilts while going around curves, so it can run without slowing down! Faster! Farther! Our engineers' spirits are infused in it!"

A pendulum car is a very specific term!!! Like I mentioned in the Super Mutli Train section it is a type of car body tilting. There are multiple types of Pendulum systems, There is Natural Pendulum, Controlled Pendulum, Air Spring (also called Simple Pendulum), and Hybrid.

Natural Pendulum is just using the centrifugal force of when it goes around a curve to tilt the train. This type was known to cause motion sickness in riders because when it straightened out, the car would "lag" or wobble. Sometimes the force was not enough to tilt the train and this would also cause passenger discomfort. These issues were fixed later with a controlled pendulum, where there would be a degree of control to the tilting. Using mechanisms similar to forced body tilting, it would prevent wobble and ease the tilt. The air spring method, as suggests in the name, uses air springs to help with tilting. It is similar to the controlled pendulum, though it tilts less than it (controlled pendulum can tilt 6 degrees and air springs can only tilt 2 degrees). Air springs are cheaper to build though and still are able to make the train go faster. Hybrid is the combination of controlled pendulum and air springs, allowing for an 8 degree tilt.

I hope the Wi-Fi train is not a natural pendulum? You're telling me you have to battle on that and you might get motion sickness?? Though it sounds like it might be more high tech so it is most likely the other types... Hopefully...

It also states that this train is the "fastest long-distance high-speed train in the Battle Subway!" Looking at Japan's tilting trains (that are not shinkansen), they go about 120kmh-130kmh (about 75 mph-81 mph.) So it could be a possibility that the Wi-Fi goes something along those speeds.

I've looked through Japan's tilting trains, and the closest one might be the JR Hokkaido Kiha 201 series? It's not at all close though... I can't really find a good match tbh. I think the 113 series seems to be a bit more closer visually.

The one on the left is a Kansai livery and the right is a JR Shikoku livery. They are both the same train, JR Shikoku bought the 113 series from JR East to replace some aging trains and then modified it. Which is why they look a bit different. The modifications include strengthening the front of the train and adding shock absorbing material inside.

So Those are all the trains that run in the Battle Subway! However there are 2 trains that don't, instead they only show up in Anville Town on certain days. I'll be calling them "Old Train Car" and "Futuristic Train Car"

"Old Train Car"

"This train car is the kind that ran a long time ago. Compared to contemporary train cars, it has more parts, so I heard it was difficult to build. The old train cars built with lots of small parts have their own unique beauty and attract a lot of fans. Those cars no longer run in the Battle Subway, but I hear they're still used in a faraway region. Ah... I'd love to be on that train!"

So this sort of car used to run on the Battle Subway. It's said to be still running in another region, though with how old the train looks I can only think that maybe it would be running by railway preservationists.

The design of this train reminds me a lot of old Japanese electric trains and trams. Especially trams with that double roof. I don't think it's really based on any particular vehicle? Here's a couple that I found;

The only one I feel like is worth mentioning is the Jomo Electric Railway Deha 101 (this specific car is the Deha 101, others of its kind are called Deha 100 type) and the Nagasaki Electric Railway 160 type. Both of these vehicles I believe are still running to some capacity.

The Jomo Deha 101 has been running for over 90 years. While car 101 still resides at Jomo Railway, other Deha 100s have been transferred to other private companies where they have been scrapped. I believe the only existing Deha 100s today are Car 101 and Car 104 (which has been painted bright yellow.)

The Nagasaki Electric Railway 160 type used to belong to the Kyushu Electric Tramway where it was called the Type 1 Electric Tram. When it was transferred to the Nagasaki Electric Railway it was renamed into the 160 type. Today, there is a single car in operation. I believe it is the oldest wooden car in Japan that is still in service.

I suppose I will also mention the Keifuku Electric Railway Mobo 21 Type Train, it does look the most similar. Though, it's purposefully designed to look like an old style tram.

"Futuristic Train Car"

"This train car is a new train to run in the future! Wooo! Cool! Super cool! The latest motor breathes fire! Uh-oh, if it really breathed fire, that would be bad! But it is full of the latest technologies! It's undergoing a lot of testing. It's called a gauge-convertible train. It's a sweet car that can adjust its wheels to run on any rail!"

So first off, I'd like to say that this train visually kind of looks like a "Sonic" 883 series (nothing to do with the blue hedgehog, it was just a coincidence lol)

However the description!!!! A "gauge convertible train" that is undergoing a lot of testing... That description matches exactly with the GCT! (literally standing for Gauge Change/Convertible Train, though in Japanese it's called FGT or Free Gauge Train!)

The GTC is the project name for this experimental shinkansen. The one in the picture is the GTC-01, the second generation of its kind (as this is the version they would be testing before and during the development of the game, there is now a 3rd generation.) So, the term gauge refers to the distance between the two rails. Different trains run on different gauges, they can come in either narrow gauge, standard gauge, or wide gauge. Japan's rail network is mostly narrow gauge (specifically Cape Gauge.) The main exception are the shinkansen trains, which run on standard gauge. This shinkansen like the description says would be able to run on any gauge. It used to be under a lot of testing by the Free Gauge Train Technology Research Association. Today though, the GTC-01 second generation sits on display in the Shikoku Railway Heritage Museum.

There are a lot of challenges that the GTC faces. It takes a bit of time for the wheels to adjust to the gauge and you need to go slower when it's doing so. It has increased maintenance costs. The heavier specialized bogie creates more wear on the rails as well as making the train harder to detect. (Ok! Basic explanation for Railway Signaling! Tracks are split up into sections called "blocks", and a small electrical current is run between the two tracks that makes up the block. When a train runs through, the wheel and axle of the train disrupts the current, which then the system detects that block as being occupied by a train. If it is occupied, the signal lights at the end of the block will be turned red, preventing other trains from entering the same block, thus preventing collisions. The problem arises in the GTC in that the wheel and the axle are separate, thus something about this is making it hard to detect on the rail.)

With this train being a "gauge change train" it really made me wonder what gauge the Battle Subway trains runs at? I thought maybe standard gauge or maybe even wide gauge because you can only make the train so wide depending on the gauge. And you'd probably want it wider so that there is more room, especially if you are fitting a battle arena in it! However in Japanese the description mentions that "The rails are a little wider on the tracks that run at higher speeds." Which is... exactly how Japanese rail works? So the Battle Subway lines are probably narrow gauge?

Another thing that's interesting about the "Futuristic Train" is the date that it actually shows up. In Anville Town the way that each train shows up is dependent on the last digit of the day of the month, like so:

0- (10th, 20th, and 30th) "Old Train Car"

1- (1st, 11th, 21st, and 31st) Single Train Car

2- (2nd, 12th, and 22nd) Double Train Car

3- (3rd, 13th, and 23rd) Multi Train Car

yada yada you get the point (4- Super Double Train, 5- Super Single Train, 6- Super Multi Train, 7- Anville Town Train, 8- Nothing, 9- Wi-Fi Train)

The only exception is the "Futuristic Train" who will show up ONLY on February 1st, June 12th, October 1st, October 14th, and December 30th, pretty random huh? haha of course not! These dates are dates significant to the History of Japanese Railway/Transportation!

February 1st: The opening of Japan's first electric street car in 1895!

June 12th: The temporary operation of Japan's first passenger railway in 1872!

October 1st: The release of Japan's first Shinkansen, the series 0 in 1964!

October 14th: The official opening of Japan's first passenger railway in 1872, with the first two stations between Shimbashi and Yokohama! This day is also Railway Day in Japan, celebrating this event, Tokyo holds a Railway Festival and train companies like to do events on this day as well!

December 30th: The opening of Japan's first subway line in 1927, The Ginza Line!

Rails, Station Platform, and More Train:

So the Station, there are a few details I can pick up on here!

The type of track that the trains run on (at least in the station) are ballastless tracks! It means the rail is tied directly onto a slab of concrete rather than having ballast hold it up (ballast is that rocky gravel that you often see beneath the tracks.) This type of track is quite expensive to build and makes the place a lot nosier, but it has a lot of advantages! For one, because there is no ballast to maintain, it has lower maintenance cost (ballast must be packed every now and again using a ballast tamping machine. Which lifts the track and jostles the ballast beneath it. Ballast also needs to be replaced after a while because the rocks have to be irregularly shaped for it to work, and natural weathering can make them smooth out.) It is also easier to clean and has a longer lifespan. Because the rail is tied to slabs of concrete the rails are less prone to deformation, which is good! Though it is also that same inflexibility means that it is difficult to change anything about it and takes longer to repair.

Their buffer! (that little black thing at the end of the line, I think it is a buffer?) It doesn't look like that effective of a buffer... The purpose of a buffer is to stop a train if brakes fail. Though this thing seems to be more for the driver telling them where the end is, hence all the, what I presume are, lights. Let's hope they have some sort of other safety system in place.

There doesn't seem to be a third rail. I have a feeling that might be because most Japanese railway trains are powered via overhead wire (literally every irl train I have shown is powered this way.) Maybe the Battle Subway trains might be powered via overhead wire? I might be over analyzing here, they might not have thought of modeling such a small detail haha

The train itself has some sort of device on top (that box thing.) I believe it to be some sort of air conditioning unit. Given how each train car has one large unit on top of it, I believe that it uses a centralized cooling system, which means there is one large air conditioning unit. (There are 2 other types, they are distributed cooling which consists of 6-8 small units and centralized distributed which consists of a couple of medium sized units.) Central cooling systems are easier to install and maintain because there is only one unit to worry about.

Signboards:

The Buildings in between routes have a electronic news bulletin board, and depending on which city is connected to it, the news bulletin will give a little flavor text about the city. There's some flavor text about the Battle Subway when it's about Nimbasa City, and it different depending on whether you are playing the first one or the second one, here they are:

"Run and battle! Trains never stop!” Battle Subway in Nimbasa City"

"They say someone who loved battles also happened to be a railway maniac, and thats why we now have the battle subway"

So, this might be a coincidence, but there is an old name that Japanese Train Fans used to call themselves. The name was "Railway Mania" (鉄道マニア direct translation). It was used up until the 1950s. Today it's seen as a derogatory term but it was used very commonly back in its heyday (even more popular than "railfan" apparently.) I think it is kind of interesting that the term "Railway Maniac" was chosen for this flavor text and I wonder if it has anything to do with this old name. However, I say it might just be a coincidence because the term "Maniac" is not unheard of word in Pokemon (Item Maniac, Poke Maniac, Hex Maniac, etc.) But regardless, there's that little fun fact for you!

B2W2

“Get on a train and fight!” Battle Subway in Nimbasa City"

"The energy generated by heated Pokémon battles is the fuel that keeps the Battle Subway running"

I'm going to get a little headcanon-y here. We can interpret this figuratively, as in if there are no battles then its not really a Battle Subway is it? But I think it would be fun to interpret it literally! What if Pokemon Moves could get absorbed somehow to power the Train? And if the Train doesn't need it it could go into the line to power something else in the Subway! I think that would be cool :]

Extra Stuff:

●I think the Battle Subway Map could also be inspired by JR East's rail map, the main reason is the single lines (dark green) which goes in a loop around the Unova Region...

Reminds me of the Yamanote Line (light green) which also goes in a loop connecting a variety of major stations together in Tokyo and is a very very important line!

●While I do believe Gear Station is inspired by New York's Grand Central Station, I do think there's a lot of design elements taken from Tokyo Station as well

●The gray bodies of the Anville, Single, Doubles, and Multi cars are probably meant to represent an exposed steel/aluminum body rather than the ones painted white like the Super Trains.

●In the Anime, the trains are said to have an ATO system, this is also a real system, it stands for Automatic Train Operation. It's a system that allows a computer to control when the train stops and goes with no driver involved! I don't think that the trains in the games run on an ATO system though, as there are Depot Agents who talk about train driving (Depot Agent Cameron who says "I’m good at driving, but I’m not good at dealing with Pokemon." at the start of battle, and a way more obscure Depot Agent whom you can talk to on the platform after 14 wins on a Super Train who says "I’d rather have an exciting battle than slowly drive the train.")

●In the Anime, there's a stamp rally, which is a real thing! There are station stamps in Japan which tourists can collect. Though, occasionally Pokemon will collaborate with JR East to create a Pokemon Stamp Rally! The most recent is this Pokemon Horizons Stamp Rally promoting the show! Here's a map of what stamps you can collect at each station and the prizes you can get!

●In the Nacrane city library there is a book that mentions that Nacrane used to have steam locomotives running through it!

"This book is about the things you can ride in the Unova region, such as Castelia City’s cruise ship and Mistralton City’s planes. Before there were planes, locomotives carried people all over Unova. The railway in Nacrene City is a legacy of those lines." (B2W2)

What kinds of Steam Locomotives? I suppose we will never know, as we never see one in game.

●There's an Roughneck NPC you can talk to at Tubeline Bridge in B2W2 where he says

"Watch it! People use “railway fan” as a catchall term, but there are many types of railway fans! There are riding fans, detraining fans, station fans, train-car fans, schedule-table fans, picture-taking fans, recording fans, and more! Don’t go thinking they’re all the same!" (B2W2)

So in Japanese, Railway is Tesudo (鉄道, testu 鉄- Iron and do 道-Road) and a Railway Fan is Tesudofan, however fans will abbreviate to just Testu and stick what aspect of trains they enjoy with it, so like 乗り鉄 (Nori 乗り-Ride, 鉄-tetsu) as a Train Riding Fan, or 撮り鉄 (Tori 撮り-Taking a Picture, 鉄-tetsu) as a Railway Photography fan. There are a lot of these and the NPC does go over some! There's also Railway Modeling Fans (Fans who collect model trains and/or construct model railways), Collecting Fans (Fans who collect railway related items such as tickets or stamps), Operation Fans (Fans who like researching railway operation and equipment), Regulation Fans (Fans who like researching railway handbooks and laws and regulations that go into a railway), Simulation Fans (Fans who like playing train driving/railway management games), Artists/Writers, Urban Explorers, and Railway Preservationist (I gave up on the last ones lol). There are lots of ways to enjoy trains!

There's also the super specific terms of "Mama Tetsu" where a mother becomes a railway fan because of their children's interest or "Oyako Tetsu" where a child becomes interested in trains because of their parents.

●The badge on Ingo and Emmet's hats probably represents the logo for the railway company that they work for, while researching about Japanese Railway Companies, I noticed that they have a lot of circular logos, here's a handful:

From what I could gather, these types of black and white circular logos are called a mon, kind of like a crest? If you wish to scroll about the logos, here is the link for the Wikimedia commons list.

The company's logo is also what's usually depicted on irl conductor's hats anyways, in the exact same place too.

(I was looking for a screenshot to showcase the hat to put here, but instead I found this promotional video! It's actually pretty good at going over the basics of what a driver and conductor actually do! Please feel free to check it out)

youtube

●The name "Depot Agent" is a little bit of a strange name, in Japanese the name is simply "Railway Worker", a depot is often referred to a train yard, however depot can also refer to a station, given where we see this trainer class working (at Gear Station), it is most likely that the depot in this case is referring to station, so they are station workers!

Final:

After all this I have come to the conclusion that somebody at Gamefreak really liked trains! And I really think all the little details are so awesome! and it really cements the Battle Subway as my favorite battle facility!

Anyways I hope you learned a thing or two and I hope you gained a new appreciation for trains and the Battle Subway! Thanks for Reading! ✌

(If I got anything wrong, please feel free to correct me, there was a lot of information I had to sift through and I am NOT an engineer * _ * and if you have something to add please do! I would love to learn more! ^ ^

#post #long post #VERY LONG POST #THIS TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE I STARTED THIS IN AUGUST #I love trains too much. Its a sickness really...#submas #battle subway #pokemon #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 white 2

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lockefanfic · 18 days ago

Text

Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night?

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly.

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room.

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing.

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch.

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body.

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need.

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers.

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did.

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed.

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked.

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain.

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire.

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you.

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does.

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation.

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it.

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs.

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take.

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission.

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you.

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain.

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

#twice #tzuyu #twice tzuyu #kpop smut

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yanderedrabbles · 2 months ago

Note

What happens when the Yandere state trooper finds out y/n is pregnant?

(❤️)

Oops, looks like you're stuck with him.

Yandere Cop - Baby Trapped

Yandere! State Trooper might be an asshole, but he's not an idiot. You've been avoiding him.

Yandere! State Trooper who puts an alert out on your plates and is the first one pulling up when they get called in. Who plans to draw this out for as long as possible and think of your pretty lips on his cock the whole goddamn time.

Yandere! State Trooper who sees you flinch when he shows up at your window. Who can't hide his annoyance when you keep avoiding his eyes. Who raps his baton on your car door and snarls at you to look at him when he's talking to you.

Yandere! State Trooper who asks you to kindly step out of the vehicle and when you do, he's grabbing hold of your upper arms, digging his fingers into the flesh and pressing you between him and the car.

Yandere! State Trooper who wedges his knee between your thighs and scraps it across your clothed cunt.

"Why're you avoiding me, hmm?"

Yandere! State Trooper who watches you go pale, trying to shrink into yourself like that will somehow make him go away. You claim it's nothing, you just haven't been out much.

Yandere! State Trooper who shakes you like a ragdoll and snaps that you're the shittiest liar he's ever met. And you spill your secret in a stuttering rush of words.

You've missed your period.

Yandere! State Trooper who carefully presses his hand against your lower belly, his mind going a mile a minute. There aren't any other men in your life, he's made sure of that. So it's his, without a doubt.

Yandere! State Trooper who smiles slow and lazy. Do you have any idea how expensive kids are? Were you really going to manage with a job, a single income and kids?

Yandere! State Trooper who finally has you in a position where you can't possibly say no to him.

Yandere! State Trooper who knows more than anyone how tightly binding the law can be. And when you're his wife...well, the law has and always will be on his side.

"Tell you what dollface, why don't you come over and we can pick out your ring together?"

#first and last pregnancy fic #sorry but it makes me want to tear my ovaries out with a spork #breeding is okay though #for some psychological reason I can't comprehend #Yandere cop #Yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #pregnancy fic

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celestie0 · 4 months ago

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore.

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head.

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.”

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

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time.

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.”

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.”

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater.

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.”

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern.

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd.

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle.

And then the kickoff starts.

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net.

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play.

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line.

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball.

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field.

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet.

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.”

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.”

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you.

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus.

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does.

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo.

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team.

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net.

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.

The referee chirps his whistle.

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!”

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

@tsukikourito @pickuptruck01 @gabriiiiiiii @4y3sh4 @tiredflame132

@cliosunshine @btszn @izayas-rings @semra4 @ethereally-lyann

@drthymby @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010

@joemama-2 @horisdope @banenemilk @nanasukii28 @spindyl

@ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @sashisuslover

@chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd @angelicscribe

[taglist is closed]

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yeyinde · 6 months ago

Text

stalker!Simon decides to have a little fun with his favourite camgirl.

the message comes up halfway into your "show."

it's a boring night. slow. you wear a lingerie set one of your viewers sent in beneath a silk robe, all in a pretty pastel pink—cliche, but it works; an uncomfortably disgusting version of hair theory unfolding in front of your eyes—and discreetly chug wine when you twist away to grab a new toy. a series of pale pink vibrators, nipple clamps. mundane depravity for what's shaping up to be a lacklustre night.

but the money that pours in from these little shows (adult version of classic party games—hide and seek, would you rather, truth or dare) is one step closer to erasing your debts. student loans. car payments. rent. you smile so wide it aches, and put your best face on when you blink, coquettish and coy, at the camera where nameless, faceless men throw money in a ring for a scrap of your attention.

tonight's game is Simon Says. and it's supposed to be normal. boring.

but a message from a viewer named Simon (in a sea of many who cheekily changed their usernames to match the theme of the game) stands out.

Simon says... go lock your door.

you blink. between all of the Simon Says touch yourself for me baby, pull your shirt down, lemme fuck you for real it sticks out. a change in the routine.

you huff, pouting. "already did that, Simon. c'mon, gimme something else to do, honey."

another one pops up. Simon says... you shouldda got a dog.

your brows furrow. "that's not part of the game, Simon. i'm gonna move on—"

Simon says... open your door.

he's paying you handsomely. dropping coins, large amounts of money, for each message to shoot to the top. little superchats. why he isn't taking advantage of it and paying you to do something sexy, something lewd, unnerves you. your heart starts to race, thudding against your ribs almost painfully.

it's fine, you think. he's just a creep. a loser. "uh huh, not part of the game, Simon. i'm afraid i'm gonna have to cut you off—"

you block him. they don't normally get under your skin like this. ever. at all. even when they throw random names in your dms, hoping one of them happens to be yours, and try to blackmail you to your fake friends and family. it doesn't bother you as much as this. as him. get a dog. how absurd.

the next series of chats pass without the same odd comments. take your bra off, but leave the robe on. act coy, like you don't want to—

creeps, you think, in their own right. but. paying ones. so, you smile. stiff. uncomfortable. grinning so wide it hurts. pretending to ignore the strange unease growing in your guts. your eyes sliding back to the superchats saved in a glowing log. let me in. a troll. whatever. it's nothing. nothing. you'll drink wine after this, scrub your skin raw in the shower and buy yourself something pretty with the money these greasy losers threw your way—

Simon says... let me in.

you feel your heart in your throat. it can't be him. you blocked him. you have mods to keep trolls out of your chats, but wonder—hopefully—if maybe it failed. maybe they found your stream are just being weird. strange. but when you check, the filters are on. he's a registered user. paid the premium to watch you. to get an invite to your special game nights. it makes it worse, you think, that he paid to be here. to do this.

your hand shakes. you block this user, too, ignoring the discomfort churning inside your chest. the fear spiking along the nape of your neck. hair raising. there's a prickle on your skin. the feeling of being watched

no. it's fine. you're fine—

"ah, what else should i do, Simon?" you ask your viewers, pulling on another smile. one that hurts. aches. wobbles around the edges. you'll end the stream in a few minutes. order Thai food. drink yourself stupid. take the day off tomorrow. use this creeps money and waste it. blow it on something stupid. dumb. laugh about it with your friends.

your shoulders dip. the tension easing. you're fine. you're at home. the door—

you locked it. right? you definitely, absolutely, locked it when you brought in the package from the delivery driver. the massive, hulking man who loomed in your doorway, too wide, even, to fit inside, and growled out in a low, brassy timbre: sign 'ere. you took the pen, pretending he wasn't drilling holes into you with his gaze, eyes liquid in the dark. intense. wanting. and then scurried inside—

back pressed against the door, hands wrapped around the lingerie set.

you glance at the chat. "which Simon bought me this cute set? i'd like to thank them personally," you murmur, forcing your shoulders to drop. it's fine. you live in the middle of nowhere. no one is coming to your door.

there's no takers in the chat. you shift on the chair, licking your lips. "it's really cute, Simon. a perfect size, too, and i just—"

something catches your eye in the corner of the monitor. a movement. a slight shift. a whisper of fabric. you tilt your chin, peering into the hazy black reflection.

what you're looking at doesn't make any sense. your bedroom door is open. a curtain of black drapes over the wall where the pale strip of light doesn't reach.

the washroom light is still on, a yellow spill illuminating the hallway, but nothing is there. no one is in the hall. but you know you closed your door. you always do when you stream. your heart trips over itself. leaps to your throat. you almost choke on it—

another bubble pops up. Simon says... hey. uh, who is that guy behind you?

there's a ringing in your ears. your hair stands on end. something moves again. the black mass wasn't a shadow. it moves. takes shape. the covered head nearly reaches your ceiling, body filling the entirely of your room. massive. a mountain you remember thinking. a fucking mountain, you texted your friend. thighs the size of tree trunks—

a hand reaches out, grabs hold of your power bar. thick gloved fingers curling over the button. in the bluegreen glow of your computer screen, a man steps out.

"glad y'liked it, pet." the deep, brassy drawl sends shivers down your spine. you try to scream, mouth opening wide to choke it out, yell for help—

your chat bubbles up, feverish in their excitement. you skin through the messages, stomaching churning as it clicks in your head. their rabidness isn't about saving you, but—

(omg he's gonna fuck her pron??? we're getting pron????? no fucking wayyyyy god i wish it were me—)

this isn't a fucking bit, you morons, you want to howl. call the fucking police—

but he gets there first. two strides. it happens in a blink. the screen goes back and he's on you in seconds.

you're not even sure how someone so big, so heavy, could move that quietly—

"ah-ah, none o'tha' now," his hand curls around your neck, tight. choking. you try to fight but he just huffs, breathing in deep, chest expanding across your spine as his other hand snakes around your waist, trapping you against a corded forearm. he bends down, nuzzles his jaw into your crown. coos:

"Simon says... turn around for me pretty girl, an' be good, now. went through all this trouble t'find you. think i deserve a little reward—"

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/reader #ahhhhh i woke up outta a dead sleep to write this im sorry

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prael · 4 months ago

Text

A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Miyeon smut #gidle smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Miyeon x reader #Cho Miyeon smut #(g)i dle smut

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dark-fics-4-you · 6 months ago

Text

Old Grudges Die Hard

dark!Bully!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Rafe Cameron had made your life hell ever since you first met him in elementary school. When you moved away for college, you thought you were finally done with your bully, but your life changes when you come face to face with him at his party a year later.

Warnings: noncon (rape), smut, unprotected sex, dacryphilia (crying & tear kink), rough sex, slapping, choking, sexual harassment, harassment, degradation, bullying, drinking, drugs

A/N: this fic begins when Reader and Rafe are in elementary school, but nothing sexual happens between them until they are 19 years old

When you were in elementary school, your parents explained to you that part of being a Pogue meant that people would hate you for absolutely no reason other than the fact that you’re poor.

Grasping your scrapped knee in pain as fat tears rolled down your cheeks, you were quick to tell your parents about the altercation at school as soon as they picked you up.

When you asked them what a ‘Pogue’ was, they exchanged a concerned look before gingerly explaining why the rude boy in your class had shoved you really hard at recess.

“B-but why would he do that?” You sobbed. “It’s so hard to make new friends here!”

“I know sweetheart,” your mother looked down at you sadly. “Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

“No! He made fun of my clothes on my first day. He said I look poor and he would know since he’s rich.” You cried louder, remembering how upset his words had made you. “A-and then all of the girls wouldn’t stop grabbing my skirt or pinching me because he told them to.”

“Have you told the teacher about this?” Your mother asked. You had reached the car now and she helped you into your seat and buckled you in.

“They just ignored me! Rafe gets away with everything,” you grumbled.

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you, Y/N,” your dad jokingly teased from the front of the car and you gagged loudly.

“Ew! No! I hate him! I would never like him in a million years!” You angrily exclaimed.

“Well, I’ll call the school and let them know he’s causing problems. He shouldn’t be able to get away with this without punishment.”

What your parents had a much harder job explaining to you was how powerful money is, and how unfair the world is.

Three parent-teacher meetings with your parents and Rafe’s accomplished little to nothing. If anything, the attention that you had brought to his behavior only made it worse.

It was remarkable how sneaky he could be in his torment of you, always waiting for the teacher’s back to turn before pinching your arm hard enough to make you scream, and bringing the teacher’s attention back to you only for you to be chastised for interrupting class.

He would accuse you of looking at his quizzes, all the while he was cheating off of you.

Any craft or art project that you worked on would mysteriously turn up damaged or missing, getting you in more trouble with the teacher for not completing work.

By the last day of 5th grade, you were thrilled to be heading off to a different middle school than Rafe.

And for three blissful years, you were safe from his cruelty. In fact, Rafe Cameron had become all but a distant memory by the time you reached high school.

Excited by your high grades in middle school and how fast you were learning the material, your parents saved up their money to put you into the best high school in Outer Banks, one that was populated mostly by rich Kooks.

You were so excited to start high school at such a nice school! It was very obvious to you that you were in Kook territory given how well funded it was, and you hoped that despite your Pogue status, you would be able to make friends.

When you realized one of your closest elementary school friends who had switched schools in the 7th grade was at the same school, you were over the moon.

Linking arms with Olivia, she gave you a quick tour of the school before leading you over to your locker. After several attempts, you opened it and loaded your things inside.

“I’ve already made so many friends and we haven’t even started classes yet!” Olivia giggled.

“Really??” You asked. If Olivia was making friends this quickly, maybe it would be okay for you.

“Yeah! And there’s sooo many cute guys here! Like Brady, Joey, Daevon, Rafe, Aaron L, Aaron R, although Aaron D is straight up fugly.”

“Wait hold on, did you say Rafe? As in Rafe Cameron?” Your stomach dropped at the thought of running into him.

Even though it had been three years and you hoped that he had changed, you couldn’t help but feel apprehension at his name.

“Oh yeah, he’s sooo cute!” Olivia gushed, looking around the hall quickly before meeting your eyes again. “Why? What’s up? Do you have a crush on him too?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in so long, but the last time I did, he was basically my bully in elementary school,” you joked, trying to make light of the situation.

“Wait, what?? That was Rafe?!”

“What did I do?” A familiar voice from behind you made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you swiveled around to come face to face with the last person you wanted to see right now.

His face had changed and he was obviously much taller than he had been when you last saw him (you both were), but there was no mistaking his face.

He took you in for a moment, eyes widening when he recognized you.

“No way, Y/N Y/L/N, is that really you?” His voice was incredulous and you had never wished more that you would just evaporate.

“In the flesh,” you nervously joked.

“Hi Rafe!” Olivia excitedly greeted him, but he ignored her, much to her dismay.

“Y/N um, you know…” he paused, looking a bit pained. “I uh, I feel kinda bad about how I treated you back then, that was so long ago now though.”

He laughed and you reluctantly joined in.

“But anyways, I uh- wanna make it up to you, you should come sit with my friends at lunch today.”

His offer shocked you and you couldn’t help but stare at him for a few moments with raised eyebrows.

“Is this a joke?”

“No,” he quickly responded, looking to the ground with embarrassment burning across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

You glanced over at Olivia who gave you an encouraging grin, looking a little jealous herself.

“Um, I guess! Thanks Rafe!” You smiled at him and he mumbled a goodbye before running off to class.

Olivia squealed with excitement before pulling you into a tight hug, “OMG!!! Y/N!! He is so into you!”

“No way! He’s probably just trying to put the past behind us,” you rolled your eyes at Olivia’s enthusiasm.

However, as lunch approached, you found butterflies growing in your stomach. Were you scared or nervous? Why?? It was just lunch. Rafe did look very different, and you couldn’t deny that he was a little cute, but you still felt anxious to see what lunch would bring.

The bell rang out, releasing you from your last class before lunch. Your stomach was in knots as you walked to the cafeteria. You grabbed your food slowly, letting people filter into the seats and trying to spot Rafe.

He confidently walked in with his friends in tow, all of them laughing loudly as they made their way to a table near the back of the cafeteria.

You swallowed your nerves, clutching your lunch tray tightly before approaching their table.

Rafe stood up, grinning at you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you to a seat before pushing you down onto it, “here, sit next to me.”

He sat beside you introducing you to all of his friends at the table, “that’s Topper, Kelce, Byce, and Joey.”

“Hi,” you nervously told the boys your name.

After meeting them, the conversation moved on to discussing all of the cool things they had done this summer. You even chimed in yourself and they all seemed interested in what you had to say.

Rafe opened his lunchbox before sighing in disappointment and chuckling, “my dumbass parents forgot the silverware again.”

He looked down at his leftover spaghetti, seemingly with no fork or spoon in sight.

Feeling like you wanted to repay Rafe for inviting you to sit with him and his friends, you told him you could grab it.

When you stood and turned to walk away, you heard the entire table break out into loud laughter.

You whipped around, nervously meeting Rafe’s eye.

“What’s so funny?” You demanded, raising your voice to cut through their snickers.

Your panic caught the attention of the students around you, who also began laughing.

“Looks like Aunt Flo is in town, Y/L/N.” Rafe cackled, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized what was going on.

On the seat that you had just been in, beside Rafe, you could see red paint drying to the seat.

Without thinking, you reached behind and your heart clenched when you felt wetness on your bottom, and you looked down to see the same red paint now smeared on your hand.

Rafe and his friends burst into laughter, along with the other tables that had been nearby when you stood up.

The cacophony caught the attention of the other students seated further away, who noticed your seemingly blood stained shorts and started laughing along at you.

You had never felt so publicly shamed in your life, and you realized that you were dead wrong to assume that Rafe had changed at all.

You didn’t think he could ever turn over a new leaf now.

Hot tears sprang to your eyes as you ran out of the cafeteria, sprinting to a bathroom stall to lock yourself in as you cried.

After 5 minutes of ugly sobbing, you finally collected yourself and decided to go to the front office to see if they could help you.

Not wanting to mention the fact that you had been pranked, you tied your sweater around your waist and asked them if they had shorts you could borrow.

Luckily enough for you, they did and you were able to get changed as everyone in the lunch period filtered out to their next classes.

You grabbed a note from the office before rushing to your class, 3 minutes after the final bell had rung.

Entering the classroom, you tried to ignore the soft chuckled and looks of recognition you got, but your stomach clenched when you realized there was only one seat left.

Right in front of Rafe.

He sneered at you as you sat down, and you did your best to ignore him.

Halfway through class, his hot breath at your ear nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Why were you so late to class, huh? Already running to mommy and daddy to tattle?” His whispered voice gave you chills and you ignored him, with great difficulty.

After whispering to you several more times and trying to get a rise out of you, he seemingly gave up.

Until you felt his finger hook underneath your bra strap at your back, pulling it back before snapping it against your skin.

You let out a gasp before spinning around in your chair to glare at him, “what’s your problem?!”

Rafe’s lips curled into a small smirk before responding, “what? I didn’t do anything.”

At this point your English teacher had noticed your outburst, walking over to you and Rafe with a stern look.

“Why are you disrupting my lesson? This better be good.”

You parted your lips, ready to respond, but Rafe beat you to it.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her, she just snapped at me,” he laid the charm on thick and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s lying!”

“Quiet, both of you! I don’t want to hear a word from either of you the rest of this class.” She chastised you, and you felt your cheeks burn with shame.

It just reminded you of him getting you in trouble years ago and you couldn’t believe that history was repeating itself.

The rest of your freshman year was no easier, with Rafe continuing to torture you and try to get you in trouble at school.

He never missed an opportunity to call you a ‘dirty Pogue,’ or shove you against the hard lockers whenever he spotted you in the hall.

Of course, no matter how many times you reported this to the school, often with witnesses, they always had their hands tied behind their back and deep in the pockets of Ward Cameron, who used his money and influence to shield his golden child of any and all consequences for his actions.

Sophomore year, his preferred method of torture was having his buddies pick on you in gym class. They would pummel you with dodgeballs as you huddled in the corner, the gym teacher laughing too hard to stop them.

Junior year, he broke into your locker, stealing all of your textbooks and breaking the locker door. Conveniently, the cameras were down that day and because you couldn’t prove that Rafe had done it, you and your parents had to pay for new textbooks and a new locker door.

Senior year, he and all of his friends on the football team took immense sadistic pleasure from whistling at and catcalling you whenever they saw you, albeit in or out of school.

You never assumed that he had suddenly had a change of heart about you and was now interested in you. No, you knew that this was just Rafe trying to get under your skin and make you as uncomfortable as possible.

To him, harassing you had clearly become a game, one that you were growing extremely weary of as it went ignored by school staff for longer and longer.

The sick grin that would spread across his face as you squirmed in front of him proved how much he enjoyed toying with you.

Despite Rafe literally chasing you down the hallway while repeatedly calling you a ‘slut’ at full volume because you had worn a shorter skirt to school than usual one time, none of the teacher or administrators ever took your side.

For four years, Rafe Cameron made your life a living hell, and you still just couldn’t understand why.

Yes, he hated Pogues, that much was clear to you after seeing his treatment of your friends, but he seemed to harbor a deeper resentment towards you than he did towards anyone else.

No one else was ever on the receiving end of such hateful and calculated behavior, and your friends all agreed that he seemed to have it out for you specifically.

When graduation rolled around, you were less excited about graduating high school than you were to finally be done with Rafe.

Considering the fact that you were off to college while he was going to community college in Outer Banks also gave you a sense of pride. Despite his wealthy background and many privileges, you were still starting your future on a better foot, looking forward to attending Duke University on a full ride scholarship.

Your first year there was a dream come true, a whirlwind of meeting new friends, working hard in your classes, and going out to parties for the first time.

Without Pogue vs Kook bullshit poisoning the air, you found that you were finally able to be yourself and find your real identity.

Dating was still somewhat new to you, but you had at the very least lost your virginity first semester of college on a hookup with a cute guy.

It wasn’t anything special, but it could have been worse, and you were just excited to get more experience as college went on.

After the second semester ended, you packed up your dorm room to move back to Outer Banks for the summer, excited to reconnect with old friends.

Which is how you found yourself in the front seat of your friend’s car, parked in the driveway outside of a huge house party as you quickly fixed your make up last minute.

“Let’s go, Y/N! My pregame buzz is already starting to wear off!” Olivia complained from the backseat and you quickly put away your makeup before giving yourself a once over in the car mirror.

“Are you really trying that hard to impress Outer Banks boys when the Duke hotties are just a summer away??” Jade asked beside you.

“I just want to be ready for whatever the night brings,” you giggled. “I’m keeping my options open for now.”

The girls laughed along with you.

“Well you look hot as fuck already, let’s gooo!” Jade opened her car door and stepped out before you could get another word in.

“Okay, fine!”

You stepped out of the car, feeling very confident in your short party dress and heels.

Walking up to the large, imposing house, you could already hear the music pulsing loudly from inside. There were people standing outside to talk and you recognized one or two of them, saying “hi!” on your way in.

Everything was much louder inside the luxurious house, which was absolutely packed with people. The deep bass of the music rumbled throughout the house, rattling around in your ribcage.

Since Olivia and Jade had gone to parties here before, you let them lead you into the kitchen where the drinks were.

A large variety of beers, hard liquor, seltzers, and jungle juice greeted you inside, but you headed straight for the jungle juice.

“Ooh it’s blue tonight!” Olivia noticed, “I bet it’s gonna be super sour.”

You poured yourself a glass before taking a sip to try it. It tasted like blue raspberry, and the alcohol level made you gag in surprise at first, but on the second try you found that you liked it a lot.

“It’s good! Wait should we all do a shot together too?” You locked eyes with your friends, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“Fuck yes,” Olivia cheered.

“I’m in!” Jade added and you poured out 3 shots.

Grabbing your shot glass, you raised it up, along with the other girls.

“Cheers!” You clinked them together, then tapped it down onto the table once before throwing it back.

“Okay, can we find the hot guys now?” Olivia joked and you nodded in agreement, reaching to pick up your drink.

Your hand slipped as you grabbed the plastic glass however, and it fell off the counter, spilling it’s contents all over the floor.

“Shit!” You cursed, looking around for some paper towels.

Your friends grabbed a roll off the fridge and handed it to you.

“Ugh I’m sorry!” You apologized as you got onto your hands and knees to clean up the mess. “Hey, you guys should scope out the people in the next room.”

“Ooh that’s a good idea! Let’s go Liv!” Jade grabbed Olivia by the arm and pulled her out of the kitchen, leaving you alone to mop up the sticky drink with paper towels.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Rafe’s easily recognizable drawl made goosebumps erupt across your skin, and you froze in place. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

All of the sounds of the party seemed to zone out as you quickly stood up, turning to face him.

When you looked up at the man who now towered far above you, you could tell that he had changed in the year since you last saw him.

Rafe had never been a skinny guy, especially when he had played football throughout high school, but now he seemed more ripped than you had ever seen him. Clearly he had been using a lot of his time away from school to build up his physique.

You also noticed that he seemed to have grown into his face more, looking more lean and handsome than he did in high school.

The smirk that was plastered on his face was all too familiar to you though. It was the look he always had when he was playing games with you.

“Hi, Rafe,” you nervously answered. “I could say the same.”

He paused, his gaze flitting down before slowly working its way up your body. His blue eyes narrowed as they met yours and you repressed a full body shiver.

“It’s my house,” he took a step closer to you and you instinctively took one back. He chuckled at that. “That’s why I’m so surprised to see you, ‘specifically looking so dolled up.”

His words surprised you and you mentally kicked yourself for not pressing the girls for more details about whose party you were going to.

Honestly you were just surprised and a little hurt that Olivia and Jade would choose to bring you here knowing your history with Rafe.

“I- I had no clue this was your house,” you stammered, taking another step back to create more space between you and the taller man.

Despite the muffled sounds of the party around you, and the knowledge that your friends were just down the hall, you felt so incredibly alone in the now all too cramped kitchen.

“How’s Duke been treating you?” His face was even, but his nasally tone betrayed a hint of disdain.

“It’s been…” you paused, unsure what the best thing to say would be. “It’s been really good. My first year was easier than I expected, but still interesting.”

He was silent, just studying your face for a moment. Rafe’s nose twitched before he let out a flat, “that’s good.”

Already feeling a heightened anxiety from being around him, and feeling distrustful about his questions, you were ready to exit this conversation.

With your drink clutched in your hand, you made a weak excuse about needing to catch up with Olivia and Jade before trying to walk around him.

You were shocked however when he suddenly moved as you walked by, his fingers wrapping around your arm just above your elbow and stopping you in your tracks.

“What are you doing? Let go of me,” You demanded, looking up at him in confusion and trying to tug your arm out of his grasp.

He moved in front of you, blocking your exit path with his grip still firm on your arm.

“C’mon, wait a second, I- I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I know I was really an asshole to you when we were younger, but that was so long ago, y’know? Could you just let me apologize to you?”

His words came out somewhat stammered, but still confident, and due to the forced proximity you could probably deduce why.

Rafe’s pupils were blown wide, his free hand gesturing in a jittery manner that could only point to one conclusion.

He was high as fuck.

“Please just- let go of me!” You begged with him again.

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening in annoyance as he looked down his nose at you. Rafe huffed, his lips parting to say something else but he was interrupted.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on here?”

You had never felt happier to hear Olivia’s voice. Glancing over Rafe’s shoulder, you could see her and Jade standing in the doorway glaring at Rafe.

Rafe immediately released you and you quickly rushed over to your friends.

“We were just catching up,” Rafe spoke with a casual ease as he turned to face you, like he hadn’t just corned you all alone at his party. It reminded you of all of the times you had tried to report him to teachers, only for him to sweet talk his way out of punishment.

“See ya around, Y/N.”

You shot him a dirty look before rushing out of the kitchen with Olivia and Jade in tow.

“What was that??” Jade asked as soon as the three of you were in the crowded living room.

“Better question, did you guys know this was Rafe Cameron’s house?” You angrily asked them.

You were still feeling shaken by the interaction. Maybe you should have anticipated that he would at the very least be at this party, but you had never expected he would be the one hosting it.

Olivia’s face dropped and she anxiously apologized, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I honestly figured we wouldn’t run into him since there’s always just so many people here.”

“It’s okay,” you sighed. “He’s just being his normal, weird and creepy self. We probably won’t even see him again the rest of the night.”

You took a large swig of your drink to calm your nerves.

What this night needed was a distraction from Rafe Cameron, and you, Jade, and Olivia were still determined to have a good time tonight.

The three of you walked through the large house, coming across many familiar faces from high school.

Even while catching up with old friends though, you felt incredibly uneasy.

The feeling that there was a pair of eyes trained on you was burning at the back of your neck, and you weren’t surprised when you peeked behind yourself at one point to spot Rafe standing about 10 feet away among a group of guys.

Even when you met his gaze, his eyes didn’t flick away, and you shivered as he took a long drink from his solo cup, eyes never leaving yours.

Turning away from him and tuning your attention back into your friends, you couldn’t help but question yourself.

Were you crazy or was he looking at you differently?

The only times that he had even shown any interest in talking with you was before he was about to publicly humiliate you in some horrible way, but this time felt different.

There was something more behind his eyes that you couldn’t identify that raised alarms in your head.

No matter where you, Jade, and Olivia went, it seemed like Rafe wasn’t far behind. Despite joining the different groups nestled just out of view, you would catch a glimpse of him that would spike your pulse.

Your paranoia didn’t want you to get another drink. You felt almost unreasonably nervous about what might happen if Rafe trapped you alone, but you felt reassured by Jade and Olivia’s presence, emboldening you to serve yourself one more cup of the jungle juice.

That confidence quickly fizzled however, when halfway through finishing your drink, Jade found a cute guy to hook up with and split off from you and Olivia.

Olivia was quick to leave as well, despite your pleas that she stay with you, “there’s plenty of people you know here, Y/N! Just lighten up a bit, you’ll be fine!”

With neither of your friends beside you, you suddenly felt very alone and you looked around the room, hoping to find any high school acquaintances you could catch up with to avoid the awkward nervousness you felt right now.

Unluckily, you didn’t recognize anyone, so you threw back the rest of your drink and started making the rounds.

Downstairs yielded no results, so you made your way upstairs, hoping to find either Olivia and Jade or other friends to talk to.

You checked several rooms only to be unsuccessful in finding anyone that you knew.

Jade and Olivia hadn’t been responding to your texts and you were starting to get annoyed.

Upon finding another empty bedroom, you frustratedly sat down, pulling your phone out of your pocket to call one of them.

The sound of the door closing caught your attention, and you raised your head to see Rafe Cameron standing in front of the now closed bedroom door.

“Rafe?” Confusion tinged your shaky voice as you sat up, staring at him in the dimly lit room.

He got closer to the bed, never taking his eyes off of you. “D’you have any clue how crazy you drove me all through high school?”

A pit began to form in your stomach at his words and your throat felt tight as you looked up at the imposing blond.

His hair was disheveled, words slurring together as his angry blue eyes cut through you.

“What the hell are you talking about? If I remember correctly, you were the one torturing me!” You snipped back at him.

“You have no idea-” he sniffed, rubbing a shaky finger under his nose. “You think you’re so much better than me, hm?”

Rafe took another step closer and you shrunk in on yourself nervously, eyes darting to the door behind his looming figure. He seemed much more drunk and high now, a fact that made you even more uncomfortable.

“I- I don’t think that Rafe,” you stammered. “I never said that-”

“You didn’t have to, Y/N,” he bitterly sneered. “Y’moved out of Outer Banks for a year and now you think that makes you feel so high and mighty around the rest of us.”

“Rafe-”

“What makes you so special, hm?” He spat out, moving closer, now inches away from where you sat on the bed.

Your body was buzzing with anxious energy, but you felt frozen to the spot, completely caught off guard by this outburst from Rafe. There was nothing you could do to get yourself to move.

You had encountered Rafe when he had been drunk or high several times before, he was no stranger to coming to high school intoxicated. But you had never been trapped alone with him and completely at his mercy before and you couldn’t push down the nagging feeling that something awful was about to happen if you didn’t leave the room.

“You’re just Pogue trash, and let’s be real, it won’t be long till you fail out of college and you’re walking the streets of Outer Banks like the slut you are,” he growled and your cheeks heated up in anger.

You brought one arm up to push him back from you, but he snatched your wrist, fingers tightening around you painfully.

You let out a cry when he twisted your arm behind your back and he chuckled at the tears kissing your waterline.

“Still just the same uptight bitch you’ve always been, huh?” His eyes flitted down to your lips for a moment. He was so close you could clearly smell the alcohol on his hot breath.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you whispered, voice shaking with fear. Sure, Rafe had been a nightmare before, but you never even imagined he would take it this far.

The taller man let out a short chuckle that sent a chill up your spine.

“Or what?” He smirked down at you, clearly enjoying your dismay at the situation he had forced you into. “Gonna tattle to a teacher?”

Your chest and throat felt tight, panic beginning to build inside you as you tried to deny what you were sure couldn’t be true.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Rafe.” You weakly tried, desperately hoping that this was just another one of his twisted pranks that he was taking too far to watch you squirm.

“You still think this is a joke, sweetheart?” He sneered, Figure Eight cockiness dripping from his nasally voice.

Time seemed to slow as Rafe leaned down, his lips covering yours as he released your wrist and locked his arm around the small of your back.

For a moment you were too shocked to react, but you quickly reached one arm up to push at his chest. Instead of pushing him away from you however, your force made you fall back against the bed, bringing him down with you.

He shamelessly grabbed at your waist, before trailing up, hands reaching past the neckline of your dress and traveling up to grope your tits as his lips found yours again.

You could barely process what was happening, your head still spinning from the alcohol. Rafe’s lips moved against yours, trailing across your cheek when your turned your head away from him to gasp for air.

One of his hands roughly grabbed your chin, pulling your jaw back towards him, and your stomach flipped at the feeling of him pushing his tongue into your mouth and groaning into the kiss.

When he shifted on top of you, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart, you struggled against him. Squirming on the bed, you managed to crawl away from him a bit, but his large hands grabbed your legs, pulling you back underneath him.

You froze when his fingers wrapped around your throat and you looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Stop fucking moving,” he huffed, forcing his free hand between your legs. He roughly pushed your dress up, pausing when he drank in your pink, lacy panties underneath.

Rafe licked his lips, a cruel smirk spreading across his face, “guess you’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”

Tears filled your eyes as you squirmed beneath him and the hand at your throat pressed down harder, pinning you in place.

His fingers ghosted over your core and you tilted your hips away from him, squeezing your thighs shut against his wandering hand.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, his blue eyes darkening as he scowled down at you.

“Y’know, I was almost gonna be nice to you…” His scowl disappeared as he trailed off, his pink lips curving into a sick grin. “But if you want to make this difficult, I can make it difficult too.”

You watched with fearful eyes as he reared one hand back, unable to flinch away due to his iron grip on your throat.

The cacophony of the party muffled your cry of pain when he slapped you hard. His golden rings made your cheek sting even more and you couldn’t stop your tears from spilling over.

Your ears were still ringing when you felt his hand leave your throat, but you were too dazed from the slap to react. Rafe’s impatient fingers dug into the skin of your thighs as he pulled your panties down your legs.

Time slowed as you could hear your heart thundering in your chest and you leaned up on your elbows to watch Rafe push his shorts down before palming his already hard cock. He was bigger than the guy you lost your virginity to, and much thicker.

Tongue thick and heavy in your mouth, you tried to tell him to stop, but the blood was rushing in your ears so loudly you couldn’t hear your own voice.

Rafe heard you though, and you watched him roll his eyes before ignoring your pleas.

He shifted on top of you, roughly parting your legs before placing himself between them. The blond wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, guiding it to your core and you struggled beneath him when he dragged the tip along your already slick lips.

“Fuck-” his low groan made your stomach flip. You reached up one hand to weakly push at his shoulders, but he swatted you away.

There was nothing you could do but watch as he planted one hand on the mattress to brace himself before pushing the tip of his cock between your folds and forcing himself inside your tight cunt.

“Rafe-” Your protest was cut off when his hand slapped over your mouth. Hot tears fell past your lashes as Rafe slowly stretched you out inch by inch.

His piercing eyes never left yours, watching your face with a sick delight as he violated you.

You shifted uncomfortably beneath him as he split you open, and you winced when he grabbed your arm, fingers digging in to your tender flesh.

You whimpered when his tip grazed your cervix. The blond tilted his hips back before pushing himself deep into you again.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his cock twitching as you squeezed around him.

“Shit, if I knew you felt this good, I would’ve tried you out years ago,” he chuckled darkly, words slurring together.

His hand was removed from your mouth only to be replaced by his lips. You shuddered when he forced his tongue into your mouth, and you could taste the liquor on his lips.

Rafe pulled away from the kiss as he slowly began rocking his hips back and forth, stretching you out around his thick cock again and again.

Your hands came to his shoulders, nails digging in to his tanned skin as you tried to slow his pace.

Unfortunately, your attempts only amused Rafe, who sneered down at you cruelly before picking up his pace, forcing himself deep into your snug walls.

Intoxication clouded your mind, and the room seemed to be spinning even faster now.

“Fuck-” you moaned when he hit a spot that made you see stars. “Mm please-”

You were momentarily broken from the spell however when one of Rafe’s strong hands wrapped around your throat, stealing your breath.

When you tensed in fear, involuntarily squeezing around his cock, Rafe groaned, watching your misty, fearful eyes roll back in your head with each thrust.

“You look so pretty right now, Y/N. All teary eyed and cock drunk,” the blond whispered.

You wanted so badly to be able to escape, to avoid the wicked things he was doing to you, but you were so painfully aware, as every sensation was heightened by your terror.

Hips still snapping against yours, Rafe leaned down, his hungry lips finding yours. With his hand at your throat, you couldn’t turn away, and you clenched around him when he pushed his tongue into your mouth. His lips slid over yours greedily, refusing to stop until you clutched at the hand at your throat.

You took a gasping breath when he finally pulled away, your tears falling more freely now, and Rafe kissed your cheeks, licking up your salty tears.

“Perfect little Y/N is such a mess, huh?” He mocked you, mumbling against your skin before sloppily kissing you again.

You couldn’t deny the overwhelming feeling building between your legs, no matter how much it disgusted you. Shame clutched you when you felt yourself growing slicker with his every thrust.

“Don’t-” you whimpered when he hit a sensitive spot. “Stop-!”

Your assailant snickered at that, relishing your pitiful protests, “do you even know what you want right now? Y’think you’re so smart, till you take some cock and you turn into a stupid slut.”

His degrading words cut deep and your cheeks flushed in humiliation, tears spilling past your lashes.

Rafe’s pace was downright punishing, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass along with the lewd sounds of your wetness filled the room, punctuated by your whimpers and the coerced moans he drew out of you.

Hatred and resentment burned behind his blue eyes as he watched you squirm beneath him, only taking his eyes off of your face to watch his cock push in and out of your tight cunt.

Drawing even closer to the edge, you could feel the dam inside of you ready to burst, and Rafe could too; you were practically pulsing around him now.

“Yeah, that’s it sweetheart.” His low, nasally voice made your stomach flip, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to resist the inevitable. “Just do the one thing stupid sluts like you are good for and make a mess all over my cock.”

With another thrust, the dam burst, and you whined as your orgasm cut through you.

Rafe fucked you through it, cursing when he felt you squeezing around him like a vice. His grip on your throat tightened as his pace reached a crescendo.

“Fuck-” he growled, his hips stuttering before he pushed deep into you one more time, painting your walls with his sticky cum.

You squirmed beneath him, trying to push him off of you, but he easily grabbed your wrists, pining them down as he stayed buried inside you. You felt nauseous when his cock pulsed as you struggled, the reminder that he was still getting off on your distress was sickening.

His lips draped over yours again and you whimpered into the kiss, body still shaking as you tried to wrap your head around what had just happened.

By the time he broke the kiss, your head was spinning, and you somehow felt more drunk than when you had first entered the room.

When Rafe finally pulled out of you, you shuddered because you could feel his cum slowly leaking out of you.

Instead of getting off the bed like you expected, the blond shifted on top of you, lowering himself to get a better view of your sore pussy.

“Shit, Y/N, hope you’re on a good birth control,” he chuckled wickedly, and you squirmed when he used two fingers to push his cum deep inside of your sensitive cunt. “Cause there’s no way in hell I’m paying child support for some Pogue brat.”

Your cheeks burned in anger and shame, fear and disgust sparking in your gut at his words.

Rafe pulled his fingers out and climbed off the bed, quickly pulling his clothes back on before seemingly looking around for something as you slowly sat up.

He found what he was looking for, picking up your pink panties from the ground before locking eyes with you and then stuffing them into his pocket.

You shivered as he triumphantly smirked down at you, “I’m gonna.. get back to the party... You should clean yourself up, you look pathetic right now.”

Embarrassed, you looked down at the bed, not wanting to meet his eyes as he further humiliated you.

“And uh, don’t let me catch you alone again, Y/N,” Rafe sneered, laughing as he closed the door behind him.

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