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celestie0 · 8 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

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

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

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

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

ᰔ chapter. 9/x (probably 12)

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

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

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A distraction. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“Yeah, show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LCD.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that why you chose the secluded bench?”

“I did? Didn’t even notice.”

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

“Do you mind it?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feelings about what?”

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

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

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

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

You sigh.

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

“That’s pathetic as hell.”

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

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

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

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

He looks at you. “I work hard, too.”

Your shoulders tense. “I’m sure.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Good,” you tell him, “really good.”

“That’s gotta be placebo, Canon.”

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“Oh. I. Um,” you stutter.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go back where?”

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

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

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

“I get it, Canon. It’s fine.”

—

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

“I beg your finest pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re. In. A. Public. Restaurant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you afford it?” Nobara asks.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Distraction?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Canon? Are you even listening?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

Where are you?

Who are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could have a concussion.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got hit by a soccer ball.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. A lot.” Not really, no.

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

“Ahh, yeah. Ouch. So much.” Barely.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

“Has he tried anything funny with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that—”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

2:34pm kaito (work): yo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hi,” you say.

“Hey, are you free tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You purse your lips together.

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

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

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

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

“Alright cool, will do.”

You say bye, and then he hangs up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai shakes his head. “Tell her what?”

“Ohh, I see how it is,” Ren muses.

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

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

“Tell me what?” you prod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It…” you start, “sounded fine.”

“It sounds shady as fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Naoko. Naoko Ogigami.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kai’s eyes twitch, “you fucking—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I do.”

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

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

He just holds you closer. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

➸ take me to chapter ten!

➸ wrote some kickoff headcanons here

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

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

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tusks-and-claws · 1 year ago

Text

I’m Not What You Need (But I Am)

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

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

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

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

Wordcount: 3.5k

Find on Ao3 here :3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you knew what he needed to hear.

"Douchebag," you repeated.

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

"...Douchebag."

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

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

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

You nodded.

"I need to hear you say it."

"G-got it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

Fuck.

"What, uh… what do you-"

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

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

What was happening, what were you doing?

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

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

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

After a pause, you nodded too.

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

"I'm…. I'm thinking about it now."

"Oh, are you? Thinking about what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

…He couldn't be serious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, yes I will."

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

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

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

"Wha- what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded your head, answering his question.

"So, tell me what you want."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you rasped, your body shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sunrizef1 · 3 months ago

Text

What happens in Vegas pt 15

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Driver!Reader

Authors Note: IM ALIVEEEEEE

Warnings: Cursing “kys”

Masterlist

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

logansargeant

I don't think that's in your meal plans

yourusername

Shut up Logan 😐

logansargeant

😂😂😂😂

——

lewishamilton

🫶

yourusername

🫶

——

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their close friends story

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Spain

liked by charles_leclerc logansargeant and 6,888,009 others

yourusername te amo

load comments…

user1 OH MY GOD SHE POSTED SHE POSTED

user2 her first insta post since Vegas we cheered 😭

user3 LMAO dating Charles leclerc and only posting the top of his head I love her sm

user4 that's where they went 😭

user5 viva la españa

user6 🇪🇸🇪🇸🇪🇸

user7 awww I love them

carlossainz you come to Spain and don't see me?

yourusername I don't like you

carlossainz 😔

user8 wait I love that this is her only post and its Charles 🥹

user9 can we see the rest of that photo??? 😭

user10 EL GATO EL GATO EL GATO

user11 🐱🐱🐱

user12 WAIT ✋ “TE AMO”?????

user13 I LOVE YOUUUUUU

user14 I adore them

user15 my fav championship leaders

landonorris Im still mad you abandoned me

liked by yourusername

user16 te amo???? 😭

lilymhe my fav girl 🫶 (and her bf or whatever)

yourusername 🫶🥹

porscheracing dont have too much fun 🤓☝️

liked by yourusername

user17 I love them sm its not even funny

logansargeant whats that Taylor swift song??? Come back… be here????

yourusername I don't even live in London

logansargeant well actually, you have a London house 🤓☝️

logansargeant (i know that because I have broken in multiple times)

yourusername oh so its your rat-looking-ass that's been triggering my ring doorbell

landonorris oh so you'll ring doorbell the London home but not Monaco 🙄

user18 wait her brother is lowk in the likes…

user19 oh to be on a Spanish vacation with Charles leclerc

charles_leclerc te amo 🤍

yourusername 🤍

user20 alright now, its been two weeks, lets get to imola

——

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TWITTER

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yourusername added to their story

logansargeant

WOAHHHHH

THATS RUDE

yourusername

I’m not a fan of you as a person

logansargeant

And if I said that made me sad then what

yourusername

Kys

logansargeant

😱😱😱😱

——

georgerussell

That’s not nice

yourusername

Blame Lando for knocking my drink over

georgerussell

But I didn’t do anything 😔

yourusername

You watched it happen and that’s bad enough

——

landonorris

I ALREADY SAID IM SORRYYYY

yourusername

🖕🖕🖕🖕

——

lewishamilton

What did I do?

yourusername

I’m so sorry you’ve been caught in the crossfire of Landos actions 😔✊

But nope

You don’t

So sorry unc 🙏

lewishamilton

😔😔😔😔

——

charles_leclerc

I don’t even get a tag?

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yourusername added to their story

logansargeant

WHAT THE FUCK

ARE YOU KIDDING

YOU LIKE ME MORE THAN HIM

I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS

yourusername

Lmfao that’s my boyfriend

Ur my annoying little brother

Why would I tag you 🫶

logansargeant

Kys

🖕🖕🖕🖕

I will not forget this

yourusername

Love u ☺️🫶

logansargeant

I hate u ☺️🫶

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landonorris

Oh I see how it is

yourusername

“How it is” is me posting my bf

Whats ur problem

landonorris

😔😔😔😔

We don't need a reminder of your happy relationship pls die

Not all of us have found our soulmates

yourusername

☺️🫶

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georgerussell

Oh okay

yourusername

🙄🙄🙄🙄

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lewishamilton

…

yourusername

I don't want to hear it grandpa

lewishamilton

Woah now

——

charles_leclerc

🤍🫶

yourusername

🤍🫶

——

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #charles leclerc x fem!driver #charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smau #f1 x fem!reader #f1 smau

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

moth to a flame

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, praise, body worship, eye contact, public sex act, dry humping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your friend invites you to a bonfire where you meet a man who knows you better than you think. plus! reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: this is my first of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Natasha is the coolest person you know. Probably the coolest person most people will ever meet; if they have the privilege. So it is that you wonder how she’s your friend. It’s really too good to be true which is why you can’t help but feel a bit enamoured by her.

It has to be real though. If you’re not friends, she wouldn’t invite you to her annual bonfire. A sacred tradition for her, or so you’ve heard. A gathering of all her closest friends. They are truly elite company. Not just your everyday schmucks, but The Avengers.

You’re sure you’ll seem a bit lame walking up with your basket of pumpkin muffins home-made cider. Still, you were taught to always bring something with you. Though it does provide an obstacle to getting to the front door smoothly.

You carry the large glass jug of cider by the metal handle as you hug the basket to your side. You struggle you hit the lock button on your keys and stop short as the cider sloshes around dangerously and throws your balance. As you try to correct yourself, footsteps scuff up behind you.

“Need help?” The deep voice is like silk.

You look over your shoulder, nearly tipping over as you do. The stranger manages to scoop up the basket before you tip it and you giggle in embarrassment. You sigh and let him take it from you.

Oh, he’s not a stranger. Well, you know his name, even if you don’t know him. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. One of Natasha’s many high-profile friends. Again, you ask yourself how you ended up there.

“Oop, thanks so much,” you say. “I should’ve made two trips.”

“No problem,” he assures you. “You a friend of Nat’s?”

“Uh, yeah,” you smile, turning back up the walk as he keeps stride with you. “New friend, I guess.”

“Friend is a friend. She only keeps me around because I made friends with a string bean back in 1930.” He chuckles.

“You mean--” You stop yourself and look away. You don't want to come off as a fangirl that quick. “Uh, well, we met at an event. She was teaching self-defense for the woman’s shelter.”

“Oh, you work there?” He asks.

You keep your eyes off of him, “I lived there. Not anymore.”

“Ah, well, that’s good? You’re in a better place?” He asks.

You nod, “much better.” You swallow and exhale. “I know who you are. You’re Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m never gonna get used to that,” he scoffs. “Takes the excitement out of meeting new people.”

“Oh, sorry, I...” you trail off before your nerves can break through.

You don’t think Natasha would ever have become your friend if she knew you were such a geek about her other friends. Cap and Iron Man and even Thor. They were the real-life heroes that inspired you to be your own. And it was a poster of Steve Rogers himself that sparked the last fight that led to you leaving your ex.

“It’s fine, so, do I get a name? Unfortunately, I don’t have the whole mind-reading thing going on,” he knocks on the heavy door as you shift the jug in your grip. You give your name as you peek over at him sheepishly. “These smell...” he lifts the basket and takes a whiff, “delicious.”

“I hope they are. My first time using my apartment stove. It’s gas. I’m used to electric,” you explain. “Uh, pumpkin muffins, if that’s what you were asking. Sorry, I...” you turn to the door and rub your lips together, “if I’m honest, I’m super nervous.”

“Nervous?” He echoes. “About?”

“Well, I’m not the greatest with crowds. Especially since the shelter... ugh, I don’t know why I keep bringing that up.” You cringe, “but uh, just... new people. I guess.”

“Ah,” he nods and teeters on his treads, knocking again, “damn it, Nat, what the hell are ya doin?” He grumbles. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not really a people person either. The arm... it’s quite the ice breaker.” He sniffs, “I hate talking about the goddamn thing.”

“Um, yeah, that would be... awkward,” you utter.

The door opens before he can respond. You’re glad for it. You hadn’t thought about it but now all you can think of is if his arm has a built-in can opener.

“Oh, he-eyyyy,” Natasha stutters as her eyes flit between you and Bucky, “you’re here. Both of you. At the same time?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” you peek at Bucky.

“Ran into each other a few steps back. You’re shit at introducing people, Natty.”

She rolls her eyes and waves him off. She turns to you. “Wow, and what’s all this?”

“I brought cider and--”

“Muffins,” Bucky finishes for you as he lifts the basket higher. “I’m not much of a baker.”

“Or a guest,” she retorts. “That’s so amazing, thank you.” She reaches to take the basket, “come on, I’ll show you around. Bucky, I think you already know where the litter box is.”

Bucky tuts and shakes his head, “nice seeing you too.” He follows you in and faces you, “try to enjoy yourself. I know she’s a bit of a party pooper. Even if she is the host.”

“With guests like you, how can I not be,” Natasha trills and beckons you onward, “don’t worry about your shoes. We’ll most be outside so I’ll do a full sweep and mop tomorrow.” She turns and struts away.

Your eyes creep down her hour glass figure. You feel like a pervert as you do but you can’t help it. Even in a flannel and jeans, her body is perfect. The cowl neck of your red sweater and your corduroy feels a little less cute.

“You made these yourself?” She asks as she leads you into a large kitchen.

There’s a square island with a hardwood top and matching counters and cupboards; the tile is burgundy with black iron accents. You marvel as you compare it in your head to your boxy apartment with the peeling laminate and squeaky faucets.

“Uh, yeah,” you answer as you lift the jug of cider onto the counter. “Apple cider and pumpkin muffins.”

“You are too sweet. I have to admit, I got catering for tonight. I'm no good in a kitchen,” she chuckles. “Lived off of Hydra rations for so long, I can’t do much more than open a can or vacuum seal.”

“Oh, right. Nothing fancy,” you shrug. “You know, I just found the recipes online. Got some apples from the farmers’ market... I don’t know if it’s any good.”

“I’m sure it’s all delicious. Bet the cider would be great with some whiskey,” her voice is smokey as she smirks. “Wanna put that theory to the test?”

“Um, if you want. I’m okay either way.”

“I won’t blame you if you need some liquid courage before facing the rest. Work friends can be a bit much,” she chuckles. “Besides, I have a bottle that’s been sitting in my cabinet for too long.”

“Sure,” you accept, not wanting to be rude. And she’s right. You need something to take the edge off.

She hums as she leaves the muffins next to the jug and she spins to the cupboard. She takes out two glasses that resemble jars and a dark bottle of liquor. You watch her put it all together with ice and a cinnamon stick to boot.

“May as well get some before the rest devour it,” she slides a glass toward you and lifts the other, “cheers.”

You smile and clink her glass. You taste it and your cheeks pinch. The cider is good but you can definitely taste the whiskey. You hold back a cough and cover your mouth.

“I am just rewarming the hors d’oevres but if you want to wait, I can introduce you to everyone.”

Heat roils from the oven as it glows from within and there are trays waiting for serving. She’s already put so much in. You don’t want to make her day even more strenuous. After all, she didn’t have to invite you.

“No, it’s... you’re busy but if you need help.”

“Don’t be crazy. You’re a guest. Go, enjoy the party. I’ll be out shortly. Everything’s mostly out there already.”

“Okay, but um, I can take the muffins at least.”

“Alright,” she agrees.

You grab the basket and go to the door. You pause as you realise you don’t know where you’re going. Natasha laughs again.

“Other way, back door is right on the other side of me,” she sweeps around the kitchen swiftly.

“Right,” you turn back and cross the tile; one arm around the basket, your other hand cradling your glass. You push outside with your shoulder and step out onto the deck.

There’s a long table of snacks as promised. You go to it and put down the basket as you dare to glance up at the guests speckled around the yard. Pairs and trios stand in the grass and around the already crackling fire. They all seem to know each other and you recognise quite a few of them.

“Buns?” The question has you lurching in surprise as you face another partygoer.

“Oh, uh, no, muffins,” you lift the lid to show the contents. “Pumpkin.”

“Oooh,” the blond grins. The golden hair, the square jaw, broad shoulders; how could you mistake Captain America? “Can I try?”

“Of course. I brought them for everyone,” you smile and tightly clutch your glass of cider. “You’re... Captain America.”

“Ha, well, not here. I prefer Steve,” he takes out a muffin and peels away the liner. “And you’re... one of Xavier’s recruits?”

“Xavier? Who—no. I’m...” you introduce yourself as he sinks his teeth in to the muffin. Your stomach flips. What if it’s bad? “Natasha’s friend. Erm, I guess that’s what we all are but nope, I’m just me. Just a... civilian?”

He laughs, “just a civilian? Damn good baker. I don’t go for pumpkin often but this is amazing.”

“Really?” You beam and bounce on your toes.

“Oh, yeah--”

“Save some for the rest of us, punk,” Bucky comes up from behind Steve. “Just like him to be chatting up the cutest girl at the party. What line did he use?”

“Line? I’m just having a muffin,” Steve grimaces.

“Mm, muffins,” Bucky reaches in front of his friend to claim a treat of his own, “was waiting on these.”

He eyes your glass of cider and you take a sip. You pull your lips off the brim and gulp, “oh, the rest is inside if you want some.”

“She made that too,” Bucky points at your cup. “Who knew Natasha had cool friends?”

You giggle, “no, I’m not... just muffins.”

“Good muffins,” Bucky says through a mouthful, “mmm.”

“Might be good to hide them,” Steve remarks as he gives Bucky the side eye.

“Hey, these two meatheads giving you trouble?” Another figure approaches from the back door. You turn as Tony stark flips up his dark sunglasses. He sports a red velvet jacket with collar popped.

Bucky’s lips thin and Steve shakes his head, “you’re late,” the latter rebukes.

“It’s a party, capsicle. Chill. Wait, don’t do that. We might not see you for another seventy years.”

Steve scowls and takes another bite of his muffin. Bucky picks at his own and looks away. You nervously glance between them all.

“Tony Stark,” the new arrival offers his hand, “but you already know that, don’t you, sweetheart? So who are you?”

“Charming,” Steve comments.

“It’s called getting to the point, Rogers. Some of us aren’t gonna wait around until they’re in the nursing home.”

Steve growls and Bucky nudges him. The blond nods and looks at you, “I’ll see ya around.”

“Sure,” you accept. Bucky waves with two fingers and follows Steve’s retreat. You turn back to Tony and shake his hand as you recite your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Natasha didn’t say this was a meet-cute,” he winks.

“Ummm,” you glance around nervously.

“Teasing ya. You look lost. You want the low-down on the dweebs,” he flicks his index towards the grass. “Now, you see, that kid right there, that’s Parker. His alias is top secret. For his safety. He might blurt it out anyway. And that’s his buddy Miles,” he points at to younger guests. “Someone should really separate them. We don’t need a mess.”

He snickers and puts his arm around you as he moves you toward the top step of the deck, “and there’s the mighty God of Thunder. We all know the puppy dog, and then there’s his stray cat of a brother. Trust me, I tried to have him ejected into space but apparently, they can survive that.”

He tuts. “And there’s Bruce, good guy. When he’s calms. And Brock. Real question mark, that guy. Maria, Coulson, Sam, Strange; the better Steve if you ask me. And Wanda, her husband; I made him, his name is Vision but I guess Victor is more ‘human’.”

He runs his hand up your arm as he pulls you closer, “there’s Charles, he prefers Professor, and his group of ragtag individuals. I could tell you their names but I’m already bored. Oh, except that one, the angry one with the swoopy hair. That’s Logan. Leave him alone. He’s even worse than the bozo with the vibranium arm.

“Now, T’Challa has more important things to do so we don’t got anyone else worth mentioning,” he drags his hand down your sleeve then lets go, “I’m sure you’ll be tired of all of us before the night’s done. I assure you, heroes save people, not the vibe.”

He clicks his tongue and jumps off the top step. You watch him strut off and you stare after him. There’s a lot more people than you expected. Familiar but still strangers.

The only good thing is there’s more than enough guests for you to fade into the background. You’re tempted to go back in and offer to help Natasha. You know better than that. She always sees right through you. She’ll know immediately that you’re just hiding from social interaction.

🔥

The night wears on into darkness. The large pit burns brightly as voices buzz and shadows waver. You stand watching the lick of flames, unnoticed amid the furor. Or so you think.

“Hey, there’s cider left,” Bucky appears at your side, his sleeve brushing yours. “Got you a top up.”

“Oh, that’s... nice.” You accept the glass as he holds another for himself. “You didn’t have to.”

“You look... lonely. I don’t know. Felt bad. You went to all that trouble and you’re wading through this sea of people you don’t know.” He shrugs. “Hate these things myself. I just came ‘cause Nat asked. Well, she tells. You know, you can’t say no to her.”

“Ha, yeah,” you agree. She isn’t just strong-willed, she’s intimidating.

“I usually end up just drifting around until everyone’s distracted, then I dip,” he explains. “Or find somewhere quiet.” He quiets to take a sip, “how about it? Everyone’s out here, there’s a sofa up on the deck.” Your teeth chatter as you try to taste the cider, “and A blanket.”

“Mm, it said it wasn’t supposed to get cold,” you look down embarrassed. You finally get a mouthful. It’s sweeter than before. Maybe because there’s no whiskey.

“Huh, well, you don’t gotta hang out with a boring old man like me. Just figured I’d offer,” he says.

“Thanks, that’s nice.”

“Well, I can be nice when I want to,” he raises his glass slightly and turns away.

As he marches off, you watch his back. Your eyes wander around. No one else even notices you. They’re all so wrapped up in each other. Even Natasha’s barely stopped to chat.

“Wait,” you call after Bucky, “I could sit down.”

He stops and turns as you scurry after him. The fire light flickers and limns the sharp angles of his face. He waits until your right beside him to continue on.

“So, you already know what I do for work. What about you?” He asks as you climb the steps in tandem.

“I’m a cashier,” you answer. “I work at a pet store.”

“Hm, I like animals,” he leads you to the sofa. You can see the glow of the fire but the voices aren’t so raucous from up there.

“Yeah, we mostly just have birds and hamsters there. Nothing very big. It’s a small place,” you explain. “I... It’s a new job.” You keep yourself from mentioning that the shelter helped you find it. It’s not really what you want to do forever, but it’s something.

“Still, that’s nice. You get to help people in your own way. Make sure they can spoil their pet,” he leans back as he balances his glass over one knee and you drink deeply from your own. “I got a cat. Demanding. A bit abusive.” He laughs then chokes on it. “Jeez, I’m sorry. That was a bad joke.”

You shake your head, “no, it’s not... really. I’m not upset.”

“You sure?” He angles towards you.

“Yeah, really. I can handle it,” you say.

He nods and hums, “yeah, I’m sure you’ve dealt with worse than words.”

You’re silent as you look down at the cup. You take another sip. He clears his throat as he shifts in the seat. He reaches back to put slide his phone from the back of his jeans. He leans forward to place it on the table.

“Ugh,” he sits back. “Better.”

You smile, “well, you don’t just work, do you? When did you get your cat?”

“Oh, she just made herself at home really. It wasn’t exactly a conscious or willing choice,” he laughs. You fold one arm around your middle and shiver again. “Ah, where’s that blanket--”

He reaches to the back of the couch and pulls down the blanket. It hits his glass and he loses grip of both. He huffs as he soaks the flannel in cider.

“Damn,” he stands and holds out the sopping blanket before it can drip onto him or the couch. “Just like me. Hold on. I’ll go get another blanket and clean this up.”

He untangles the cup from the blanket and sidles past you. You sit back silently as he heads for the back door. You glance over and consider sneaking over to the table to pick at the leftovers. Instead, you huddle down against another evening breeze.

You finish all but a mouthful of side and reach to place it on the wooden table. His phone lights up and draws your attention. You blink as your eyes instinctively find the screen. You get a glimpse of the wallpaper right before it goes dark again. Huh?

You shake off what you think you saw and the phone lights up again. You lean over and sink your teeth around the gasp that threatens to spill out. That can’t be.

You check over your shoulder before you reach for the phone. You tap the side button and gape at your own image staring back at you. There’s a chat bubble floating on the front screen; new messages. You tap and expand the preview. It’s from Nat; ‘you find her?’

Your stomach sinks and you nearly drop the phone. The door opens and you quickly set it back down and sit back. You cross your arm and stare out at the other guests. Nothing can happen as long as you don’t leave.

He comes back and you flinch as he drapes a blanket over you. He drops down onto the couch as he pulls it snug around your front. He drags his grip down the edges before he lets go. “Better?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and blink. Your eyes feel dry. You reach up to rub them.

“Really good cider. You’ll have to send me the recipe,” he insists.

“Sure,” you slur and try to shake it off. “I’ll find the link...” you swallow and cough. You don’t feel right. You need some space to think. “I need to use the bathroom, one sec.”

You try to stand but don’t even get your ass off of the sofa before you slump over. Your head crashes into Bucky’s shoulder. He opens his arm around you and rubs your back. He hushes you as you babble.

“You’re okay, baby,” he rubs your back, “I got you.”

You try to make a noise but you can’t. You can’t whine or whimper or scream. You can just squeak as he pushes you back up so you fall back against the arm.

“I measured...” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t pass out.”

You gurgle and lift your arm. It takes so much effort that it drops down like a bag a sand. The cider...

He shifts and stands, moving your leg behind him before he lowers himself back down. His hand rests on your thigh. His thumb presses into your soft flesh.

“God, you’re so beautiful, doll,” he traces up and down the seam of your pants. “Absolutely gorgeous.” He runs his finger along your pelvis, making a vee back and forth, “soft and... warm.”

“B--B—B--” you stutter.

“The moment I saw you, I knew you needed me,” he moves even closer, his hand crawling up your stomach. “Whoever chased you into that place, he didn’t deserve you. You deserve better.”

He moves carefully, lifting himself and twisting onto his knees. His hand glides back along your thigh as he folds it around him. You twitch but can’t do more than that. He bends and holds himself over you.

He curls an arm under your head and nuzzles you. Your eyes roll back as you hide behind your eyelids. This can’t be real. What is he doing? How can he have photos of you on his phone? And that text... did Natasha set this up? Why would she do that? She’s your friend.

“Look at me,” he growls. His voice is scary. Your eyes snap open and you groan. The tip of his nose rolls around yours. “God, you’re beautiful. Doll, I’m gonna take such good care of you.” He leans his pelvis against you as he presses down, “I’m going to keep you safe.”

He tilts his hips until you feel his bulge against you. Your eyes round and you puff out a foggy breath. What is he doing?

“Don’t look away,” he snarls as he slides his arm back and grips the back of your head. “Mmm, I just... I love the way you look at me. The way you feel beneath me.” He rasps as he rocks his hips steadily, “I can’t wait to have you on me, doll. To feel you on top of me. Around me. Mm, I wanna taste you so bad.

“Mm, your chest,” he touches your tits, “your stomach, your hips,” his hand explores with his declaration and he hooks his hand under you, “your ass. All mine.”

His coarse whispers tingle through you. What he says is nasty and wrong and yet it’s thrilling. Terrifying because you can do nothing to stop him. Defeating because all the people only feet away won’t either.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #one shot #autumn #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #avengers #captain america #dark fic #dark!fic

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zae-heeyyy · 4 months ago

Text

Valor

Summary: Arthur takes you on one of his adventures. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!Reader Word Count: 1,760 Trigger Warning: Animal attack, angry-ish Arthur, violence Tags: mid- high honor Arthur, damsel in destress, fluff, and angst

a/n: Hey y'all! It's been a while since I posted because life is crazy right now. This is a request from @littlemistey. I'm paraphrasing from our convo, "Arthur x reader where the reader is saved by Arthur from almost being mauled by a cougar or a pack of wolves." Sketches are copied/cut from Arthur's journal. A classic "Arthur Morgan, please save me" trope. Thanks for reading!

Valor: Great courage in the face of danger, especially in battle. It denotes bravery and heroism, particularly in challenging or risky situations.

The bones in your wrists ached with the numbing weight of boredom as another morning of chores lumbered on. In, around, under, off. In, around, under, off. In, around, under, off. Intertwined pieces of yarn grew longer at your feet as the knitting cadence played in your head. You'd zoned out, daydreaming of anything more exciting than this.

A rhythmic clank of guns on a belt alerted you to your approaching burly cowboy.

You would've been glad to see him any other time, but your contempt for your chores and an odd hat on his head made you groan with irritation. A lit cigarette sat snug between his lips as he talked, muffling his speech.

"Why you sittin' here with your lip stuck out?" he asked, adjusting his belt and sitting beside you on a wooden crate. He tossed the cigarette away, leaned over to kiss the temple of your head, and placed a hand on the small of your back.

"Bored outta my mind," you complained. The sun reflected off a shiny decorative piece on his hat, making you squint. "And why are you wearing that stupid hat?"

"What?" he opened his hands out questioningly with a goofy grin stretched across his face. "A man keeps this camp afloat, and he can't even wear a nice hat without his lady callin' it stupid."

You rolled your eyes and gestured to all the women in the camp, cleaning tables and guns, sewing, and helping with dinner.

"No, we keep this camp afloat while you men are out doing god knows what," you said, your stitches getting sloppier as your vexation grew. "I'm losing my mind here. Meanwhile, you come back with fancy trinkets, weird statues, emeralds, and crazy hats! You know, I think you do the robbing and hunting only sometimes, and when that's done, you're just out there playing around!"

You finally stopped knitting and turned to Arthur, whose playful grin had faltered into a thoughtful glance. You continued your monologue, "Ugh! I swear, if you don't get me outta here, I'm gonna stab Grimshaw through the eye with this needle!"

You held the sharp point inches away from Arthur's face, prompting him to snatch it from you. "Alright, easy there." He grabbed your hand in two of his gloved ones and glanced at it from under the brim of his hat, thinking for a long moment, "Fine, you can come with me long as nobody gets stabbed. Can't have a degenerate murderer loose in this camp, now, can we?"

Ignoring his sarcasm, you squealed excitedly and jumped up from your spot, pulling on Arthur's arm to make him stand, too.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you said between the many kisses you laid on him. He stilled you with firm hands on your waist and chuckled.

"I reckon it won't be as exciting as you think, but I can't say no to you."

Within a few minutes, you were ready to go, aiming and checking the ammo on a varmint rifle that Arthur had given you.

"Met a strange feller, Algernon Wasp. He's a— he has— well, he— he's an artist, I guess; he's paying me to collect some stuff for his, uh, creations. Bird feathers, orchids, that kind of stuff. Would be faster with the two of us."

And that's how you found yourself in the swamps of Lemoyne with the varmint rifle slung over your shoulder as you swatted away mosquitoes and sweated your ass off. You were hot, thirsty, and worst of all, you'd only found four of the seven cigar orchids you needed.

Mud squelched under your feet as you followed behind Arthur; you spoke exasperatedly, "how much is this fool paying you for all this?"

Arthur had gone quieter as you'd gotten more frustrated over the hours. Both of you were starting to regret this decision.

"I don't know. Money is money," he said dismissively, his head on a swivel and eyes focused. You were bothered that he could so easily spot plants and always knew which direction to go, expecting you to keep pace with his long strides when mud weighed down your skirts, slowing you down. You knew it was irrational, but you were mad at him for dragging you out here despite your near begging.

The heat was getting to you, and you'd lost control of the filter from your brain to your mouth. Arthur was a few feet ahead when you started your mumbling, "goddamn swamps is no place for a lady. Gators, mud, bugs and—" You didn't get to finish your sentence before Arthur spun and made two giant steps toward you, jaw clenched.

"You got something to say?"

You crossed your arms, defiant. Arthur's reputation as a vicious intimidator didn't phase you, though. He wouldn't lay a finger on you; you both knew it. You rolled your eyes and said, "this is as boring as being back at camp, except I'm all dirty now."

He stepped closer into your space, his angry eyes searching yours. He spoke in a low volume that would scare anybody but you: "This is what you wanted, woman, so don't go gettin' mad at me because things ain't all neat and proper."

Were you frightened by him? No. Were your feelings hurt? Yes. You scoffed and nodded slowly while you spoke, "You're right. I'm gonna head to camp. I'll see you when you get back."

You didn't give him the chance to respond before you trudged in the other direction, clicking for your horse waiting nearby. Arthur watched you go until he lost sight of you in the overgrown vegetation.

Then you were on the road, your horse at a trot, when something in his line of vision spooked him. Before you could even react, you were bucked off, your head hitting the ground with a thud. Despite the pain, you knew better than to just lay there. Gators and snakes were everywhere, but only something notably terrifying would scare off your Andalusian. You took the rifle off your back, pointing it aimlessly all around, trying to focus your spinning vision on the threat beyond.

Before you could blink, a big cat took hold of your leg through your skirt. You shot wildly once, twice, then three times before the beast let go of you. Screaming at the top of your lungs, you scrambled backward as more bullets rang out from your low-caliber weapon. Hoping and praying, you squeezed the trigger one last time. Eyes closed, you prepared for the inevitable when a louder shot rang out somewhere near you.

When pain and death didn't come, you opened your eyes to see Arthur standing over you, concern distorting his face. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and he huffed, trying to catch his breath. His hands scoured every inch of you, searching for signs of bleeding. Panic started to set in again when you realized you couldn't feel anything; you held your breath as Arthur pulled up the hem of your dress, bracing for the worst.

You breathed a sigh of relief and let your head fall back onto the ground. The puncture was minor, no worse than a needle prick. Arthur stood, using his arm to wipe away the perspiration that had soaked him. Then his anger started up again.

"Can't go getting hurt like that, girl. Shouldn't've let you run off by yourself. If something happened to you, I'd—"

"Shut up, Arthur," you rose back up and tried to smile through your unease. "I'm fine, thanks to you."

He held out a hand to pull you back to your feet, then wrapped his arms around you tight. His heart hammered against his chest, and you could hear your blood rushing through your ears. Then you finally let yourself cry in the safety of all his bulk.

"I'm sorry, sweet girl; I'm sorry." Every shakey inhale, sob, and gasp from you ripped him apart from the inside out. He was supposed to be looking after you, always, but his hardheadedness and pride left you vulnerable. Killing was the one thing he knew he was good for, and to almost fail at the cost of your life made his insides rot with guilt.

He peeled you away from his chest and cupped your face, "I won't let anything else happen to you, ya' hear?" You nodded, and he wiped dirt and tears away from your cheek with a big thumb and brought you back into him, stroking the back of your head. After a long moment, he retrieved your horse, helped you, and then rode beside you the whole way back to camp.

The next day, you gladly did your chores while Arthur went on his adventures. You didn't complain in the comfort and safety of a shade tree and other skilled gunmen. You were sitting in his tent when Arthur returned in the evening, now wearing his regular gambler's hat and carrying another adorned with floral designs and a peacock feather.

He greeted you with a peck on your cheek, joined you on the cot, and talked through a crooked smile, "found the rest of those orchids today and gave 'em to Algernon. Took this instead of the money. Think he was happier with that trade, anyway."

The closer you looked at the beautiful monstrosity, the more you had to fight off your reaction. It was undeniably unique, but you couldn't image anyone wearing it seriously.

"It's um—," You covered your mouth to stifle your giggle, but your quaking shoulders gave you away. To your relief, Arthur joined in your laugh and placed the hat atop your head.

"He tried to give it to me, made me try it on, but I figured it'd look better on you. Now we both got a crazy hat."

The idea of Arthur standing in front of a mirror in the hat with all his hardened features made you throw your head back in near hysterics.

"Well, I will cherish that image and this hat forever. Thank you." Arthur's face softened as your amusement died down, then morphed into a lamentable combination of worry and self-loathing. You recognized it all too well.

He stroked your face with the back of his hand and spoke in a hushed tone, "I'm sorry, again, for letting you go off by yourself like that. I—"

You silenced him with your lips, pushing him onto his back and mounting him. Your new hat fell away along with his worry as you showed him just how appreciative you were.

#zaefic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 community #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #arthur morgan please save me #amje

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lomlhwa · 12 days ago

Text

intern (ot8) [volume three]

pairing: free use intern!reader x office workers!ateez

preview: getting this type of job feels so wrong. but you need money and hey, they're all hot.

tags/warnings: fem!reader, free use, perv!ateez, monster cocks for all of ateez i fear, it's pretty much all dom!ateez but woosan do like to beg to cum so do with that what you will, ties as restraints, hair pulling, spit kink, spanking (with hands and belts), degrading, praise, pet names (slut, whore, cumdump, doll, baby, princess), throat/stomach bulge, sometimes it's one at a time and sometimes it's five, voyeurism, hand jobs, oral (f+m receiving), vibrator torture, crying, anal, two cocks in one hole who cheered, so many creampies [these are general tags for all parts, not all of these will be in every part]

trigger warnings: if i forgot tags, don't kill me

wc: 3.0k

song recs for this fic: moonstruck by enhypen

a/n: woosan girlies be gentle when knocking my door down

previous - next

san carries you out of the lunch room, strutting straight over to your desk. he acts like your weight is nothing more than that of a cat who has decided to sit on his shoulder. he plops you down onto your comfy office chair (the one you had yet to sit in) and you land with a small “hmf.” you look up at san as he admires you, running his tongue over his teeth. wooyoung appears suddenly behind you, basically breathing down your neck. “don’t get too comfy, princess. i think san has something fun planned for you,” he looks up at san with a mischievous look, lust dripping from his smile.

you have gone through so many different positions in one day that honestly, nothing would surprise you anymore. well, except the fact that you’re learning right now that your chair reclines all the way back like a bed. san drops to his knees and places your legs on his shoulders. he shoves your skirt up so it rests on your waist all bunched up. wooyoung grabs your chin and forces you to look at him towering over you. “sannie is gonna eat your pretty pussy until you can’t remember what day it is. i’m gonna fill your tight throat to the brim until you forget your name. how does that sound?” you don’t even know how to respond to such dirty words leaving such a pretty mouth.

“your speechlessness is full of excitement, so i’m gonna just assume you’re dripping right now. is that about right, san?” wooyoung asks, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of your sopping core. san groans, drinking in the way that your body twitches. “i’ll take that as a yes. do you wanna know what else we’re gonna do to you?” wooyoung says as san connects his tongue to the skin of your inner thigh. you shudder and nod, wooyoung’s grin growing wider.

“we’re gonna get you on the floor and get you spread wide open,” san says as he trails his tongue higher. “san’s gonna fill you up with his fat cock that has been begging for your hole all day,” wooyoung adds in a whiny tone as san kisses your other thigh, and you whimper. “and i’m gonna reward you with extra stimulation by treating your puffy clit like a lollipop.” wooyoung concludes as san finally connects his tongue to your core and your whole body jerks. your hands race to grab something, or rather someone, since you ended up gripping wooyoung’s thighs like a vice.

wooyoung looks down at you with fake pity before wrestling with his belt and dress pants. he drops them to the floor and smirks at you. “open wide, make me feel good like a well behaved whore,” he demands. you obey immediately, your throat welcoming him as he slides past your lips. your head upside down makes for a smooth entrance for wooyoung’s long cock. he lets out a small whine as he watches the bulge of his dick appear in your throat. he gets harder, if possible, watching the bulge move in and out. “o-oh fuck, it’s like your throat was m-made for my cock,” wooyoung’s whole body shakes slightly in reaction. “wooyo, you’re so talkative today,” you hear from a deep voice across the room. mingi. this is the first time you’ve ever heard him speak.

wooyoung chuckles at his comment. “judging by the way her hips jerk every time i open my mouth, i think she prefers a talkative man. don’t you, my little cumdump?” you attempt at garbling a small ‘yes’ in response but wooyoung is completely blocking your airway. “fair enough. what the whore wants, the whore gets,” mingi replies before going back to typing away at his desk. wooyoung leans down a little to wrap both hands around your throat to feel the way the bulge moves. san and wooyoung act in sync; wooyoung pushes into your throat and san licks a stripe up your core. the whole ordeal is positively mind-numbing.

san dips his middle and ring fingers into your wet heat, scissoring them to spread you out. you roll your eyes back and cough around wooyoung, your legs beginning to shake. wooyoung whines and whimpers as he uses your throat, catching his lip between his teeth and looking at you with teary eyes. “ah fuck, san, i’m gonna cum,” wooyoung announces and san pulls away from your core to glare at him. “if she can hold it when instructed, so can you. you’re not done until i say you are. the pretty baby gets to cum before you do,” san says in a firm tone. you hear a high pitched whimper leave wooyoung’s throat as his cock twitches in your throat. you can feel just how close to his peak he is and you really can’t tell if he’s gonna be able to hold it.

san reconnects his mouth to your core and devours you like you’re the last meal he’s ever going to have. your legs shake and spasm around his head, encouraging him to bring you closer to the edge. your back arches as san adds a third finger into your core, digging at the gummy spot inside you. you move your hands from wooyoung’s thighs to san’s hair. your fingers wrap around his black locks, pulling his head further between your legs. you hear a low chuckle from san as your movements become more desperate, rutting your hips against his face to get more friction.

“san, fuck, i seriously c-can’t hold it much longer,” wooyoung says again. he had stopped abusing your throat and had begun slowly rocking his hips back and forth to try and savour his close orgasm building. you give san’s hair a harsh tug to tell him you’re about to cum and he gives you a nod. “i can’t deny the pretty girl anymore. i want both of you to cum,” san says in a demanding tone. you whole body fills with lighting as you reach your orgasm, pleasure making your vision go white. wooyoung fills your throat at almost the exact same moment, causing you to cough up a mix of semen and saliva.

wooyoung pulls out of your mouth and san pulls your head by your neck to kiss you. the saliva swapped between you is full of a mix of your release and wooyoung’s. san lifts you up off your chair and places you on all fours, your knees still sore from being like this for yeosang and jongho. you feel wooyoung run his fingers over your slit, collecting remnants of your release, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. “god, you taste like heaven. i could eat you forever,” he comments as your whole body shudders. you hear the sound of san’s pants and belt hitting the floor, signaling to you that you’re not going to be empty for much longer.

wooyoung grabs your chin and tilts your head to make you look at him. his hair falls over his eyes and sticks to his face so beautifully that even just his gaze has you clenching. “you remember what i said we’d do?” he asks, and you nod expectantly. “good girl. i’m gonna leave you alone with san for a bit so he can really enjoy you. i promise i’ll come back soon,” he says before kissing your forehead and wandering away. where the hell was he going? you had no time to consider options before san used one hand to spread you open and align the tip of his cock with your entrance.

you gasp at the sudden contact, turning slightly to stare at him. he had completely unbuttoned his white dress shirt, leaving his defined muscle completely exposed. parts of his shirt were becoming see-through from the sweat dripping down his body. his arms flexed as one hand gripped your waist and the other guided his cock into you. his eyelashes fluttered and his face contorted into the most blissful look as he bottomed out. his appearance alone was making you clench around him like a vice.

you lower yourself down from your hands onto your elbows, arching your back even more. san ghosts his fingers down your spine, goosebumps appearing in his wake. he enjoys the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him for a while before pulling out to the tip and slamming back in. his actions send your whole body jolting forward, your eyes rolling back into your head. your fingers scratch at the floor, trying to find something to grip onto, and finding nothing.

san starts slowly grinding into you, his strokes slow and deep. the feeling is mind-numbing. you can feel every inch of him rubbing against the sweetest part of you. you hear some shuffling behind you and you turn your head to find that san has completely taken his shirt off, his honey golden skin covered in a sheen of sweat. he has discarded his shirt a few feet away, his focus returning to you. he places both hands on your waist, pulling your hips to his in tandem with his thrusts.

“you're too quiet, make some pretty noises, my angel,” san demands, landing a harsh smack to your ass. you squeal, your body shuddering. “there you go. so fucking beautiful.” he begins to thrust more intensely, more sounds leaving your throat. he was so far in you that you were convinced he was kissing your cervix.

you reach one arm behind you to grip his forearm, your nails digging into the harshly flexed muscle. “looks like someone's enjoying herself,” you hear wooyoung finally speak. he had finally returned from god knows where. wooyoung sits cross-legged on the floor in front of you, lifting your head to look at him. he leans down to kiss you, passion and aggression filling his movements. you bite and suck on his bottom lip as his tongue darts out to catch yours.

he tangles his hand in your hair, pulling your head to follow his movements. he whines against your mouth, his cock throbbing in his pants. wooyoung pulls away from your mouth, his eyes darting up to look at san. “san, do you think she's earned what i promised?” you look back at san in a frenzy, your eyes begging him to say yes. you'd been well behaved and done everything he wanted. san smiles at you, his perfect eyes disappearing into crescents.

“i think she deserves it. she's been such a good fucking girl, haven't you sweetheart?” san taunts you, leaning over you to stroke your hair. you nod excitedly, raising yourself back onto your palms so wooyoung could slide under you. wooyoung’s pupils are blown as he watches you get ready for him. “oh, so eager. what a dirty girl,” he drops to the floor and lays on his back before sliding underneath you. he comes face to face with your already filled core, a soft moan leaving his mouth at the sight.

san begins his slow movements in and out of you once again, your arms already shaking from holding yourself up. wooyoung runs his hands up your thighs, and you shudder at the feeling. he ghosts his fingers over your clit, his fingers brushing san’s cock as it moves inside of you. “i’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you being pleasured, slut,” wooyoung comments as he sinks his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. you squeal, the surge of pain that shoots through your body shocking you a little. “the bulge of san’s cock in your stomach could make me cum just looking at it,” he runs his hand over the part of your stomach that is protruding, san lets out a shaky breath behind you. “fuck, don’t talk about it, i’ll cum.”

wooyoung slowly moves his mouth from the skin of your inner thigh towards your core. he gives your clit kitten licks, your jaw falling open in a silent moan. san speeds up his thrusts, drawing your hips back against his to match his pace. wooyoung wraps his pretty, puffy lips around your clit, sucking on it. wooyoung moves his hands to your waist, holding your body up for you. “come on baby, you know you want my cock back in your mouth,” wooyoung pulls away from your core and waits for you to do what he wants.

your hands fiddle with the button on his pants, pulling at them urgently once you get it open. he lifts his hips off the floor so you can help him tug his clothes off. you get them off just enough to get access to his leaking cock, wrapping your hands around it immediately. your hands move quickly, wooyoung whining under you. “s-slow down, it’s s-still sensitive,” he whines, you ignore his comment. his hips buck up into your hands, seeking more pleasure despite his pleas for you to slow down. he matches your energy by wrapping his lips around your clit again, sucking and licking at it with intense vigor.

wooyoung wraps hair arms around your hips, holding onto you for dear life. “wooyo, i need to fuck her harder,” san says, sounding out of breath. “she’s a slut, so we have to treat her as such.” san’s face contorts into a sinister grin before drawing his hips back and slamming into you. his thrusts are sloppy and desperate for pleasure. wooyoung teases your already full hole with his fingers. “can you take some more, baby? your desperate little hole is desperate to be stretched,” he teases you. you tug on his cock harder in response, a small squeal leaving his throat. “i’ll take that as a yes,” he retorts before shoving a finger in to follow san’s movements.

you squeeze the base of wooyoung’s cock as he thrusts his finger inside you. “fuck, wooyo, be gentle,” you beg, the stretch burning between your legs. “aww poor baby. you didn’t listen when wooyoung told you to be nice, so why should he listen to you?” san smacks your ass a few times in a row, your skin turning red. “add another finger, wooyoung. it’s what she deserves.” wooyoung wiggles another finger into your hole, your whole body trembling. “it’s good that you’re stretching her out now, she’s gonna need it for us,” mingi raises his hand for a hi-five from yunho and finds him glaring at him. “don’t be so vulgar,” yunho comments before going back to his work. “says you?” mingi responds before huffing and crossing his arms.

you hear san chuckle behind you, finding the interaction to be amusing. san regains his composure and begins thrusting into you like a wild animal. wooyoung scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out even more than you already were. you do your best to tug on his cock while he adds to your pleasure, but your mind is so foggy that you can barely even remember to breathe. you take small gasps of air every few seconds when your brain decides to work.

suddenly, your whole body ignites when wooyoung wraps his pretty lips around your clit again, sucking harder than before, and desperately licking at you to taste you more. “remember how you came for yeosang and jongho? do it again. i know wooyoung wants to drown in you,” san squeezes your hips to give his statement that extra umph. wooyoung responds with a high pitched ‘mhm’ his tongue darting out over your folds in a frenzy. your hands move up and down on wooyoung’s dick faster, wanting to get a release out of him too. “okay, keep going, i-i’m so close,” you say, despite being out of breath.

as if they had spoken to each other telepathically, san and wooyoung focus all of their energy on getting you off. you slap the floor beside wooyoung’s thigh repeatedly, the pleasure making your body move uncontrollably. wooyoung digs his nails into your thigh, moaning and whimpering louder under you. “wooyo, honey, please cum with me,” you say breathlessly and his hips jerk in response. finally, you let the chord in your abdomen snap, san pulling out of you to let your release splash out of you. his jaw falls slack, watching you writhe in pleasure, while wooyoung drinks up your release. he finishes in your hand swiftly after, coating your hand in his cum.

without warning, san shoves back into you, his thrusts fast and sharp. “let me fill you up, baby. i wanna see my cum dripping out of your perfect cunt,” wooyoung slides out from under you to observe the end of your pleasurable ordeal. san leans over you to whisper sweet praises in your ear. “you’re so pretty. so, so good to me,” he kisses the shell of your ear gently. “nothing will ever feel better than you. fuck, your cunt was made for my cock,” you nod along to his words as you feel another, less intense orgasm building. “i can feel you clenching. do i make you feel so good that you wanna cum again? my cock slut, cum whenever you want. i’m almost there,” his cock twitches inside of you, leaking pre-cum all over your walls.

“please, cum with me, pretty baby,” he pleads and you can’t help but obey. he fills you up so perfectly, and you cling to him for dear life. you hear some shuffling around behind you as san pulls out and goes to collect his shirt. you collapse onto the floor, completely worn out. you press your cheek to the cold floor, your whole body feeling sore and spent. you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“don’t get comfy. we’ve been waiting.”

taglist:

@nopension @cursedeastern @certifiedmoa @tunafishyfishylike @4ngel-f4ngzz @mingisdimple @anxiousskylar @sanhwalvr @querencieaz @vtyb23 @dawn-iscozy

#lomlhwa #ateez #ateez smut #atz #atz smut #choi san #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #kang yeosang #jeong yunho #song mingi #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #choi san smut #jung wooyoung smut

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vettelsvee · 3 months ago

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OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN SERIES | Lewis Hamilton

f1 masterlist | ask me anything or let's talk! driver x oc version available on wattpad on august 30th

lewis hamilton x pregnant!reader | based on 2018 season

for more information to the reader: ❥ reader in this series is britta's (seb's pr) niece and nico's ex-wife (they had a toxic relationship, but please, remember all of this is fiction and none of what you read here represents drivers in real life). ❥ it contains friends to lovers and unwanted pregnancy tropes. ❥ some parts might include sensitive content. pay attention to trigger warnings at the beginning of each part. ❥ english is not my first language so apologies for any mistakes that you can read here!

started: AUGUST 25TH 2024 currently status: on going | last updated: august 25th masterlist under the cut !

taglist: [feel free to tell me so i can tag you and you don't miss anything!]

a/n: i love nico, you just know it, but in this series as well as the upcoming history mega series... he's not gonna be a good guy, sorry (once again remember all of this is fiction and none of it represents reality)

Y/N Roeske knew firsthand what it was like to be one of the most well-known figures in the Formula 1 world, but not particularly for anything important.

Ever since her first public appearance in 2013 as Sebastian Vettel's PR, replacing her aunt Britta that hell of a season, the young woman realized that things would not be easy for her. When her casual sexual encounters with Nico Rosberg, hidden from everyone, turned into an abrupt marriage followed by a divorce that came just as quickly, the German realized that she was destined to be remembered for life as the ex-wife of someone who, in the eyes of others, was perfect, even though the reality was far from that.

Y/N tried to think that the rumors were just that, mere rumors, and that the people's inventions shouldn’t affect her at all... but they did until her return to the scene a year later after pleas from her aunt and her dad, a leaked intimate video and a few coffees at Lewis' house, led her to come back.

However, no matter how much Y/N Roeske tried to rebuild her life in any of its aspects, life had other plans for her. Ones that the blonde couldn’t have imagined.

After a night of weakness and vulnerability, and despite the attempts of Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel and his fiancee, Diana Wagner, to keep her from falling into temptation after nearly three years clean, Y/N ends up having a small but significant slip-up with her ex-husband during one of the season’s kickoff parties. She didn’t think much of it until a positive pregnancy test made her realize that she might have landed herself in a problem with no easy solution.

OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN MASTERLIST

part 1: after deciding to go out with her best friend, diana, to celebrate her birthday, and her going back with sebastian, her fiancé to their hotel room, y/n finds herself doing the same with nico, her ex-husband

part 2: her period is late and she knows all too well why, but y/n doesn't want to face reality even everyone asks her if she's ok

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monimccoythings · 9 months ago

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Alastor x daughter!Reader II (Platonic)

Heaven in this series seems to be very unfair and strict, so I guess this wouldn't be too out of character of them. I still don't know how long this is going to be, maybe I'll do a couple more and then that'll be it.

Reminder: Alastor is in hell for a reason; Trigger warnings: gory elements, mentions of blood, threats towards a child, mentions of rape, death.

This is not proof read, so please excuse any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

tags: @anonymousewrites

Part I ｜Part II (You're here!)｜Part III

It was hot. That was the first feeling you got. Like those summers in the bayou, but a hundred times worse. You wondered if you were running a fever. If everything was just a wild fever dream, and you were currently on a hospital bed fighting off the Spanish flu while your dad worriedly sat by your side.

But as you opened your eyes. You found that there was no fever dream. Only nightmares.

You had been sent to hell for keeping quiet. Heaven considered that the officers death could have been prevented if you had just talked to someone about what you saw. But you chose not to, and also chose to pretend it didn't happen just to try and keep some semblance of normalcy. Your silence had only made you an unwilling accomplice in two murders.

You were not made for hell, never were. And suddenly finding yourself in a place were anyone could easily kill, rape or torture you didn't do wonders for your psyche.

You spent the next ninety years hiding in the corners, eating what little crumbs you could feed yourself, barely sleeping just in case some of your 'friendly neighbors' decided to take you by surprise and avoiding all kind of human (or demonic) contact.

You would be lying to yourself if you said those were the only reasons for such a paranoid way of living. The other, and principal reason why you kept moving and hid yourself was the very same reason why you ended up here.

Him.

Not even a week had passed before he had suddenly spawned there as well. Host of his very own diabolical radio show, he had quickly seized control of the former overlords and killed them one by one, broadcasting their cries of fear and pain to all the city. Positioning himself as a prominent member of the new batch of overlords.

He was a monster. 'Alastor The Radio Demon' he was called in fearful whispers. And he kept getting worse and worse. You couldn't help but wonder if the man who had raised you had really been there at all or it had been just another facade, for his own entertainment and amusement.

Everywhere you go you would faintly hear the static of his radio program, it almost seemed that he was following you. There was no escaping his influence. Had he found you? Did he know you were there as well? Did he even care at all?

Sometimes you resented him for breaking your happy mortal life, sometimes you wished you could show yourself to him and maybe everything would be magically reverted to the way it was back then. Sometimes you cried yourself to sleep, fearing that the first thing he would do if he found you would be slaughter you and broadcast your screams.

Fear always got the best of you, so you kept running, hiding, avoiding the exterminations as best as you could and doing some things for the sake of survival that would haunt you forever.

You will live to see another day. You had to. You may not be able to kill anyone, but you will survive.

Until one day you got caught.

You should have listened to your instincts that were screaming at you that that dump was not safe to rest. But you were too tired to care.

As soon as you close your eyes for a quick nap, a huge hand grabbed you by the hair and forcefully pulled you out. You screamed and struggled, throwing wild kicks. But a strong set of arms held you and made it impossible to move.

"Looks like we got ourselves a fighter guys!" an enormous hyena demon cackled manically.

"Boss surley will give us a fucking raise for this one. Can't wait to see how he beats the fuck out of your spunkiness."

You were terrified. What? What were they going to do to you?? You were just a kid!! How was this allowed?? You had to escape, you had to run and hide before it was too late and you found yourself enslaved to some of the most depraved souls.

You screamed, cried and begged them to let you go. But they didn't listen, they shoved you into the back of some van with other terrified demons and drove off to the worst parts of an already hellish city.

They threw you roughly on a cold hard floor, you swore that after so many years in a living hell you would have run out of tears to cry. Well, there you were bawling your eyes out.

"P-please"

The mob boss just laughed, a disgusting pig like demon. "Look at her, ain't even started and she's already crying. Oh, little one, you're going to make some owner the fucking happiest guy ever. And I know the right guy."

So that was it. It was over for you. After everything you had gone through, it seemed like your fate was to be forever enslaved, tortured and finally killed at the hands of a demon. Nobody would come to rescue you. You doubted there was even someone out there who would really miss you.

Maybe you deserved it.

Maybe it was time to really pay for your cowardice.

The tears didn't stop flowing, but you had already resigned to your fate.

The demons were coming closer, some of them with chains, another with a collar, and one with a branding rod.

You could almost feel the burning of metal in your skin. The painful beginning of a new chapter in your afterlife.

And even then, despite everything you had gone through and your fears, whatever remained of that innocent little girl you once were, was quietly praying Daddy would barge in and save you from the bad guys.

The lights suddenly went out, which only terrified you even more. Knowing what they were going to do was bad enough, but not being able to see it? They may as well shoot you dead.

For a couple of seconds everything was in complete silence. "The fuck are you waiting for? Turn the fucking-" The boss was interrupted by a loud radio frequency screech. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you felt the cold hands of terror grab a hold of you .

No.

Nononononono.

You weren't- You didn't- You prayed he wasn't actually going to show up. Despite being trapped between a rock and a hard place, you cursed yourself for your childish wishes.

The static kept getting louder, to the point you had to cover your ears to avoid having your eardrums split. In the corner, right on the left where your assaulters stood, some of them doubled over in pain with blood coming out of their ears, a mass of shadows started moving on their own.

A sob got caught in your throat when you realized where this was going to go. Now it was really over.

The shadows kept getting bigger and bigger, shaping themselves until all that remained was a giant and grinning entity of darkness.

You were completely frozen in your spot, not daring to make a sudden move, just in case you attracted that monster's attention. His Glasgow smile kept getting wider, some drool falling from his lips. He was like a hungry predator watching a tasty piece of meat.

You thought that the worst part would be when more tentacles shot from his back, launching themselves against the assaulters and tearing them apart easily while some chunks of blooded meat fell on his open mouth and others got stuck on his massive antlers. The sound of radio static mixed with his hysterical laughter generated a deep feeling of anxoiusness and fear inside you.

As you dared to look into his pupils, now red radio dials, hoping to find something that would anchor you to whatever remained of your sanity, you knew that had you been alive, you would have died again from fright.

Because there was nothing that could remind you of your father in those eyes.

And with that last thought, you happily welcomed unconsciousness.

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: kidnapping #tw: threats

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growling · 6 months ago

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*average self-proclaimed safe space tumblr blog voice* I soooooo support people with schizophrenia that must be so hard to you anyway I just saw some weird looking woman talking to herself right outside my house im fearing for my life should I call the cops. Yeah dude I support all the adhd havers in the chat just try to pay attention when I talk to you it's not that hard it's like the least you could do to show some regard for the other human being in front of you. Like it's fine to have memory problems but why did you forget this one thing in particular that was important to me do you like not care or anything you should try harder. I am one of the only real mental health advocates to still exist in this world I hear your struggles that being said I hope I never get to meet one of those irl sociopaths or people with aspd whatever they call them now they're so freaky and they can blend into society so well you might never know if you're actually face to face with an actual socio i mean person with aspd in the store absolutely one of my biggest fears what if they torture me in their basement. I absolutely empathize with all the people in here suffering from delusions as long as they like, don't actually show it or have one concerning me that'd be highkey uncomfy leave me out of this dude im not talking to you until you get help, anyway my fav character from my anime just presumably died but i still think they actually survived im sooo delulu lol. We should push for more wheelchair accessibility in our cities I agree but like it's so difficult to tell how many people are actually disabled and who are actually faking it, like, ummm why did that "wheelchair" "user" guy stand up just now cover blown lmaoo…. Yeah I support people with facial differences but I still have a right to be disgusted you can't control my emotions anyway can you tag your selfies as #body horror this deeply triggering to me. Speaking of triggering can you also pleaseee hide your scars or at least warn us beforehand jesus do you know how many people genuinely do not want to see it. Here is my extremely fast strobing lights and flashing gifset #epilepsy. Yeah I loveee girls with bpd beautiful princess disorder am i right they're so interesting the stigma sucksssss i'd love to get to be one's favourite person as long as they don't actually have any of those weird or violent symptoms or don't go into any of their "episodes" near me like that's a bit dramatic….. I deeply feel for those who had underwent narcissistic abuse from the hands of an npd I think my shitty ex boyfriend was a narcissist too tbh #surviving narcissism here are 10 signs you are dealing with a narcissist and here's a tutorial on how to trigger a narc crash to epically own them anyway does anyone else think we should start enforcing mandatory castration of all the newly diagnosed narcs like you know what happens when they reproduce right. But I am willing to support them as long as they go to therapy to get that fixed it's just you know. Anyway sometimes hospitalisation is fine if they're genuinely a danger to themselves like what do you want them to go live on the streets or actually get help?? I support all the people dealing with being a professionally diagnosed disordered system and I think it's sooooo terrible how literally 99% of the youth population nowadays is purposefully faking it for attention I did my research (1 minute google search, 2 minute r/fakedisordercringe scrolling session and consulting a single system that agrees with me). It's just not believable to me that there's really that many people with it isn't it supposed to be rare… Also are we really sure all those alleged people in their heads are really real or just their imagination maybe all of them are actually faking it huh food for thought. I am very uncomfortable with nonverbal high support needs ppl actually having sex like consent is supposed to be explicitly verbal only and, are we really sure they can even consent arent they like basically children. You can't call me ableist I'm literally autistic

#mine #actually autistic #actually npd #actually plural #ableism #sanism #npd stigma #bpd stigma #pluralmisia #<- gonna add on to these later i am. bad at tagging warnings #i needed this off my chest like. can these people stop #dont know how comprehensible this is im bad at articulating myself #long post

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cameronspecial · 6 months ago

Note

I wanted to ask if you could write something with rafe where reader does selfharm and he finds out? Maybe with a soft version of rafe

Not Going Anywhere

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SELF-HARM and Talks of DEPRESSION (Please don't read if these are a trigger).

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: If you or anyone you know are experiencing depression, then please know you are not alone and there are people who can help. The internet has information on the best places for you to go to in your country. Not tagging anyone just in case this is a trigger for anyone on my tag list.

Masterlist

It isn’t for attention. That is one assumption most people make whenever they see the scars. It’s the reason why she hides them on her hips. She doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing it because no one sees her naked, not even her boyfriend. The only times the marks see the light of day are when she changes or showers. She makes sure the cuts made can be hidden by her underwear and any panties or bikini bottoms she buys need to pass that test as well.

No matter how wrong she knows it is, she can’t help but hold the cold sharp blade against the tough skin. It is resting on top of a barely healing scar because she has no other place for it. Her breath hitches as she pulls the Exacto knife across her, going a little farther than the mark already made. Tears are running down her face. Her eyes blur as she repeats the motion below the blooming red line. Her breath is uneven and hitches every time the metal touches her skin. In some sick way, the pain gives her a small relief. It gives her a reason.

Most people wonder why someone would cause harm to themselves. They would guess that the despair is caused by a lack of food, shelter, money, clothes or love. However, Y/N doesn’t have that issue. How could she when she is a kook? No, she has never felt hunger or fear and that is the cause of the turmoil inside of her head. Nonetheless, ever since she entered teenhood, she would experience these months-long periods of extreme sadness. She would do her best to hide them from everyone by pushing herself to get out of bed and go to activities that she would normally enjoy. She would make sure to cry when no one else was at home and to track her family members’ phones to verify she was alone. It was a secret she kept so deep within her that she started to question why she felt this way. That is when the true problems began. She felt guilty for feeling this despair without a reason and it was furthered by the secrets she had to keep, so she began to self-harm as her reason. In her brain, partly because of what society has told her, she needed a reason for why she was melancholy because there are people in the world who were dealt much tougher times in life.

So, that is how she finds herself standing in front of the mirror, holding down the right side of her underwear and dragging an Exacto knife along her skin. She has fallen into one of her episodes and this time, it is the worst one to date. She has never pressed so hard into her skin with the blade. It has never bled this much. She curses as the blood begins to seep into the cotton of her underwear. Her attention is on stopping the red from staining her clothes, so she doesn’t hear the front door open.

Rafe whistles whilst he uses his copy of the key to open Y/N’s front door. People thought it was too early when they exchanged house keys after only six months of dating. They didn’t though. It felt like the next step when she told him that she was saving herself for marriage. They found a different way to reach a new level of intimacy and it worked for them. Her house is eerily quiet and dark. Normally, she keeps the hallway lights on when she is home and if she is watching TV/listening to music, it is so loud that it could make a deaf person hear. He doesn’t let the lack of normality stop him from making his way to her bedroom, thinking nothing that her door is closed. He uses the doorknob to push it open and he is surprised to see her standing in front of the mirror with her hands pressing against her hip. It takes him a second to process that blood stains her hand. His shock turns to worry as he rushes to her side. He trips over something in his attempt to get to her and looks down to see a bloody Exacto knife, like the kind she uses to cut things for her art. He kicks it away and removes her hand from her side. He curses at the amount of blood. This needs stitches.

“My love, what happened?” he asks, hoping the theory he has isn’t true. He sees the tears running down her face and the way her mouth opens and closes. She has no idea how to answer. The hiccups of her crying make it even harder. Instead of waiting for an answer, Rafe washes his hands and gets the first aid kit in her bathroom. He uses the bandage wrap inside it to catch the blood, instructing her to use it to apply pressure whilst he guides her to his car. The drive to the hospital is silent.

———

Y/N told the medical practitioner the truth as to how she got the cuts and scars. She couldn’t lie with Rafe in the room. He had offered to step out, except she asked him to stay. She was tired of lying. It only added to her exhaustion. Y/N didn’t have to say much before the doctor excused herself to get a hospital psychiatrist. Rafe said nothing as she described the anguish she felt. He felt a sharp stab to his heart at every word she said, criticizing himself for not seeing the mental pain his girlfriend was in.

With the doctor gone, he speaks up. “Is there anything I can do right now that can help you feel more comfortable?” She appreciates that he doesn’t assume that there is an easy fix to this or that at the moment there is something quick he can do to make her feel better. His focus on her comfort causes a flutter in her stomach. She nods, “Can you just hold me?” He joins her on the hospital bed and pulls her to his side. The buzz of the lights is the sole thing that can be heard for a while. “This isn’t your fault,” she clarifies, concerned that he might think it. He kisses her temple, “I know. Thank you for trusting me enough to be in the room when you told the doctor what happened. This isn’t your fault either and you are so brave for asking for help. If you want, I will be here to help you every step of the way.” A different kind of relief comes over her. She feels a glimmer of hope that she doesn’t have to do this alone. “I want you here,” she whispers, pressing her face into his side. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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olderthannetfic · 10 days ago

Note

It has already begun!

No offense, but I don't "Underage Sex" won't be the clarification you think it is since that tag can also apply to romance. There's gonna be a lot of confusion about this and people won't know whether to trigger tag for underage if it's an only-romance fic. Not the end of the world, but I would probably reconsider it.

(The comment was deleted a minute after I grabbed it, but it was made by someone with 668 works on AO3. 668! You'd think that after so long on the site, they'd know its rules.)

I second this. I've written a few underage fics where they don't end up having sex until years later, when the character in question is no longer underage. Or there's no sex at all, but a relationship/situationship is still very apparent. But I still tag it because it very much counts as underage, even if no sexual acts occur. This is just going to lead to unnecessary ambiguity and people running into content they don't want to read.

I don't know how helpful the underage change will be since underage *romance* exists as well in a different context and space than underage sex, since the content warning underage felt like an umbrella term for 'underage (relationship of some kind)'. otherwise if nothing really changes besides making the TOS more clear and userfriendly, this seems pretty good

I don't want underage to be changed tho, I like warnings that can accompass for all underage relationships, not just the s*xual part. Otherwise later on if fics have underage relationships w/o s*x, I wouldn't know and it would be a major jumpscare to come upon. It feels really specific and limiting.

I like the changes, but I do want to point out that for the Underage thing, Sex would then just seem to include that and not romance, too; maybe changing it to Non-Platonic Underage Relationships or something along those lines might be better?

And in the next hours and days, there will probably be a lot more stuff from people who haven't the faintest clue why archive warnings exist or how to use AO3 tags.

Ooh, anon has brought us the good stuff.

~felt like an umbrella term~

No one cares what it felt like to you! The actual rules have not changed!

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thegnomelord · 11 months ago

Text

A Little Bit Of Heaven

CW: NSFW, FTM subbot Gaz, domtop Male Reader, oral, scar kissing, soft fluffy sex, body worship, lingerie, fem language, reader is whipped for Gaz

PS: This is inspired by @ramvur 's art piece of Gaz, @el-chonkus you wanted to be tagged so here you go :D

The last few months have been Hell on both of you; mission after mission, drill after drill, chasing away exhaustion and sleep deprivation with copious amounts of caffeine in an attempt to put a dent in the stacks of paperwork you've been given. Despite spending most of your time together, be it training recruits or as battle buddies on missions, it feels like you and Kyle never have time for each other, the only time you two have to be intimate being when Kyle sleeps on your shoulder during the long plane rides.

So when Price tells you you two are cleared for a week of military leave, you jump at the chance to have a proper vacation. Once you get the tickets you put it in an envelope, going out to find Gaz.

You find him in your shared bunk room, peacefully snoring with a book splayed over his chest. Even in his sleep he's on edge, fingers twitching occasionally as if pulling the trigger of a gun. You're quiet as a mouse as you walk to his bed, kneeling to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Kyle's eyelids flutter open, your familiar outline in his blurry vision calms him before military grade instincts can kick in, having to blink a few times to focus on you. "Mhm, what'ime isit?" He slurs as he sits up, the few minutes of sleep doing nothing to lessen the bags under his pretty brown eyes.

"Still early." You say, keeping your voice low. "I'm sorry for waking you,"

"Is fine," He waves away your apology, reaching out to wrap a loose arm around your neck, pulling you closer. "Did you need something?" Kyle's still groggy as he nuzzles your cheeks together, aiming for your lips but winding up kissing your nose.

"Yeah," You take a moment to relish the intimacy, not that Kyle minds, breathing in your scent with a happy sigh; God knows how long you'd spent in an intimacy deficit. "Guess what I did." You say with a humorous tone.

That sobers him up enough to lean back and give you a critical eye. "If you hid Price's cigars again I'm not hiding you." He warns, but there's obvious amusement in his voice.

"No, no," You snort, holding out the envelope for him. "It's something better."

"Do I even want to know?" Kyle raises an eyebrow but takes the envelope, opening it. Inside he finds two plane tickets to Greece, along with an invoice for a rented villa. "Are these. . .?" His voice dies down as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"You did say you wanted to go somewhere warm." You shrug a shoulder, trying not to show how much you hope he'll be pleased by this seeing as you two hadn't planned anything for your leave.

"Oh, mate," You can't describe the wide smile that graces his features, bright like the sun, one you'd happily let blind you. "Come here you-" He pulls you so close your foreheads bonk together, you can feel his grin as he kisses you. "-beautiful bastard." He sighs as your lips part but you don't, breathing in the same air.

"You're the beautiful one." Your comment has him giggling like a child; Kyle's laugh feels like silk on your ears, so infectious you find yourself giggling too. "Do you like them?"

"Do you even need to ask?" He teases, pulling you into another kiss.

. . .

Gaz is very smug on the day you're supposed to leave, cheeky as he gushes to Soap of all the things you two have got planned for your vacation, which of course has the Scot whining to Ghost about 'stepping up'. But it's all in good fun and you're sent off with a few demands to bring souvenirs.

Despite how tired you two are, the entire plane ride to Greece is spent learning about the local town near the villa you'd rented and all the tourist attractions there, learning a few sayings as well as how not to get scammed.

He's like a kid on Christmas when you finally get to the villa, exploring every room and the grounds around it; It's as pretty as it is old, spiderwebs of ivy and roses wrapping around the columns and sides of it, built on a cliff overlooking the ocean, but far bigger than what you two are used to, Kyle's animated assessment of every little detail in the frescos, evaporating the eeriness of the empty rooms.

And of course, the first thing you do when you get there is sleep a solid 24 hours, your exhaustion catching up to you two. You wake up the next day to Kyle still snoring next to you, much more relaxed and clutching you like a koala. He doesn't even stir when you get out of bed to make him and you a very late breakfast, receiving loving kisses on the cheek when Kyle finally stumbles out of dream land.

You spend your vacation doing all the typical couple things, thousands of photos filling Gaz's phone — you two dinning out or attempting to make some local dishes, several of you two donkey riding across the mountains (and one that he'd favored of a donkey trying to eat your clothes), silly photos of you two interacting with the statues in a nearby garde (you especially love the one of him imitating one), pictures of sunsets and sunrises and a dozen more of him coming out of the water, some selfies of Gaz with you haggling with a merchant in the background as well as your triumphant smirk as you hold a pearl necklace to Kyle's neck from behind.

Kyle likes to look at the photos when he wakes up before you, your body warm and pressed against his from behind while you sleep with your arms around him, his chest light as a feather from how intimate you two had been able to be, how lovely you'd been to him, a true gentleman and every bit the man he fell in love with.

And Kyle decides he wants to do something for you. And for him. A nice gift for the both of you.

He has to shove his pillow into your arms otherwise you wouldn't let go of him, a small giggle leaving his lips at how you nuzzle and hug the pillow like a koala. He tries to stay quiet as he goes to the dresser to pick up the small special suitcase he'd brought just for this vacation, picking out the clothes he'd wanted to wear just for you and him, but never got the time.

He watches himself in the mirror as he puts on the stockings, the material soft against his skin, the kitten heels fitting him perfectly. Kyle struggles with the bralette for a few minutes, but it's worth it when it frames his pecs in such a pleasing way, perking them up and hiding the top scars that run beneath them. Finally comes the long feathered robe, dragging behind him when he twirls in front of the mirror.

Kyle can feel giddy bubbling in his chest, heart beating just a bit faster. Back on base he would have felt ashamed at wearing something so frivolous and impractical, he was a soldier god damn it, but here, with you, he's just Kyle.

Gaz glances to your still sleeping form as he sits by the vanity to do his makeup, lipstick and mascara and a light blush, taking care of the small amount of facial he's managed to grow. He can't wait to see how you'll react when you see him like this. . .

A little mischievous smirk crosses his features and Gaz silently comes to your side of the bed, leaning down to kiss your face, leaving red lipstick marks all across your skin before leaving you to wake up to his surprise.

. . .

You wake from sunlight filtering through the curtains, the soft sound of Kyle humming rousing you from your dreams. You attempt to cuddle closer but soon enough figure out it's a pillow you're hugging. You grumble and sit up, your brain stuttering when you see yourself in the mirror. Bright lipstick marks dot a side of your face, from your forehead down all the way down to your jaw.

Kyle's work, no doubt, but you can't bring yourself to wipe his marks on you — a type of stigmata you'd happily wear. You don't bother with clothes, yawning as you follow the soft sound of his humming to the balcony.

You nearly swallow your tongue when you see him; wreathed in the soft morning light, his skin glowing like the golden bracelets on his arms, the pink roses blending in with his robe making him look like he's sitting on a cloud, soft feathers accentuating the robe like pearly sea foam he'd formed from. Your eyes roam from his red heels up the toned thighs, the sunlight softening the harsh scars decorating his stomach, the sheer material of the bralette both leaving nothing to the imagination and making you want to pull it off, his red lips like the red skin of an apple Eve had been tempted with.

If you were a Trojan prince, you wouldn't have looked at any goddess had Kyle been there, someone the sculptors of old times would have clamored to have as a muse.

If he told you he was a god, you'd take it as gospel, gift Kyle all your devotion just like the pearl necklace he's appraising.

"Holy hell." You mumble, scared to distract him, unwilling to pull him out of his own little world where his face isn't tense with unease and exhaustion, where his shoulders are relaxed and his instincts are blissfully sleeping, where he can just be.

But Kyle hears you, his warm brown eyes shifting to you, a bit of surprise flashing in his face before smiling. "I was wondering when you'd wake up." Kyle chuckled, a flush of heat spreading across his face at the way you look at him — eyes smoldering like coals with desire, a lovesick puppy just for him.

"You could have just woken me up if you were lonely." You hummed as you slowly approached him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "You know I'd never say no to you."

"I know, I know." He huffs, pretty dark lashes fluttering as he pats your hand before pulling you into a kiss. You can taste wine on his lips, soft and plush against your own. He pulls back, holding up the pearls pearls. "Help me with these yeah?"

"Sure," You say, watching him shift so his back is facing you. You clip the pearl necklace around his neck easily, kissing the back of his neck just to feel him shiver. "There you go, handsome man."

"Trying to seduce me are you?" Gaz grins and quickly turns to you, pecking your forehead but pulling back when you attempt to kiss him.

"Can you blame me?" You nuzzle his neck, laying gentle kisses across his neck, your heart fluttering when he tilts his head back to give you more room. "You're absolutely gorgeous."

"Oh you," You can just about catch the way a blush darkens his face to a rich mahogany, his skin warming under your lips as you nibble on his collarbones. "charming bastard." He chuckles, holding the back of your neck as you go further down to trace the outline of his sternum with your lips.

"Just for you," Your hands rise up to cup his pecs over the bralette, lightly groping without attempting to take it off just yet. "Do you want to. . .?" You ask, rubbing your thumb over his pebbled nipple and god, if the soft silk pressing against his sensitive skin doesn't turn him on, nothing will.

"Fuck yes." Gaz whines so sweetly, holding your head close to his chest as you pull one nipple into your mouth, wetting the silk and making him shiver. You pull off to do the same to the other nipple, your hands roaming over his torse, tracing the harsh scars before going back up to push the bralette enough for you to be able to trace the top scars with your tongue. "Oh shit." He grunts as you kiss along the sensitive skin from one side of his chest to the other. "Love." He whines, embarrassed by his own eagerness, but if you don't touch him more he swears he's going to die.

You pull back and settle on your knees; Gods may be worshiped in blood and wine, but your devotion is all he needs. And you'll give it to him.

Your revenant fingers grope the muscle and fat of his thigh, slowly pulling down the pink stocking and following after it with your lips. Tracing the imprint the stocking had left at his mid thigh, pecking the bony part of his knee, kissing the small scars dotting his shin down to his ankle as you finally pull his heel and stocking off him.

Gaz swears he can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches you repeat the process on his other leg, warmth lingering long after your lips have moved on. "Christ alive," He mumbles, the moment you peel off his remaining stocking he's spreading his legs for you, cheeks growing warm as your eyes settle on his cunt. A damp spot has grown on the feathered robe where his slick had trickled down, curly dark hair slick with his arousal, his dick starting to peek beneath it's hood. "Don't tease me now love." He whines out the last word, buzzing nerves threatening to force his thighs to close, but his need for you outweighs the embarrassment of exposing himself like this.

You're between his legs in a second, hiking his thighs on your shoulders and feeling the hard earned muscles tense around your ears. "Alright, alright." Is the last words you say before starting to really worship him, his hand brushing your hair as you press your face against his cunt.

Your tongue circling his hole and lapping up the slick dripping from it births a relieved and pleased sigh from Kyle's chest. The slow movement of your tongue exploring his pussy lips has his muscles relaxing, forcing him to recline on the bench, the railing of the balcony providing needed support as you slowly circle his hardening dick. You flatten your tongue to give his dick something to rub against, moving your tongue up and down as Kyle's hips twitch to meet your movements, lazily following after the pleasure.

You have no need to rush, listening to his pleased sighs and small little whimpers as you let him set the pace. Kyle can barely see you from how blurry his eyes are, soft sounds leaving his lips as you search out all his pleasure spots like you don't know where they are, like you're doing this for the first and last time; He has to bite his lip to give his thoughts something to latch on to lest his mind drown in the pleasure, embarrassment curling in the spaces of is belly not overtaken with heat at the thought of cumming so fast.

But you can feel how he comes closer and closer to an orgasm by the way his chest heaves, the way more slick continues to trickle from his cunt, staining your chin despite your best efforts to swallow his ichor down. His hand on the back of your hand keys you in to go faster, and without further ado you focus solely on his dick, swirling your tongue around it like it's a lollypop, dipping to lap beneath the hood.

His thighs tense like vices around your ears, threatening to crack your skull— what a wonderful death —is all your mind can think as oxygen slowly depletes, your sole objective to pleasure him. Distantly you can hear him chant your name, thighs shaking and hips twitching to grind his dick against your tongue.

Suddenly you wrap your lips around his length and suck.

His orgasm crashes over Kyle like a wave, pulling him down to drown in the depths of mind-numbing pleasure, sea foam popping in his belly as heat burns in his bones. You mouth opens to swallow all the slick gushing from his cunt and down your jaw, wet hair tickling your face as his shaking thighs clench around your head.

You don't pull away when Kyle's orgasm winds down and his thighs relax. "Sh-ah- shite!" Kyle moans when your tongue returns, feather light flicks against his pulsating walls collecting his slick like you've been in a desert for months. Your name falls from his lips, both a prayer and a curse, his thighs shaking as static dances across his nerves, his hand on his mouth trying to uselessly silence his moans as you lap up his arousal.

He finally manages to gather enough strength to pull your head back, both of you struck dumb by the other. You— by how ruined he looks, lines of mascara down his cheeks from where tears had laid a path, chest heaving and skin turned rich mahogany from ears to collarbones; Kyle — by how debauched you look, the lipstick marks he'd left earlier smudged all across your face, jaw and throat shining with his slick.

Fuck, he's aroused again.

He whimpers your name, tugging your head. "Need you." He whispers, eyes hooded.

In one smooth move you rise to your feet and pick him up, his legs and arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into a kiss, uncaring of his own taste on your tongue. You have just enough sense in your head to make your way to a laying couch close by, putting him down, your heart fluttering at how the feathered robe spreads out around him like a cloud.

"Hurry up," Kyle grumbles, a blush burning his cheeks even more as he splays his legs open for you, cunt clenching around nothing and dick hard as a rock, his arms still firmly wrapped around your neck to keep your mouths close.

You chuckle, the tip of your achingly hard cock kissing his cunt just as you do to his lips, "Breathe in and relax." You grip your dick in one hand to position yourself.

"'m not a bloody virgin." Kyle complains, his entire body so relaxed and pussy so slick that his cunt doesn't offer even a smidgeon of resistance as you push in, both of you groaning as your cock spreads his warm walls open.

"Let me treat you like one." You snort and distract any discomfort he might feel with a kiss, slowly sinking deeper and deeper until your balls rest against his ass, cock throbbing inside his clenching cunt. You stop, resting your forehead against his as you wait him to adjust.

Kyle breathes out a small grumble, "Only if you move." His leg wraps around your waist, heel digging into your back to force your hips to shift.

You grin and kiss him again, swallowing his moans when you pull back a bit and push your cock back in, his cunt greedily swallowing you back in and clenching around you like it doesn't want to let you go. But Kyle shifts his hips to meet your thrusts half way, his nails clawing scratches into your back when you start moving quicker.

"Oh, fuck- yes!- like that, just-" Kyle pants into your mouth, eyes hooded and unfocused, pleasure gnawing on his nerves as every deep thrust nails a pleasure spot inside him, the veins of your cock scrapping his sensitive walls, his slick wetting both of your pubes. He jumps the second you reach down to stroke his dick between two of your fingers, timing it to stroke down every time you bottom out inside him, the air around you filled with the scent of sex and Kyle's sweet moans and chants of your name.

"Fuck, I'm close." You warn as you increase your pace, your entire body buzzing with pleasure. "Do you want it inside?" You ask, biting your lips and trying to stave off your orgasm.

"Shite- yes, yes, yes-" Kyle throws his back as his orgasm sneaks up on him for the second time, slick warm walls clamping down on your flesh like vices as he cums. You follow suit soon after, bottoming out as you cum inside him.

You're both breathless and sweaty as you shift him around so you're not crushing him when you lay down, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes close as you listen to his breathing, and you swear you could fall asleep if his hands didn't brush your hair, scratching the back of your neck until you force your eyes open.

His smiling face greets you, soft and warm like the sun, "Thank you love." He grins, tugging you into a quick and soft kiss.

"Thank you." You hum, making him laugh a little. You lay there just enjoying the sound of the sea and the chirping birds for a bit. Then you feel him shift, grinding his hips back onto your soft cock still inside him. "Kyle?" You ask, your cock hardening slowly despite the pain of overstimulation.

"Think you can go again?" There's an impish smirk on his handsome face as he grinds his hips again, every bit a demanding god as he pulls you back into a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth.

And you wouldn't dare refuse him. . .

#new year new me eh?#cod mw2 #x reader #top male reader #male reader #Centerpieces of the Hoard #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle gaz smut #kyle gaz x reader #cod x male reader #cod modern warfare #cod smut #ftm character #kyle garrick x male reader

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