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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Some Fluff, Talk of Death/Afterlife, Suggested Depression, Suggested Self-Harm, Suggested Breakdown, Suggested Anxiety, Light Smut

Word Count: 3.7K

“I recognized you instantly. All of our lives flashed through my mind in a split second. I felt a pull so strongly towards you that I almost couldn't stop it.” ― J. Sterling

It was a hot and humid day. The type of days Miguel hates the most in September because the heat made him uncomfortable and the humidity made his hair frizzy and lose its shape. It was even worse while sitting in a stuffy classroom with ACs that never worked. The rooms were always filled with the strong smell of teenage bodies and dust from janitorial neglection over the summer months. In addition, the beginning weeks of school were a bore with nothing to actually do but sit there and listen to underpaid teachers repeat the same school rules they hear in the beginning of every school semester.

He was sure he was about to fall asleep at that moment. The heat made him drowsy and the monotone voice of his teacher morphed into white noise. It was nearing the end of the day anyways, and too early into the school year for any teachers to give enough of a shit to write anyone up. He couldn’t take another second of school expectations and the disgusting mix of AXE body spray and floral perfume. But, now when he thinks back on that boring class, he can’t take it on himself to fully hate it. Because, in the same second that he looked toward the clock above the door to check the time, his life changed forever.

It was instant. Maybe not instant instant, but it was just quick enough to call it instant. She had come in late. Very late with a chest that heaved and tried to keep her rapidly beating heart in her body. Sweat made the front pieces of her hair stick to her face, flushed from the way she had run down the hall to make it to class. Of course, in that moment Miguel found her less than ideal, but he knows now that even in that stuffy school uniform the academy mandated every student to wear, she was the most beautiful goddamn thing that walked the entire earth. And when she spoke to give her name for attendance, a voice and name that will haunt Miguel until he takes his last breath, he knew their lives would be forever intertwined.

That thought was concrete the second you had walked down the same row of desks as him, stopping at the desk directly in front of him. The smell of sweetness and a bit of sweat, a smell that only comes to him in the early mornings when he isn’t really awake or asleep, instantly overpowered any other smell in the room. If he skips ahead, he can remember nearly every instance in which he leaned his stomach against the hard edge of the desk to get a stronger smell, everytime he held up a piece of your hair to his face, everytime he snuck out of your bedroom window smelling like you after spending the night making love. But, Miguel is a man who follows a strict timeline, who revels in the chronological order of things.

Instead, he focuses on the first time he had the chance to talk to you. Despite you being only a desk away, it took a few months to hold an actual conversation that was more than, “Do you have an extra pencil?” or “Did you write down the last bullet of that slide?” Despite the lack of communication, the younger Miguel had developed a slight crush on you. He had seen you in the halls between classes and he focused more on you than on the board in class. In all honesty, the delay in conversation was purely your fault. You were an energetic girl, not popular but well known. Someone was always talking to you at your desk in the beginning and end of class. Always laughing with you about something stupid that happened early that day, always asking for help for an upcoming test or assignment, always taking up your time. He could never be mad about it, though. Even if it meant he had lost an extra few months with you. It was okay because even if those months weren’t with you, they were of you. Months filled with the sound of your voice, the addicting sound of your laugh, the glimpses of your smile and shiny eyes. Moments that fill his head when he sleeps at night and when he gets lost in a daydream.

You had turned to him, asking him about some party one of his friends at the time was planning because he had turned 18. They’re simple, small questions: “What was the address again?”, “Anyone is invited, right?”, “What’s the dress code? Is there a theme?”, “Are you going?”. He had to bite his tongue to stop from scaring you off with manic answers. Yes, anyone is invited but don’t bring some random guy with you. Bring me with you instead. The dress code doesn’t matter because you’ll look stunning in anything you wear. I only want to go if you go.

“You… only want to go if I go?” You had asked. Your voice was decorated with a confused giggle and your ears had glowed pink.

Miguel blinked up at you with his own confusion. He had yet to realize his last words had bubbled out of his chest until you were giggling and eyeing him shyly. He was quick to cover his face as it grew warm, and he let out a groan while cursing himself. You had laughed harder then, eyes shining with a build-up of tears as you clutched your stomach. Miguel had spread his fingers slightly so he could peak through them. You were a sight to behold with that enchanting laughter and infatuating smile. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling against his palms. When you had finally reduced your amusement to a toothy smile, you had gently pried Miguel’s hands off his face just enough to see him.

He was sure he looked stupid, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide over the fact you were touching him. Your hands were warm and small against his and he swore his heart was trying to rip open his chest so it could run to you. He almost went dizzy when your thumb stroked his hands in a comforting manner in hopes of easing his embarrassment. He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. Would you have minded? God he really hoped you wouldn’t.

“Miguel?” You sang, a teasing smile on your face as you looked at him, “Are you there?”

Say it again. Say my name again, please. You’re the only person ever allowed to say it ever again. God, he was losing his mind. He still is losing it over you. Every goddamn day. Miguel doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. You took it from him. His mind, his body, his soul. You took everything from him. It’s yours. It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

Please, give it back to me.

When he had finally responded to you, your smile had shone brighter and you asked him a question that still leaves his mind dumbstruck when he thinks back on it: What time do you want to pick me up? He remembers the way his breath flew out of his lungs, how his heart had paused and then started running again. Remembers the way your throat bobbed slightly, probably because you had regretted asking the question or maybe, he hopes this is why because he never thought to ask you, maybe because you were nervous too. Just maybe you had wanted to talk to him before this life altering moment. Maybe, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were tied to this fool of a boy too.

He had stuttered out a pathetic ‘what?’ and you had rolled your eyes playfully in response. You ditched repeating the question and had instead given him a time and your address before getting up as the bell rang. While you walked out the door with a small wave and big smile, Miguel sat there in an astonished daze blinking at the board. Time seemed to stop as everyone else around him started walking past him to their next classes. It wasn’t until his friend walked past, jolting him with a slap on the back and a whispered, ‘good work, dude’ before walking out the door that he came back to his senses. It was only then that the conversation finally registered in Miguel’s dazzled brain. He leaned forward and hid his face in his hands again as he closed his eyes and his mouth formed a large smile.

He had a date. He had a date with you.

His shoulders shook with a silent, delirious laugh.

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Miguel knew he was in love. Or, he knew he was going to be in love. It’s complicated to describe, that nagging feeling that wasn’t exactly scary but wasn’t completely comforting either. It’s even weirder feeling it. Having your mind constantly crying out go home, go home, go home but your body pulls you away from every building and straight towards another body like you’re tethered together. Like he’s tethered to you. Sometimes, when Miguel closes his eyes and really concentrates, he can still feel that sharp tug at the center of his chest that tries to bring him somewhere that he tries to get further and further away from.

He can’t lie and say it wasn’t the big things that made him think, know, he was in love. Because it was. But it was also the small things. Like when you found out what his favorite color was, yellow despite popular belief, and how you had come into school the next week with your nails done in the exact shade you had made him show you on his phone. Or that time he had seen your phone light up in class and your display had revealed that you were listening to the same song he was mumbling under his breath the day before on repeat. It was the collection of those small details that made his heart beat a bit faster and for his smile to tick up behind his hand.

And it was that first kiss. That damned first kiss that Miguel can still feel ghosting against his lips. That he feels on his bad days like some sort of silent encouragement that he will get through it. Swears those phantom lips are what pulls him out of his night terrors as if to protect him as he pants and cries in those late hours. The same kiss that he wishes he could feel forever and ever and simultaneously burn from memory. Sometimes, he thinks about pulling some poor, unsuspecting stranger off the street and kissing them to see if it would feel the same. When he thinks like that, he instantly goes to the bathroom and dry heaves until his throat hurts. Of course it would never feel the same, what a silly idea. What a betrayal and discourtesy towards you to even entertain the idea.

The kiss had happened weeks after the party. In between those two moments had been brushed hands, glances in the hallways, and not so subtle flirting whispered during lessons. Each moment had Miguel’s face flushing and heart racing. It left him with a craving for you. So, when you had invited him to study with you in the library, he had eagerly nodded despite knowing he would ace the test without looking over any of his notes. He would be too busy looking at you either way to focus on his chicken scratch.

You hadn’t gotten much studying done that day either. Instead, Miguel had distracted you with whispered words in your ears that caused you to quietly giggle and smile up at him. He can remember every detail. From the way your cheeks grew to match the pink of your lips, how you had fiddled with the mechanical pencil in your hand, how your eyes had twinkled as you leaned towards him. He remembers how you had grabbed his hand, a soft and gentle touch, asking him to come with you to find a book you needed. Remembers how you had pulled him towards the back shelves filled with encyclopedias with bug-bitten pages. Can still remember the slight dizzy feeling he had when you pulled him around one of the old bookshelves and pressed him into it. Can still feel the hands pressed against his chest to hold him in place as you peaked around the corner in case anyone was coming over. He remembers the notes he chuckled as he asked you what you were doing. Can see the smile you gave him before you pulled him down for the only kiss that will ever matter in his entire life.

Your lips were soft and tasted like the cherry lip gloss you wore. He had furrowed his brows as his hands came to squeeze your waist while he moved his mouth over yours. He memorized the trail your hands took as they traveled up his chest and tangled in his hair. He can replicate the way his vocal cords shifted as he let out that satisfied groan when you allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth. If he were to look down at his hand right now, he could swear the creases of his palms still have your sticky gloss stuck in them from when he had turned you around to press you against the shelves, but his desperation caused books to fall and his hand went to cover your mouth as you pulled away and started laughing. He had smiled down at you and buried his head in the crook of your neck to muffle his own laughter. He never regretted getting detention for the next few days when the librarian had found the both of you. It just gave him more chances to kiss you when the detention instructor fell asleep.

It was during one of those detention kisses that he had whispered against your lips to be his girlfriend. You had answered with another kiss and a delighted yes.

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It had been a month or two after the one year anniversary that he finally made love to you. It was sometime in the later months of senior year. Another hot and humid day. But instead of being in a classroom, he had been in your room. Miguel remembers that your sheets had been white with a small flower print, throw pillows and blankets making up for the lack of color. They were soft under the material of his jeans as he held you while you cried.

On that day, your usually clean room was in shatters. Things ripped from your walls, notebooks and papers shoved off your desk, clothes taken off hangers and thrown on the floor. The only things that had survived had been pictures of the two of you and your bed. He had gotten a call from your frantic mother, begging him to come calm you down. That he was the only one that can get through the fog in your mind. He had rushed over, your mother opening the door for him so he could run up the stairs to your room. When he had thrown open the door, his chest broke in a way that made it almost impossible to breathe. He rubs his chest whenever he thinks back to it, like the heartbreak is still there.

You had thrown yourself in a corner, sobbing and rocking yourself back and forth in a way to seek comfort. The mess of your room had surrounded you, barricading you from everything else. When the door knocked into the wall, your face had left your arms and tear-beaded lashes blinked up at him. You had cried harder when you had seen him. He had strived towards you, picking you up easily off the ground and away from the chaos on your floor. He cradled you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his hips as you cried tears into his T-shirt. He had whispered soft, caring words into your ear, an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand in your hair.

You had cried for another hour, hiccuping watery words about a scary future. A life of uncertainties and insecurities. A life where you ended up alone and scared and desperate to get by. A world where dreams don’t exist and your greatest fears consume you. Days where you don’t know how to get out of bed and shut up the nasty voices in your head. Minutes where you’re tempted to listen to them and then the hours that follow where you hate yourself for contemplating it. If Miguel were to go into his closet right now, he can find the same shirt he wore. A single shoulder lingering with black splotches of mascara that never fully washed away. Each splotch represents a worry you had trusted him with.

He had pressed you closer to him, whispering ‘it’s not your fault’, over and over and over again until his throat ached and your cries had died down to soft trembling. Another hour was spent in silence as he had just held you. His hands playing mindlessly with your hair and your breath tickling his neck. The sun had begun to set and a golden glow had lit up your bed in a yellow color.

“It’s your favorite shade,” You had whispered in a broken voice. It was scratchy and rough. Miguel thought it sounded just as lovely as it always has. It reminds him of a pipe organ, beautiful but sad.

He had to turn around to see what you were talking about. He turned his head slightly to see your hand outstretched, fingers playing as the light spilled from them. He can’t remember a time where you looked so peaceful. He had watched your hand, before nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, it is.”

He reached his hand out, taking a hold of yours gently and connecting his fingers with yours like a puzzle. He brought his hands back towards the both of you, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. He watched your eyes, red and puffy from crying. He held your hand to his mouth for a while, his thumb stroking the skin. When he had finally dropped your hand, you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his, just staring into his eyes. Your scent instantly filled his nose. It is the same smell that he has stored in his bedside drawer in a glass bottle. He never sprays it in his room, just holds it to his nose with closed eyes and pretends you’re right next to him again.

“I love you.” The words were sweet and poured warmth onto his skin. He closed his eyes and sat there, letting your words echo in his head until he memorized how each letter and syllable sounded when it left your lips.

Miguel remembers the strength he used to grab your waist as he connected your lips to his. Remembers that the kiss was different from any other kiss the two of you had shared before this. He still can’t describe why it was different, but he can still feel it in his bones. He remembers pushing his body into yours and you pushing back. Even though his eyes were closed in the moment, he can see everything clearly in his mind, as if he were a phantom watching it. Can see the exact placement of your hands on his shoulders, can see the way your lips parted and the soft noise you made when he had flipped the two of you over and laid you on your back.

Those soft, soft noises that split his chest open so his heart can absorb them and keep them safe. He remembers every soft pant and plead you had whispered into the air of your room as he stripped you of your clothes, kissing trails down your body. The giggle you had let out when he almost tripped taking off his pants is still trapped between those plaster walls. The soft feeling of your skin under his was like a cloud, your body warmth the sun. He remembers the halo your hair made as the dying sunlight bathed your face and caused your eyes to shine and for your skin to glow. He remembers the light dimming from your face as he slid slowly into you. He had immediately apologized as you whimpered in temporary pain.

He had slowly moved inside you, taking his time as you held him close to your body. The soft moans of his name traveled through shivers that rode down his spine, the sounds quiet to not alert your parents. His response was the repeated saying of I love you, over and over again. He repeated it, looking down at your face, into your eyes, so you could see the realness and vulnerability of the words. He made sure you felt it as he grabbed onto your skin and buried his head into your neck as he thrusted. He felt the love you had for him in every scratch down his back and tightening of your walls around him.

He remembers trying to hold on to his pleasure before it exploded right after yours. He had panted as he looked down at you, your breaths mixing together. He had kissed you softly as he pulled his softening member out of you and you smiled against his lips. He had laid with you for a while before getting up, grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping you down before taking you into his arms again and falling asleep. He held you close to his chest, both of you naked under your blankets as the moonlight glowed against the two of you.

The next morning, he drove you to the closest drug store. The both of you walked to the counter smelling like each other as he paid for a Plan B pill and snacks. It was a story you and him laughed about on the rooftop of your house the night you both graduated from Pym Academy.

CHAPTER 2- THEN: THE CANON

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sid3buns · 1 year ago

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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Aɴʏ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ ɪs ᴜʟᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴀ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ғᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇss, ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#trigun stampede #trigun 98 #vashwood #vash the stampede #wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #it's tuesday and it's angst o clock #i make the rules #baniart

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spextr1m · 7 months ago

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Enemies to Lovers with... Joker aka Ren Amamiya!!

A/n: I wrote this at 6 AM yall

Contains: MASSIVE spoilers, ew Kamoshida, Shido's a shit, Reader being dense ANNND a simp

GN! Reader (Referred as "You" later "They/them")

-You're confused.

-When they gossiped about the new kid and referred him as "Punk kid" you imagine him being more scarier only you've met a timid dude with a criminal record, you like the rest would've get intimidated and stay away from him.

-Not to mention, Kamoshida gives you an ick especially what he did to girls

-Everytime Ren tries to approach you, you either flinched or ran away because you're worried that he'll rat you out to Kamoshida.

-After Kamoshida's heart changed, you're also 100% confused about Kamoshida so you'd think that it has to be a joke that there's no way someone is capable of changing hearts like admitting the crimes.

-The more Phantom Thieves have more members the more you're even more surprised (Although you secretly envies that you want to be part of them).

-You got this thinking, does Ren felt the same as you or...

-Nope, it's definitely one sided while you're scared of his reputation but he just teases the hell out of you.

-When he approaches only you squeaked which he finds it amusing.

-Of course, Ann will knock your sense out that Ren's more than the criminal

-"How am I supposed to know??" "He didn't do wrong!"

-You're also type of person who freaked out when Ren's gaze is so intense that your soul exits your body which also freaks out others about your shenanigans.

-But why's your heart beats so fast when it comes to him?

-Guess Ann's words struck on you.

-Ren will spend his time with you if you let him and show who he really is, so you accepted it bit reluctant. However you're shocked that he shows his different side to you, you're now convinced that he's innocent and Ann's influence cause you to become more opening to him.

-The more you spent your times with him, the more your heart beats so faster so bad that you want to kiss his grinning face but worries that he's not gonna like you back.

-But if you're in Metaverse, of course the dude will PROTECT you like a knight.

-Ironically Phantom Thieves adopt you and you're closest to Ann

-Of course you confess your confusing feelings to Ann that when you like his voice because it's soothing to hear unlike Morgana Crowds blocking their own thoughts then you wish that you want to help him so sooner if it weren't for Shido.

-Of course, Ann will help you out and now proud that you're accepting him as a person.

-Only you accidentally blunder that Ren is so pretty and looks handsome especially his grinning face to wipe it out to your other friend yk what's funnier

-He actually heard it.

-"I knew you like me so sooner." You notice a shadow towering you which makes your other friend nudging you out of "Way to go dude, you confessed your love to him" which you look at him with a biggest grin you've ever seen in your life.

"Damn it I thought I was sneaky!" Their face now have red dusting and their hands lightly balled fist, oh boy you're now redder than the usual.

-And yes, you two are now a thing because he stole your first kiss by kissing your lips (with consent ofc)

-You ended up defending him when someone threatens you about you dating a criminal.

-When you see him being badly beaten up, you're so worried that you want to punch someone in the face.

-Ever since Shido's now in bars, he's now freed man which you can't help but to cry in tears with happiness that your wishes.

#Ren Amamiya x Reader #I wrote it at 6 o clock #Akira Kurusu #Ren Amamiya #Persona 5 protagonist #phantom thieves #Phantom Thief #Persona 5 Joker x reader #X reader #Headcanons #Imagines #Light angst

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tyunniebbang · 3 months ago

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pretty people downtown | k.sn

pick your poison — love, lust, passion. who knows what i did it for?

a/n: this is my take on the stereotypical femme fatale role for sunoo <3. i don't really see anyone writing him with such a character yet it fits him so well! manipulative sexy sunoo should be something we explore more ;)

wc: ~800

warnings/notes: gender neutral!reader, extremely flirty sunoo, lots of nicknaming (sweetheart, honey, etc.), discussion about crimes, slightly suggestive

"kim sunoo, age 21. born in south korea, moved to LA when he was 10. his family history is largely unknown. he's listed as unemployed, but he's been seen around many bars downtown with men and women alike."

god, you might have a big case on your hands right now. and it all came wrapped with a ribbon nicely for you, in the form a blonde young man, sitting elegantly in the interrogation room.

you huff, trying to amp yourself up for a tough mental fight coming ahead. there's no saying on how much he'll talk, so you might end up in there for a long time. nothing rousing in this line of work, you suppose.

checking all your files are present, everything in place, you walk towards the door and get interrupted right before that knob tweaks open. "detective, you know he might be just the one we're looking for." you glance back at your colleague. "be careful, y/n. he's not gentle as you think he is."

"kim sunoo. do you know why you're here today?"

the blank face finally turns to you, perhaps getting some interest in you and your words. those eyes, they bore into you relentlessly and glisten with intrigue.

and he slumps back into the chair.

seriously, is he going to play the silent game?

you had to get something out of this beauty today, no matter what it took. so you continued, "sunoo-ssi. this isn't a laughing matter. you've been accused as a suspect for multiple connected murders. you could end up behind bars for decades."

he immediately shoots his arrow: "the only place i'll like to end up is in someone's bed, preferably yours."

"e-excuse me?" saving yourself from choking from his bold words, you would've never expected this pretty boy's first words to be like this.

what are you thinking, he isn't pretty! he's a suspect for god's sake, get your head in the game...

well, his outfit doesn't help his case. he's in an all black ensemble: a tight fitting turtle neck, a black skirt and fish nets. his earlobes, neck, fingers all adorned with various silver accessories. who dresses like this anymore? it's 2pm for heaven's sake, you think it's more likely to see someone like this at 2am.

sunoo hums, inching closer and closer to you. even if he looks slightly cute with his chubby cheeks and pale skin, you can't shake off the constant uneasiness that he gives you. this man is dangerous - you conclude, why does one singular person give you such the creeps that gnaws at you consistently?

"you can stop trying to read me sugar, it won't work."

"i wasn't—"

"shhh. honey, sometimes beautiful people look the prettiest when they don't open their mouth, hm?"

immediately, your body betrays itself as you feel your cheeks heating up to a crimson red. you hesitate at the finger pressed on your lips right now, mouth sealed shut. is it even normal to feel this flustered when you get complimented by a criminal?

he doesn't even care. he doesn't care that he's sitting in an investigation room, with possibly heaps of crimes stacked up against him. that he may very well end up in jail, with a criminal record, guilty of all the most heinous crimes. he doesn't care — and that annoys you to no end.

all kim sunoo cares about is getting into your pants?

this sly, seductive son of a bitc—

"tell me, y/n. what makes you think i came here to confess a crime?"

...he knows your name.

creepy, you admit. most people who sit in that chair usually want nothing to deal with you, and yet sunoo himself has defied all expectations in the first 10 minutes of meeting him.

"y-you... you think you're innocent? don't lie, sunoo-ssi. it's not a good track record."

"oh but i have a clear one. you have nothing on me, don't you? don't fool me with those thick files. i know the laws inside out, y/n." he spits.

"you've clearly been looking everywhere for your suspect, and suddenly one shows up at your doorstep? come on sweetheart, i know you're smarter than this. i've only appeared because i wanted to." he scoffs, gazing into the one way glass behind you. "it's just amusing watching your team run around in circles before you closed this case cold."

this man's domineering aura is glowing brighter and brighter every second, even though you thought he was already intimidating when you first walked in. it feels like a prey getting trapped in their own trap. you've made one for kim sunoo, so why does it feel like you're the one losing and drowning?

you drop speechless on your seat, unable to find an answer for his little monologue.

"though... you're a fairly beautiful person, love. i wouldn't mind talking to you afterwards, hm? wouldn't you love to know what happens when i mingle with pretty people downtown?"

#enhypen fics #enha fics #enha x reader #kim sunoo #kim sunoo fics #enhypen sunoo #enha sunoo #sunoo fics #kim sunoo angst #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #i'm still fairly new to tagging... lmk if i need to add anything else 🥴#anyways PHEW i finished this small story!#is this even a story?#the inspiration came from sunoo's acting in en o clock...#and the masks that he changes sometimes... damn sunoo #hehe hope yall enjoy this!#sunoo imagines #sunoo angst

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xylathesilkwing · 6 months ago

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Alan Wake 1 enemies: spooky! occasional jumpscare! Just gotta shine them with my light and take them down do do do

Alan Wake 2: why do they bleed.

#hearing shadow people say WAKE and ALAN WAKE and DO YOU HEAR ME is NOT how I wanted to spend my 9 o clock #yet here we are #the entire time in the dark place I was biting my lips in fear oh my GOD #I’d take hiking over the dark place any day #the atmospheres between each game are so different too!!#one is a thriller/slightly scary game with a few jump scares and chilling moments #as well as angst and the longing of one’s partner #while this game is HORRIFYING #walking in a forest at night and hearing mumbled and warbles.#watching someone possessed lumber at at you while you sit in the light.#SHADOW PEOPLE GRABBING YOU #the longing and angst is amplified too btw #like Alan watching Alice talk about being haunted by someone who wasn’t him?? Mr. SCRATCH being around and in her home??#I felt Alan’s longing the entire time I was in their apartment bro I love them come back alan and alice #this game is a HORROR game I am so READY to FINISH IT #(I just started)#alan wake #alan wake 2 #alice wake #saga Anderson #Alex Casey #yeah why DO they bleed #why did they go from completely shadow people to bloody guys

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ask-albatross-senyuu · 1 year ago

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How have you guys been lately? How has the new season been treating you?

If you're referring to F5 then some oxygen would be swell right about now :^)

#senyuu #my art #albatross #senyuu f5 #アルロス #戦勇。#戦勇 #alba fruhling #senyuu ross #senyuu memes #answered asks #senyuu ask blog #boss senyuu #senyuu natsu #digital art #everyone is drawing angst so this is damage control #shitpost o clock

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modpoppy · 3 months ago

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simon ripping the fulbright mask off himself bc it was less the physical literal mask the phantom wore and more the metaphorical mask of his idea of fulbright and how he represented the hope blackquill had for survival (ironically, ripping the mask off frees his eyes to see the Truth, that the phantom was right there, and that he did not really need him for his freedom, it was the tearing of the mask itself he needed)

#blackquill sweetie its time for your 2 o clock angst #timposting again

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theloonatic · 1 year ago

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(Story!Posting)

@kakarshov @yes-i-exist-shutup if I lose my shit writing a line yall do too

#its angst o clock on the gay blog #shut eye town #original story

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flamie-42 · 1 year ago

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Chuuya wasn’t sad that Dazai left the Port Mafia

In fact he was happy!

He went out drinking to celebrate.

He was happy that bastard didn’t ask him to leave too

It was better without him.

That is until he got home.

Where no one could see.

And he let himself cry into the coat that Dazai had left behind along with Chuuya

#sorry it was angst o clock #tehee :3 #soukoku #skk #soukoku angst #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara

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cherryredstars · 1 year ago

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Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Arguments, Insecurity, Angst/Comfort, Angst, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 6.1k

“I tried to hate you, to forgive you, all just to forget you, but I'm only capable of loving you. You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.” ― Mirella Muffarotto

Part 1

For all the years he shared with you, he knows that there were only three serious fights.

The rest were playful things, more teasing than argumentative. Tiny jabs that were paired with wide smiles and not-so-subtle giggles. The first fight was the summer after you and he graduated from the academy, weeks before the two of you were about to go off to college. Miguel had chosen to stay in-state, getting a full ride scholarship to a prestigious school and an internship level job at Alchemax. On the other hand, you had gotten accepted to your dream school in a state over. It was a 4 hour drive, 8 hours to and back. The both of you had pushed the subject away during high school, the technicality of it not seeming concrete at the time. Neither of you wanted to think about how you’d go from seeing each other every week to maybe a few times a month. But, the closer and closer summer began to end, the more the unspoken tension grew.

It had been a burst of insecurity on both of your ends. Miguel was scared that you’d find someone new with your time away, that you’d forget about him between your studies and the new people you’d undoubtedly attract. Meanwhile, you feared holding Miguel back. You had never been as smart as him, and you didn’t want to be a burden for him to worry about with all the distance between the two of you. He was already so much more successful than you, and it pained you to think you’d be the reason he never reached his full potential. The worry and tension built up until it exploded.

It was a horrible mess of regretful words and sharp jabs. Untrue accusations and yelling that echoed in the small space of Miguel’s beat up car. A combination of Miguel's frustrated slams against the wheel and your aggravated hiccups. When you had stormed out of the car with a harsh slam of the door, Miguel drove off as a newly single man. It was a rough break up that left the both of you depressed and grumpy, unsure how a good year of love could end with one argument. Both of you were young and naive, still thinking love wasn't meant to have these challenges. The thoughts that surely if you fought it wasn't meant to be, that no good, long-lasting relationship would have strong arguments.

When the two of you went off to college, the remains of the argument was pushed to the back of your minds. It was hidden behind after-lecture hangouts and time consuming assignments. But in the late nights stuck in dorm rooms or when both of you needed someone to talk to and rant about your frustrations, the loneliness and emptiness of each other burned strong. Miguel spent those lonely moments on his phone, smiling sadly at old videos of the two of you, fingers zooming in to catch all the small details frozen in time through pictures. But those peaceful reminiscences would not last long, that sharp twist of his heart resurfacing and he would feel your absence stronger.

Even with all that hurt, he could not bring himself to try to get rid of it. He clutched onto it like a lifeline, clinging onto it like a child refusing to give up his favorite toy. It was the only real reminder he had of you with you so far away. Even if he did want to get rid of it, he physically and mentally couldn't. The mere thought of him touching someone, of trying to connect to someone the same way you connected with him, made him sick. It made bile burn at his throat and forced him to spend hours in his shitty apartment with his annoying roommate. His friends practically joked that he was a nun, refusing to flirt with girls at parties and got disgusted at the talk of porn. In reality, you had consumed his mind, altered the way he perceived the world so strongly, that he found anything not involving you unworthy of his time.

How could he indulge in those things when you had shown him how much better they could be. How could he like the way some random bar girl brushed against his arm when your touch made his skin glow and for electricity to shoot up his arm? How could he want to spend a single night with any girls when he had spent thousands with you in the comfort of your room. When you offered him more than nights of love making, giving him someplace warm to rest and be cared for. How could he find enjoyment in staged videos when you had given him the real sensations of pleasure and the beauty of your noises? Any free moment on his mind was you. You, and you, and you, and you again.

It was the biggest relief for Miguel, and the rest of his friends and family, when you had returned home for the summer. He had found out from a mutual friend and he took the chance to see you during a group hangout. It was no surprise to the rest of his friends when the two of you instantly reconnected again. Miguel couldn’t help but be sucked into your orbit again, gravitating to your side at every opportunity and desperately trying to spark conversation. The longing and happiness radiated off the both of you so strongly that he was sure the whole establishment felt it. It wasn’t much of a surprise when the two of you went missing sometime later, escaping into an empty alleyway where the faintest noises echoed off the brick walls.

The both of you agreed it would be a summer fling, a way to get rid of any lingering feelings for each other. The summer fling turned into an off-and-on relationship during the school year, until Miguel showed up to your college sometime during the 3rd year and called it quits. He had pushed you into your apartment in a fiery kiss, begging you between desperate kisses to take him back fully, to stop giving him his heart back because it only ever belonged to you. That night both of you were thankful that your roommate was studying abroad. He had you pinned to the bed until the both of you were too sore to move, blissfulness covering your bodies as he clung tightly to you. He never knew a greater peace than being in your arms, your soft hands delicately ruining his hair even more. Late into the night, he had apologized into your neck, saying everything he wished he said on the night of the argument. You had done the same, giving him soft kisses over his face and pulling him more into you.

When Miguel finally went to sleep that night, he vowed to himself that he would never argue with you like that again. He wouldn’t lose you. Not again.

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The second fight was years later.

Miguel had been acting differently, more distant. He came home later, was hesitant to touch you when he used to go crazy if he wasn’t glued to your side. He never really looked at you anymore, not being able to handle eye contact for more than a few seconds before turning away from you. Miguel knew it was suspicious, too sudden to not be. One day he was the loving, doting man you had known for years, and then the next he was practically a stranger living with you. And every time, every goddamn time you tried to help, to reach out to him, to remind him you were there to share his troubles; he would lash out. He would get angry, push away from you and isolate himself more. It hurt. It hurt that he was hurting. It hurt that he knew you were hurting. It hurt that you also felt like he was gone even though he was in the same home.

A month of this behavior had you fed up. This time, you told yourself you would push. You didn’t try your resigned smiles and hoped giving him more space would bring him closer. You would push, and push, and push. You had stayed up that night, nursing a cup of wine as you stared at the TV. Miguel doesn’t think you were really paying attention to what was on, just watching a collection of colors shift until the sound of his key in the knob broke through the low volume. You hadn’t turned to him when he entered, you had sat silently as he placed his things away. He was aware of your presence, even from outside the front door, but he still was surprised to find you awake. His darling angel, a woman he has never deserved, searching for the answers to his behavior in the late hours between burgundy sips. He stood there, keeping his distance before sighing and moving towards the bathroom.

You had gotten up to follow him when he tried to walk away, the wine glass long forgotten on the coffee table. As you chased him, you let all the words and feelings you had bottle up flow from your mouth. You had questions on questions for him: Why won’t you talk to me? Why are you acting like this? Why are you always out so late? Why won’t you just look at me? The questions stabbed at Miguel and he walked faster to get away from the sound of your voice. He could feel a headache forming, everything was becoming too loud: your voice, the noise of cars, the sound of his own fucking steps.

He didn’t realize what he was doing in the moment, the tingling awareness and sensations blending into one. He didn’t realize the sound and the spike running through his body was you. He didn’t realize how hard he gripped your wrist when you had moved your hand out to stop his fast walking. Didn’t know how powerful he was when he pushed you into the wall in the hallway. Not until the loud thud multiplied in his ears. Not until he felt the awful warmth of your skin under his bruising fingers. Not until his eyes fully focused on your face. Not until that awful sob tore through your throat.

Miguel never knew how badly someone would want to kill themselves until that very moment. Seeing the way your tear-filled eyes stared up at him, the way he knew an imprint of his fingers would stain your wrist. Knowing the way he hurt you and had made you cry. A panic seized his chest and he quickly dropped your wrist. His arms had wrapped around you, pushing your face into his shirt to try to dampen the noises of your sobs. His comfort made you cry harder, and he wished he could take his newly developed claws and use them to tear himself to shreds for hurting you. He had whispered in your ear sad apologies, praying that you would forgive him. He had asked, in a voice so broken and so foreign to anything he’d ever spoken, to not be scared of him. You can be anything you want, he had pleaded, just don’t be scared of me.

“This is the first time in a month that you’ve willingly touched me, Miguel.”

His mind had blanked at the hiccup filled response. He almost wished you were scared of him. Wished that whatever he did could be easily fixed and resolved. That he only hurt you in a single moment, not over such a long period of time. He wished that he could turn back time and prevent all of this. Wished that the solution to this problem wasn’t the one thing he feared the most. Wished, with everything in him, that he was someone else. Someone who deserved you and someone who didn’t hurt you the way he’s hurt you. He didn’t hold back the slow mumbles of repeated 'sorry's, petting the soft locks of your hair as you shook against his frame. His eyes had begun to sting, and he felt the sharp points of his canines digging into his lip.

“I have to tell you something, cariño.”

You had let out a watery laugh at that, half-heartedly joking that he was going to tell you that he wanted to break up. Miguel didn’t have the energy to fake his own laugh or smile, instead bending down to pick you up. His arms rested under your knees and back as he carried you to the comfort of your bed. His side was unusually cold despite him sleeping in it. Over the month, he was the last to get in and the first to get out. Now, he goes back to the usual routine. He lifts the covers to your side, placing you down before he scoots in besides you. Your arms instantly wrap around him again, a pleased sigh leaving you as his hand rubs up and down the length of your back. He had laid there silently, letting you enjoy the time and touch he selfishly took from you. His body felt lighter than it had in the past month as he held you to him. The smell of you entering his lungs and spreading peace throughout his bloodstream. He doesn’t know how long the two of you laid there before he started talking. Maybe it was 10 minutes, 30, possibly 60?

“Something happened at work a month ago. I… don’t want you to be scared of me.”

He had spoken the words so softly, he wondered if they were only audible to his sensitive ears. But you had turned to face him, an encouraging look in your eyes as you nodded. He had taken a deep breath, one of the many he would take during the conversation. In soft tones, he had recalled the accident. He recalled a neon chemical that caused his skin to burn if he didn't take it. How his thoughts were split between the next time he would get a dose and how to talk to you. His eyes grow distant as he looks back on the memory of a mistake, how the DNA had run through his veins so sharply that he felt like his nerve endings were tearing apart and being reshaped. He hesitantly showed you the new developments on his body, the way he barely talked because his sharpened teeth always catch on his lips, how he’s been so hesitant to touch you because he wasn’t sure if his new claws would retract, showed you the new swirls of red that danced in his brown eyes and glow with emotion.

You had laid silent and Miguel was more than prepared to leave if you asked him to. He had a bag packed under the bed ever since he found out the extent of his now mixed DNA. He was prepared to leave at any sign of your endangerment or if you asked him to. He didn’t want to leave, never wanted to live a life without you, but if you had asked him to, he would. He would do anything for you. Even if it killed him. His life only revolved around you, and it still would if he left your apartment and never returned. Even if the roles were reversed and you were the one to end up leaving.

Your soft hand along his cheek took his attention again, his eyes watching you as you studied him. You had gently pulled his lip back, watching the gleaming point of his fangs. He felt the warmth of your touch travel upwards, massaging the skin under his eyes as your other hand grabbed one of his hands. Miguel had choked on his breath when you pulled it from under the sheets, sharp points spiking from the pads of his fingers. He was about to protest when you brought them to your mouth, but watching in fascinated as they retracted one by one as you pressed kisses to his fingers. When you finished, you grabbed his other hand and did the same thing. He felt the sting in his eyes return and he had to close his eyes tightly to will himself to stop.

“Tell me how to help you. Tell me how you want me to love you so it doesn’t feel like everything has changed.”

Your soft, heartfelt request tore through his heart and he couldn't stop the tear that ran down his cheek. He had held your hand to his face as you brushed away the tear off his face, turning his head to give it a small kiss. He didn’t deserve you. Not like this. Not when you were so caring and lovely and soft. He could never comprehend how lucky he got. How someone was kind enough to drop you amoungst the chaos of his life. Miguel had wrapped his body around your smaller frame, trying to embrace you fully as he felt the remainder of that heavy burden leave his body.

“Love me the same. I just need you, only you.”

When you had agreed and just held him, Miguel felt his heart sing and the wickedness of his new life temporarily retract. He hadn’t lost you.

Not yet.

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The cause of the last argument is muddy in his mind. It’s lost in all the other things that happened that night, his mind finding it irrelevant in the face of the bigger picture. He thinks it was something to do with him being Spiderman. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. He’ll never really know. Maybe it’s better that way.

All he knew was that the both of you were yelling. Knows he was wearing down the wooden floors with his pacing while you stood on the other side of the kitchen island. He knows that both of you were taking turns tugging at your hair, stressed laughs bubbling from each other's throats. He knew the fight was full of interrupted sentences and angered stuttering. He knows whatever the argument was about got you so angry that you stormed out of the house in a huff, grabbing your old coat and boots before slamming the door shut.

Miguel had thrown his hands up in disbelief, shaking his head with a forced scoff. He nervously gnawed at his bottom lip, continuing to pace as he checked the time over the stove repeatedly. Once five minutes hit, enough time for you to hopefully calm down, Miguel rushed to the door and pulled on his own coat before rapidly locking the door and jogging down the hall to the elevator. He had spammed the down button repeatedly, ruffling his hair impatiently and glancing down at his digital watch every few seconds. When the elevator finally arrived, he had pushed past the person trying to exit, ignoring their grumbles while spamming the close door button after selecting the lobby.

Once the doors opened again, Miguel rushed out and quickly scanned the lobby. It was practically empty except for a few people getting home late from work, making Miguel sigh as he went outside to the blistering cold. The cold air instantly turned his nose cold and he grumbled as he buried himself further into his coat. He watched people pass by him, subtly trying to smell for your scent. A deep sigh left him as he came up with nothing, looking down either side of the sidewalk. He couldn’t see you through the late night bustle, rolling his eyes as he started to fall into the flow of the crowd.

A look of displeasure filled his face with each person who pushed past him, wanting nothing more than to find you quickly, apologize, and return to the warmth of your shared apartment. Maybe he’d make something warm for the both of you and cuddle on the couch, maybe exhaust any remaining energy under the new weighted blanket you bought. He smiled slightly at the thought, his hands flexing in his coat pockets as he looked down at the crowd to spot sight of you. A few times he was sure he found you, only to find the slight imperfections that told him it wasn’t actually you. He was about to turn around to see if you went the other way, when he smelled that familiar scent. His eyes lit up at the sight of your head, pushing through the crowd to get closer.

Just as he was about to reach you, he heard it. A low grinding and creaking of metal that was soon followed by screams and mass hysteria. Miguel quickly turned his head around, finding the familiar form of Venture following after him. A sharp curse left Miguel, his head turning to look for you to only find the pushing and shoving of the crowd. He had to bite his lip hard to prevent himself from yelling out your name, scared Venture would pick up his voice and put you in danger. With another curse, Miguel pushed through the crowd and into an empty alleyway. He took a deep breath, momentarily looking at the rush of people passing by for the sight of you. A sharp hiss left his mouth before his suit materialized.

He quickly scaled the side of the building, hiding himself at the top of the rooftop. His eyes still scanned for you desperately, only to meet eyes with Venture. Curse after curse left Miguel’s mouth as the cyborg flew up to him at full speed. Miguel’s teeth clenched hard as he pushed himself off of the ledge of the building, meeting the robot fucker mid-way through the air. The two of them went spiraling to the ground, Venture’s back hitting an abandoned car in the middle of the street. The loud blaring of the alarm slightly disoriented Miguel enough for Venture to push him away, throwing him off the side. His shoulder takes the majority of the impact, a dull pain running up its length as different shoes rush past him.

He isn’t given enough time to get up himself, a hand coming around his neck and throwing him towards a lamp post. A sharp breath leaves his mouth as the impact vibrates through his body. Miguel is temporarily paralyzed, spine throbbing. He pushes himself away just in time to miss Venture’s hard punch. The mental hand dents the spot that was once Miguel’s face, and Miguel runs into the robot’s side to throw him off balance. Miguel’s claws shred through Venture’s clothing, barely ripping through the reinforced metal of his torso. The two take turns swinging and dodging, tumbling on the floor until Miguel’s pinned down. The robotic hand squeezes tight around his neck, his hands coming up to claw at it. He manages to faintly kick Venture off of him, only to find himself flying into a building.

Venture is quick to return to his attack on Miguel, his hand once again around the spider’s neck and dragging him up the length of the building. Miguel continues to struggle until the wall behind him disappears. He goes tumbling backwards, rolling on the landing of the clock tower. A deep groan leaves Miguel as Venture lands a few feet away, walking towards the hero. A deep noise vibrates in his throat as Miguel lunges at him, knocking him backwards. The two continue into a mess of fighting again, harsh hits, loose wires, and blood covering the area. During the tussle, Miguel is able to grab Venture’s weapon, kicking the cyborg away from him as he prepares to deliver his finishing hit.

But, of course, things never go the hero’s way. Because he can hear the metal creaking of stairs and a smell is beginning to seep through his mask. He knows you are there before you even burst through the heavy metal door and call out his name. His eyes widen as he turns towards you, a new panic seizing his being before he’s pulled back into the present by the swooshing of air. He barely dodges as Venture flies towards him. Venture is quick to redirect, grabbing Miguel’s arm and flipping him onto his back. They both begin to wrestle for the weapon, Miguel trying to fight off Venture and yell at you to get away from here. But he can’t focus on the two of you at the same time. If he wants either of you to make it out alive, he has to focus on Venture. Not you.

But he can’t help but curse you out in his head. Of course, the moment he doesn’t want to see you, you're here. Of course you’re in danger because of him. Of course you were fighting over Spiderman and now the two of you find yourself in this situation. Why couldn’t you have just followed the crowd? How did you even know he was there? Did you see Venture drag him up the tower? Did you really need to come up here to check on him? Did you have to care so damn much about him the same way he cares about you? Did you have to put yourself in danger for him? Why couldn’t you have just fucking stayed away? You were mad at him, that's what made you leave the safety of your apartment in the first place. Why. Didn’t. You. Stay. Away.

Maybe then it would have been different. Maybe then you could have changed the canon.

It happened in a flash. It was like a flip book, separate scenes morphing together to create a rapid story. Miguel had pushed away Venture for the last time, the cyborg a mess of popping wires and torn metal. He was so hyper focused, so unaware of everything around him when he had lined up the weapon. He should have been more cautious, should have predicted the blast would be so powerful. But he didn’t. He didn’t make sure you had actually left, and he didn’t prepare himself for the blast.

When he shot the weapon, a hot beam of energy shot out. It sent out a blind light, throwing Miguel back so strongly that he had to dig his nails against the floor to stop himself from falling off. When the power of the blast died down, in place of Venture was nothing but charred metal. A strong ringing filled Miguel’s ears, eyes squinting as he surveyed the area. The shot had cut through two of the beams holding up the clock tower, a low groaning sounding as parts of the ceiling began to cave in. All at once, it gave in, metal and concrete falling to the ground.

And, like everything else today, he heard it before he saw it. He wished he didn’t. Wished he didn’t see or hear anything. Wished he didn’t instinctively look towards the noise and get his heart ripped to pieces. Wished he had other abilities, ones that weren’t so horribly useless in the face of your need. Wished his body didn’t have that slight pause before he had raced towards you.

He had watched as a piece of metal flew towards you knocking you over the edge of the platform. It was only a second, maybe three, before he had desperately pushed himself off the ground and plunged off the edge. The air had stung his eyes, causing his eyes to water and for his breathing to stutter. It had to be the air. It couldn’t have been the way you had looked at him in the middle of your free fall, eyes calm and full of nothing but love and affection for him. It couldn’t have been the way you didn’t even reach your hand up to try to grab his outstretched one. It couldn’t have been the way he had thought in that very moment how he had wished he never fell in love. How he never regretted falling in love with you until you were slipping through his fingers.

The noise you had made was deafening. It was so unbelievably loud that it made Miguel close his own eyes as his body instantly shifted so he landed on his feet a few meters from the ground. He had landed right next to your body, an ugly dark liquid covering over the pavement. He had his mask fall away, heavy and strained breaths leaving his chest as he fell to his knees. He hovered over you with wild eyes, not knowing what to do. Should he touch you? What if that hurt you more? What is he supposed to do? Someone please tell him what he’s supposed to do.

Hesitantly, he had reached his hands around your body, pulling your head to his shoulder as he rocked the both of you back and forth. He had ignored the sticky liquid covering his hand as it held the back of your head, shushing quietly in your ear as he repeated you’re okay over and over and over again. His head had pressed firmly against the side of yours, his breath coming out in white clouds as he tried to find warmth from your body. It had long gone cold, but his hands rubbed desperately over your arms to keep you warm. He had refused to pull away, ignoring the logical voice in his mind that had acknowledged during your fall that you wouldn’t be making it out alive.

He only forced himself away when the sound of sirens and ambulances grew near. He had shut his eyes, a wetness dripping down his face as he had squeezed you tightly to him. He let you back down in your original position with unstable breaths, apologies spilling his mouth as he slowly got up. As the first ambulance rounded the corner, a resounding chime filled the air. Miguel had turned, face looking up to the glowing clock that he had just fallen from. The clock had struck midnight and Miguel couldn’t hold back the rough sob as he hurried away from your body.

Miguel hated that fucking clock.

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The apartment was cold when he entered it. Cold and quiet.

Then it was hot and angry as he threw things. He ripped things off of the walls, threw glasses and dishes until they shattered to the floor and left dents. His claws had torn through furniture until the remains of his life were broken and unusable. He had let out heavy sobs and loud screams during the rampage, finding himself squeezed into a corner of the bedroom where he had piled your clothing around him. Your scent had calmed him slightly, but also broke him as the image of your body played over and over and over again in his head.

He played with the velvet box he had kept in the bottom of his nightstand, tossing the box into the air before catching it and throwing it hard at the opposite wall. The force had broken the box in two, the useless ring rolling across the floor with a small clatter. He had sat there for a while before he desperately crawled to pick up the engagement ring. He held it close to his lips, mumbling sorry over and over into the cold band as he rocked himself back and forth in the pile of your belongings.

He had lost you this time.

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It had been ten odd years since then. Ten odd years of frustration and sadness and waking up to nightmares that push him back into corners to mumble out sorry. On those nights, he gets the ring that sits useless next to an old bottle of perfume in his nightstand, forever unable to get rid of either of them. He holds both close to his chest until the sun comes up or until his crying makes him sleep. Then, he’ll tuck them back into their safe space, hiding them from the light until the next time he relives your death.

A crumpled photo sits in his office at HQ, he finds himself looking at it from time to time in the long hours he works. Some of the younger spidermen, plus Peter, had asked him about it before. To all of which he had ignored and hidden the picture from their sight. He was selfish, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else, even after death. You were his. His to remember. His to mourn. His to miss. His, his, his. His to lose. His to love. His to repent for.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to talk about you even if he tried. He could only find himself mumbling your name in dreams, in sleepy, delirious states. If he were to try now, he would choke on the syllables, mouth opening and closing before giving up and continuing on like nothing happened. Maybe it's better that way. This way he couldn’t tarnish your name more than he already has. Maybe this is his punishment. Maybe he deserves it.

But in the late nights alone, he wishes someone would ask. When the sound of the clock tower rings over the whole city when he’s on night patrol, he wishes someone would come up to him and ask him about you. He wishes he had someone to carry your memory with, someone who will listen as he talks about beautiful you. Someone who can see how stunning you were. To see how unfair it was you didn’t get more from life. Someone to see how fucked up it was that the world stuck you with someone like him. Someone to confirm how the only real villain in the world was him.

But he knows that person doesn’t exist. Not anymore. Because that person is always you in his mind. He sits on the edge of that fucking clock tower and imagines your wispy form next to him. Imagines conversations he would have with you and how you would respond. In his mind, he retells the way he had planned to propose to you, almost smiling at the make-believe dialogue of you nitpicking his plan. Then, the clock would strike and he would leave. Just like he did the night you died.

But, he still wishes for that person. Had hoped with time it would be Jessica or Peter, maybe even LYLA if he got so desperate. But he can’t find the willpower to do it. So he imagines those conversations too. He imagines questions and how he would answer them. What was she like? Unlike anything in the whole multiverse. What did she want to do with her life? To leave the world better than when she found it. What did others think of her? Mistook her for the sun. Brightest, most beautiful person in the room. Definitely the one you go to on your baddest days. Do you still love her?

He tries to answer that question whenever he imagines it in his head. But he can’t. Yes? No? Maybe? It depends on the day? Did he love you when you were alive? Absolutely, there is no question in his mind. Did he love you when you were dead in his arms? Even up to the moment when he had to walk away. Does he love you now that you’re gone? That, he can’t answer. It pains him that his answer isn’t an immediate yes. He wants it to be yes. He really does. But he is so shrouded in hurt and pain and unfinished mourning that he can’t form a clear answer. Does he love that you’ve left him this heavy burden to carry? No. Does he love that he got the chance to love you enough to feel so strongly for you years after your death? He doesn’t know. It's horrible. It's a deep and ugly feeling that he wished he could rip out of his chest and bury it with you.

And the worse part? If someone asked him if he would do it all over again, he wouldn't hesitate like he did with the former question. He has this answer lined-up and ready. Has it prepared on the tip of his tongue. His body practically itches for someone to ask him.

If someone were to ask if he would do it all over again, if he would let it play out the same way knowing this is where he would end up, he would immediately say: No. I would have never looked at that damn clock.

And what's even worse? He knows the day that he's on that death bed, when he hears your voice and feels your touch, he'll finally give into that sharp pull on his chest and make his way home. And when he does, he'll fall to his knees and ask you to forgive him for lying.

Just like he did in every universe. Just like the canon predicted.

Almost a full month since I posted the first chapter. Was this worth the wait? Eh… Maybe? Going on to bigger and better things.

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timid-plumber-archive · 1 year ago

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@cryptofadventure

"...Daisy? Can I ask you something?" Luigi rubbed at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. "Y-you'd tell me if you didn't want me around, right?"

"O-or tell me if you didn't like me?"

#cryptofadventure #{{ ANGST O' CLOCK? }}

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coffee-and-geto · 3 months ago

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“HOW CAN I LOVE WHEN I’M AFRAID TO FALL?”

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.”

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: to your almost regret, your life as a single mother seems to be weighing more and more heavily on your worn-out shoulders. so what could be better than pretending to be the CEO’s girlfriend of the business you work for, knowing that his father is the general manager?

warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, her daughter is called hinata, fake dating/single mom tropes, angst, mother insecurities, fluff, reader’s ex is a jerk, unprotected sex, sex (p in v), overstimulation, pussy drunk (satoru), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (m), this fic is (really slightly) inspired from the french book ‘un printemps pour te succomber’ by morgane moncomble, including therefore small similar dialogues, (pls guys learn french only to read this masterpiece!!), fanart by @/ilameys on twt.

wc: 10,154

“Can I taste the frosting?”

Your lips curve into a smile. “Of course, angel.” You crouch down and hand the spatula coated in pastel pink frosting to your five-year-old daughter. Her little fist wraps around the handle, and joy spreads across her angelic face like rays of sunshine. “So? How is it?”

“It’s so good!” she exclaims, and you chuckle.

“I’m glad you like it.” You glance at the clock in your kitchen. “I’ll put the frosting in the fridge. While the cake bakes, go back to playing, and I’ll call you to help decorate the cake as soon as it’s ready, okay?”

Hinata nods, blowing you a kiss that you return after a moment of surprised hesitation, your lips forming an “O”. Amid delighted laughter, she skips away, and you turn back to face the bowl of cake batter.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Every birthday, you hold back tears because who said ‘single mom’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘baking your own birthday cake so your daughter can sing to you’? But what hurts more — this, or seeing your flesh and blood envy her female friends who have their dads in their arms and their mothers content with their families?

The silence of loneliness can sometimes be louder than company.

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, mama!” your daughter sings, clapping her hands as you blow out your candles in the warm, yet dimly lit, living room. “Come on, come on! Let’s eat the cake!”

With a knife, you cut two slices, one for each of you, and it only takes a few more minutes for both your mouths to be covered in pink frosting, with laughter echoing in the room. The heartache, briefly chased away by the short-lived joy, returns later that night when your daughter snuggles up in your arms in your double bed, which seems to be missing something.

Fuck, being a single mom is tough, you think as you wipe away the tears flooding your cheeks with the back of your hand. No one to support you, all the responsibilities fall on your shoulders, and now doubts about your daughter start invading your mind: “What if she blames you later for not having a father?”, “What if she thinks you’re a bad mom?”, “Do her friends at school say anything about you being the only unmarried woman among all the parents in her class?”

These thoughts have never stopped, not even during your pregnancy, whether about the weight gained or lost, or the changes in your body. Are these regrets? But how could you regret bringing such an angel into the world? Maybe it’s more about the lousy partner who left you the second he found out you were pregnant.

Probably the second option.

°°°

“WHERE IS MY SON?!”

A male voice thunders across the entire floor of the company. You jump, turning to one of your colleagues over the small partition set up for employee privacy. “Who’s yelling like that?” you whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I heard it’s the new general manager…”

Your frown deepens. “Is that why they handed me the summary of our sales figures to drop off at the office upstairs?” To prove your point, you lift the massive stack of documents.

Your colleague presses his lips together, his eyes widening in a way that already gives you the answer. “Oh God, you’re the one in charge of that? Good luck. It’s to be delivered to the new director.”

A sigh escapes your lips.

For a start to the workweek, it seems you’re about to face the stormy mood of the new boss, who apparently brought his kid to the office. What a perfect beginning.

As usual, the upper floor is deserted, as it’s generally reserved for executives with direct ties to the company’s CEO. Few people take the elevator to reach the top floor of the skyscraper. Arriving in the lonely hallway, it should be a simple task to knock on the boss’s office door, drop off the elephant-weight stack of documents, and leave.

So why does the sound of running footsteps seem to be getting closer and closer behind you?

In a flash, a man dressed in a navy blue suit rushes past you, bumping your shoulder. He nearly topples the threatening stack of papers, but you manage, at the last second, to catch everything before you lose your balance. The young man opens the door to the women’s restroom, and before entering, he glances over his shoulder.

Never in your life have eyes made such an impression on you.

Two cerulean blue orbs lock onto yours with a mischievous aura. A smirk tugs at the corner of his thin, pink lips. From his pale skin to his albino hair, the man exudes charm and beauty from every pore. The sheer allure of his appearance leaves your brain too stunned to react, numbing it. How can someone be this handsome?

“SATORU!”

His serene and amused expression vanishes instantly, and you jump in response. Replaced by an exaggerated look of fear, he addresses you, “Cover for me. If he asks you, you never saw me!” And his tall, slender body disappears into the women’s restroom.

More footsteps echo down the hallway, this time from a second man, just as tall and physically similar to the young man you just encountered — though slightly older, with wrinkles lining his face and a mix of albino hair and silver from age. You have no time to react except to straighten up against the wall.

His blue eyes, more gray and stern, settle on you as he approaches. “Did you see a man? A tall idiot running around and flirting with any woman he sees,” he grumbles the last part, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on the light carpet.

You shake your head robotically. “No… I—”

“Never mind,” he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand — as if your answer is irrelevant and he’s heard it at least twenty times before. He sighs and scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Who are you, anyway?”

“An employee, sir.” You gesture to the stack of documents that’s beginning to make its weight known in your arms. “I was asked to drop this off in your office.” The tone of your voice almost pleads with him to let you in and relieve you of the annoying burden.

“The report? Ah yes, of course.” You sigh in relief as he unlocks the door with his keys. “I suppose you’re wondering who I am?”

“The new general manager, I guess?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. You drop the heavy stack onto the desk and exhale deeply. “We heard you on every floor.” You can’t help but chuckle at your own remark, offering the director an apologetic smile.

He rolls his eyes, but a light chuckle still rumbles in his chest. “You’re right. It’s because of my son.”

His son?

You repeat the word aloud, confused, and he clarifies. “My son is the new CEO of this company, and I almost regret my decision to give him that position.” He shakes his head, his gaze drifting toward the blue sky visible through the large window, then refocuses on you. “I apologize in advance. He’s going to be a real handful.”

“I understand. I think we’ll manage to put up with him,” you add with a smile.

In the end, this new boss doesn’t seem as strict as your colleagues have been saying, and his story about his son is more amusing than anything. You cough slightly into your elbow and clear your throat, murmuring an apology.

“Are you sick?” the director inquires.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly, feeling embarrassed as you adjust the mask on your face. “Sorry. I couldn’t stay home.”

“No problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “Well, I think I have some work to do. See you later, I suppose.”

You don’t hesitate to leave the boss’s office and quietly step into the women’s restroom. “Is… someone here?” you murmur in a hoarse voice.

The creaking of a door answers you, and the general manager’s son emerges from a stall, looking cautious. He looks like a little boy checking to see if his hiding spot in a game of hide-and-seek has been discovered, which makes you stifle a discreet giggle. He turns to you and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t hurt you, did I, sweetheart?”

The nickname catches you off guard, and warmth floods your face. “N-No, I’m fine. You’re the new CEO, right?”

“Satoru Gojo, at your service, pretty girl.” He winks, a reminder that he’s quite the flirt.

You introduce yourself in return, running out of things to say, your hands nervously clasped by your sides.

“Pretty name,” Satoru murmurs. He closes the stall door behind him and exhales, shaking his head. “Phew! That was a close one! Thanks again!” He strides toward the exit with one last charming smile in your direction, leaving the restroom and a lingering scent of cologne behind him.

°°°°

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Damn it, you’re so annoying with this!”

“There’s no point in moving every few months, I’m going to find you.”

“For fuck’s sake, answer my messages! I told you I need you! I swear I’ll help you raise Hinata this time.”

“I made a mistake, so let me fix it by answering my fucking messages! I know you’re reading them!”

You swallow hard, your throat tight, and press the “block this contact” button on your phone. It’s the fourth time this month. He’s been harassing you with messages and finding a way to contact you no matter how many numbers he uses, even when you change yours. The same goes for your address, as apparently changing apartments is no longer enough to escape him.

You know he’s in debt — one of the many consequences of his excessive gambling, even when you were still in a relationship with him. Smoking, drinking, and of course, downing tobacco like it was water, only to charm you while hiding this lifestyle to get you into his bed, then fleeing the moment you were pregnant.

So now that he needs a woman and a child to escape his debts, he’s reaching out to you — the woman he abandoned after promising marriage (without a ring, of course), got pregnant, and deserted, only to come crawling back to you.

“Mama? You okay?”

Your daughter’s concerned little voice pulls you out of your daze. The cartoons playing on the TV haven’t had the desired effect — they’re not distracting her from the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you day by day. Maybe today, it’s showing enough for people to notice?

“I’m fine, angel,” you reassure her with a perfect smile — perfectly fake, because that’s something you’ve learned to anchor over time.

You pat the empty spot on the couch next to you, and she nestles under your arm. “If you say so…” Hina murmurs, clutching her worn-out bunny plush.

The state of the plush catches your attention, and a pang of guilt stabs at your heart. What kind of mother lets her daughter carry around a stuffed toy in such poor condition? Maybe you are a bad mother? Otherwise, why would Hina deserve such a pitiful situation? She deserves so much better than you…

“Little angel?” you murmur as she wraps her tiny arms around your waist and nuzzles into your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I love you.”

And the three little words sound… unreal.

Hot tears blur your vision, and it takes every bit of strength you have to whisper back, “I love you too, Hina.”

°°°°

3:00 PM.

In less than an hour, you’ll need to pick up Hinata from school.

Normally, you avoid lingering at work. You go through your usual routine as an employee, nothing special or fun — a hello, goodbye, see you tomorrow to colleagues without worrying about what’s happening around you or the gossip, even when it involves coworkers getting together.

The only change: now it’s you who gets stuck with the task of delivering all the documents to the general manager. According to one of your peers, he doesn’t seem to be strict or threatening when it comes to you. So this time, you’re tasked with delivering an additional file about the production of a new product on the market to both the CEO and the general manager. For the second time, you head up to the highest floors of the company headquarters to knock on the CEO’s door — it’s the closest. But no one answers.

No surprise, since the director’s son spends his time running through the hallways to avoid his father and shirk his responsibilities, right?

You’re about to knock on the Director’s door, but a familiar gust of wind brushes your face with a soft, fresh breeze. Satoru Gojo appears beside you with a charming smile and glances at what you’re holding.

“H-Hello, sweetheart. How are… you?” he greets, slightly out of breath from yet another chase with his father.

“I’m fine. Here.” You hand him one of the folders, and he takes it, pretending to read it. “The next meeting—” But he grabs the second document and, before you can react, opens the door to his office and casually tosses them inside before shutting the door.

“SATORU GOJO! KEEP IT UP, AND I’LL DISOWN YOU!” The boss’s voice echoes through the entire floor as he appears from behind the emergency exit door. “YOU!” He points a finger at you, standing right next to him. “Still bothering our employees?” He grumbles, his jaw clenched so tightly that you can hear his teeth grinding.

“That’s not true, father!” Satoru protests, feigning outrage. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “You’re chasing me while I’m just saying hello to my girlfriend?”

You freeze, turning your head toward him, as lost as the Director, who squints his eyes. “Your girlfriend? Since when—”

“I was going to tell you,” Satoru continues, shaking his head, his fingers squeezing your waist while you remain paralyzed. “Here’s my new girlfriend.”

“Are you lying to me and dragging some poor woman into your childish games?”

In the back of your mind, you note that he doesn’t seem to recognize you despite the last time you saw each other.

“What? I’m telling the truth! Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” And he leans in to plant an affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Your heart almost stops for a second. But you quickly snap back to reality under the insistent embrace of his arm and his hand around you. “Y-Yes…”

What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, father, my darling and I are in a hurry.” He leads you away before you have time to protest and heads toward the elevator with you.

Once the doors close, Satoru takes your hands in his and leans toward you. “I can explain everything.”

If his cerulean blue eyes hadn’t been so persuasive, you would have exploded right there and then to yell at him.

You, the girlfriend of the CEO of the company you work for? Did this really have to happen to you? You can already picture your termination letter under your nose as you exit the back of the building. A glance at your watch tells you that if you don’t hurry, you’ll be late to pick up your daughter.

“You’re in a rush?”

“I have to pick up my daughter before I’m late,” you reply curtly, “and look at the mess I’m in now!”

“I know, I know…” Satoru rubs the back of his head, right where his immaculate undercut is. “Maybe I can explain on the way? Where’s your car?” He looks around the parking lot, his eyes searching.

The question — however mundane — makes you blush with embarrassment. “I… take public transportation…” you mumble, pouting.

He furrows his brow, as if you just admitted to showering with maggot-infested soap. “Excuse me? I don’t take public transportation.”

“Well, I do.” A hint of defiance returns to protect your pride.

How could he possibly understand when he lives like a rich man, without worrying about grocery shopping, paying bills, and of course, taking public transportation during the week to avoid wasting gas because it costs an arm and a leg! But for him, that must not be part of his daily life, especially since he’s one of society’s privileged.

“Let’s take my car then.” He says this without waiting for you, as you remain standing there. He pulls out his keys and opens the passenger door. “What are you waiting for?”

“But— I— Are you out of your mind?” you burst out. “I’m not getting in that car! I’m supposed to pick up my daughter, and now I’m pretending to be your girlfriend! In front of your father!” You emphasize your words with wild, energetic gestures.

He bursts out laughing.

Cute.

“No chance. We’re going to pick up your daughter and clear this all up. And please, stop refusing to get into a car that’s way better than those buses that reek of sweat.” He rolls his eyes, and you note how much he resembles his father when he does that.

“I have an errand to run anyway,” you persist.

“And that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to get in this car,” Satoru chuckles.

Taking a closer look, the car is as luxurious as the ones you dream about at night — yours, by comparison, looks like a junk heap ready for the scrapyard. Reluctantly, you climb in, Satoru’s chivalrous demeanor not going unnoticed as he snickers at your surrender. He quickly gets in, asks for the address of the school, and sets off after starting his car, which smells just as good as he does. You feel like a piece of trash in the middle of this little universe he inhabits.

“My father bugs me every day to find a woman,” Satoru murmurs at first, one hand resting on his thigh, clad in business suit trousers, his eyes fixed on the road over his round sunglasses. “That’s one of the reasons I avoid him.”

“And why involve me?” you snap back.

“Well, to be honest, it was partly impulsive. I met you the other day, and then, in the moment, I just wanted my father to leave me alone.” He has a half-smile that makes you swallow hard, and he gives you a knowing look before returning to a serious expression. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all this.” A pause. “I just hope you’re not married, otherwise—”

“No, I— No.” You close your eyes for a moment, the innocent question burning like a fiery arrow piercing your already aching heart. Did you just hear a sigh of relief? “And your father doesn’t seem to have recognized me since the other day,” you can’t help but point out.

“The mask.” Satoru grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “He didn’t recognize you because of that. He’s always had a bad memory and poor eyesight.”

“But you recognized me.” You focus on the road’s scenery to avoid confronting his mesmerizing eyes. “I’m not going to wear my mask forever, you know? And I don’t want to keep pretending—”

“Please,” Satoru whispers, placing a hand on yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just until he and my family get off my back.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“How much do you want?” He asks immediately, as if he just remembered something.

“What? No! I don’t want your money!” you protest as quickly as he did. “No, I…” And you groan, sinking into your seat.

Holy shit!

“What have I gotten myself into, seriously…” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest, a grimace distorting your features.

“Please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ll do everything to make it just a minor detail… I’m only asking you to change your name in front of my father when you pass as my girlfriend, wear a mask, and change your hairstyle at work — if we want to avoid suspicion. He won’t suspect a thing, I swear.” He pulls into the school parking lot and parks quietly.

Thoughts bombard your already exhausted mind, and you massage your temples. Why does this have to happen to you and no one else?

Satoru murmurs your name, making you lift your head. “It will only be a few family events, just for appearances, nothing more. I won’t bother you any further.”

You sigh, and the sound of the bell signaling the end of classes rings out. “I need to think about it. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice—”

“Come back. I’ll take you home,” Satoru suggests, pressing the button to unlock your door.

What’s the point of refusing?

You nod, finally getting out of the car to go pick up your daughter, who runs toward you as soon as you reach the gate.

"Mama!" She jumps into your arms.

You return her embrace, heading towards Satoru’s car. “Did you have a good day?”

“So much fun! I made you a drawing!” She’s practically bouncing as you reach the car.

Noticing your daughter’s confused look, you clear your throat. “Uh… A-A friend of mine is giving us a ride home, okay?” She blinks innocently and waits for you to open the car door, which is almost as tall as she is. Hinata gets in as you do, and you cough slightly. “This is Gojo. My friend.”

“Hello, princess.” Satoru turns his head over his shoulder with a big smile. “What’s your name?”

“Hinata,” she replies, her legs gently swinging.

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and tries to hide a smile.

On the way, you try to fill the awkward silences with small talk until you arrive at the supermarket.

You had promised to buy Hinata a new stuffed animal since last night after spending hours worrying that you weren’t being a good mother. Again.

“That one!” Hinata almost runs towards a bunny plushie that’s twice the size of her head. She grabs it with her little arms and gives it a hug.

Satoru and you reach the aisle, and out of habit, you check the price under the albino’s watchful eye. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when you see the amount, and you place a trembling hand on Hina’s shoulder. “Angel, I think it’s—”

“…Perfect,” Satoru finishes, his large hands taking the plushie from your daughter’s tight embrace to check the price tag with its shocking number. “Do you like it, little one?” he asks, looking down at her.

Hina nods energetically. “Yeah!”

“Then we’ll take it.” Satoru hands the plushie back to her and turns towards the checkout lane, already reaching into one of his pockets for what looks like… a wallet.

You react immediately, your hands finding their way around his arm. He doesn’t push you away at all and even smiles at the contact. “Gojo… No.”

“It’s Satoru to you, sweetheart,” he whispers gently. “And why not? It’s just a stuffed animal,” he scoffs. He takes Hinata’s hand so she can place the plushie on the conveyor belt.

“No, it’s not nothing to me,” you persist through clenched teeth, embarrassed that the cashier might be paying attention to your conversation.

Satoru shrugs. The cashier scans the plushie, and he uses contactless payment to pay for it. With your hands still around his arm, he places one of his on top, an intimate closeness.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs near your ear, making you turn beet red. But he can’t continue as your daughter clings to Satoru’s leg like a koala, showering him with a thousand thank-yous for the gift. “You’re welcome, little one.” His hand gently ruffles her hair. He grins, now turning back to you. “It’s on me. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your discreet protests, so Hinata doesn’t suspect anything, come to an end when he drops both of you off in front of your home. Hinata commented that Satoru’s car looked like the one from the movie Barbie: Princess Charm School she had seen recently. He unlocks the doors as you get out of the car. Satoru’s hand catches yours, slipping a piece of cardstock into it. His contact details are on it.

“Just in case,” he mouths silently.

Nevertheless, you slip the business card into your pocket and respond just before closing the door, “I accept.”

°°°°

“And no funny business, okay? Never run in the hallways, if he tells you to wait, don’t move an inch, and—” You stop yourself as you notice your daughter is more interested in admiring the elegant decorations of the office hallways with wide, doe-like eyes and an adorable, slightly open mouth.

To your great misfortune, Hinata’s preschool is on strike for a while — which means almost all the teachers are absent. So how do you take care of your daughter when you can’t afford to miss work? By bringing her to your fake boyfriend’s office, of course! You quickly make your way toward Satoru’s office, Hinata following with her hand in yours. But just as you raise your fist to knock on his door, two large hands land on your shoulders, nearly scaring the life out of you.

“Hey, hey!” You whip around abruptly, a new mask on your face — just as the plan intended.

“Satoru…” you grit through your teeth. Hinata looks up at him and grins. You sigh.

“What do I owe the pleasure of all this lovely company?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off yours while giving Hinata a high-five.

As usual, he’s dressed in a luxurious suit — probably worth the rent of the apartment you live in — his slightly tousled albino hair and the familiar scent of cologne filling your nostrils. You catch yourself staring a little too long, and mentally kick yourself when his curious gaze turns mischievous.

He just realized you were checking him out, damn it!

“Hinata’s school is on strike. I need you to watch her for the day, if that’s not a problem, and since you seemed so insistent on returning the favor I’m doing for you…” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “I see you’re spending your day roaming the offices rather than staying in yours…”

“No problem at all,” Satoru replies automatically, a pleased smile on his lips. “Ready to go to the CEO’s office?” He picks up Hina, who giggles and clings to him like a koala.

It’s your turn to smile in relief. “Thank you so much. I have a meeting with your father in an hour, and I’ll come get her at noon and again at the end of the day.” The sight of the two of them close together makes your heart melt — and for once, you don’t blame yourself for seeing Hinata happy to be with someone else.

°°°°

5:00 PM.

You’ve sent a message to Satoru asking where he was, since knocking on his perpetually empty office seems to be pointless. The meeting with the other company members about organizing the launch of a new product was particularly painful, but one thing is certain: the general manager didn’t recognize you with your more subdued hairstyle and the mask plastered on your face.

“Come to the parking lot like last time.”

And that’s the last message from Satoru (you gave him your number during lunch).

In the empty parking lot, only Satoru’s car is present, and you cast a curious glance through the windows. The two troublemakers give you a grimace — tongues sticking out and faces scrunched up. You sigh as the passenger door opens automatically.

“Satoru, you don’t have to—”

“Hina said yes and that she wants to come to my place,” Satoru cuts in with a mocking expression.

Reluctantly, you get in, your heart pounding in your chest with all sorts of panicked thoughts. However, Satoru doesn’t seem to share your reservations and starts driving as soon as you’re settled.

“So, this means you’re coming to my place,” he says, hands on the wheel and a quick glance in the rearview mirror, “and I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“No—”

“Mom! Please, Satoru is being too nice.” Hinata complains. You glance back, and she looks at you with wounded, pleading puppy eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

You grumble, slumping back against your seat as they both cheer in victory.

“By the way, I’m stopping by your place so you can pack. We’re invited to a family wedding, and my father invited us.”

“WHAT?”

°°°°

You place a box with your gift on the designated table for presents, and an arm wraps around your waist. “You look stunning,” Satoru murmurs against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

With a flushed face, you turn your head. “Satoru…”

“What? Just because we’re pretending to be a couple and barely know each other doesn’t mean I can’t speak the truth.” He pauses. “Well, actually, we do know each other a bit, don’t we? We’ve had dinner together.” He chuckles at your half-grimacing, half-deadpan expression, pulling you closer as music fills the wedding reception hall.

You turn your head along with him toward the back of the room, where the bride’s bouquet is about to be thrown. A tight smile curves your lips — this is one thing you’ve dreamed of. Dreams have always been just that — dreams in your life, and even when love comes knocking at your door, it’s only passing through, just like your situation with Satoru.

His father didn’t notice anything, and since Satoru lives alone in a villa, it’s hard to say no when he offered for you to stay with him until he’s settled, with your own room and a staff available 24/7. He even had a tailor make a custom dress for the wedding you were both invited to. Hinata is looked after by a lovely nurse, and you’re enjoying a life you’ve always dreamed of. So why not make the most of it despite your past?

A Satoru who’s too comfortable with you isn’t so bothersome given the time you’ve spent together lately — both at the office, acting as a couple in front of certain people, and sometimes showing affection to each other to appear believable, even though they haven’t asked for kisses yet, so—

A fluffy and soft object lands right in the middle of your face and falls into your arms. You search for what seems to be a petal in your mouth and suck in your breath at what you realize it is.

The bride’s bouquet.

A gulp forces its way down your throat as the whole room applauds because… you’ve been hit in the face with the bouquet? Not to mention the lamentations of other female cousins who had jumped with all their hopes to catch it… But why you, who hadn’t asked for anything?

“Sweetheart?” Satoru mutters, his chest still pressed against your back. His tone is so sweet, nonchalant, as if you’ve been a couple for years. “My father is watching us, and I think he’s expecting me to do something.”

You swallow and nod, dreading what might happen next. Will your heart stop beating when Satoru says:

“May I kiss you?”

Never, ever, has anyone asked you that question. Not even your ex.

So, with a nervous nod, you allow him to capture your lips in a soft, languid kiss. His tender lips taste like the cotton candy children eat at the fair. They cherish yours with every movement (which you can’t help but return in kind). Each press sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

When the kiss ends, Satoru places one last kiss on the corner of your lips and clears his throat. “This is the first time I’ve wanted to marry my girlfriend.” His warm breath ignites your body.

Has your heart exploded?

If not, why can’t you breathe?

“Awww… How adorable you are with your pretty girlfriend, Satoru!”

An elderly woman approaches you both, supported by her old cane, and you note her albino hair, similar to Satoru’s.

“My dear aunt…” Satoru smiles widely without breaking away from you.

“You make a lovely couple,” Aunt Gojo continues, giving you a wise look.

“Oh, thank you.” You immediately bow and introduce yourself. Satoru’s hands squeeze your waist, and he chuckles at your manners.

“Take good care of her, you idiot,” the aunt finishes before drifting away, a tap of her cane on Satoru’s head making him sigh and rub his sore skull.

“Well, at least we look convincing, right?” he adds.

“Yes…”

Of course, he said that because he saw his aunt before you! Don’t think he said it because he meant it or—

“By the way,” Satoru takes your hand in his and leads you to the center of the dance floor, “I meant what I said before my aunt interrupted us.”

And you’re at a loss on how to interpret his playful wink.

°°°°

“WOW! Hinata, you’re so rich!”

“Is this your dad’s castle?”

Hinata takes Satoru’s hand and faces her friends in his chic living room. “It’s my daddy’s!” She nods proudly and runs off with them toward the games and festivities organized for her birthday. The children run everywhere, scream, and burst into laughter throughout the room. The perfect atmosphere.

It’s exactly what you’ve always dreamed of giving Hina.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmur to Satoru, who, despite your comment, shakes his head joyfully.

“I’m glad she likes it,” he replies.

“I wasn’t talking about the party.”

He freezes and turns his head toward you. “Didn’t you tell me you’d never been married?” he dares to whisper, possibly afraid of hurting you.

“That’s true. My ex left after learning I was pregnant with Hinata.” You exhale the breath you’ve been holding, the weight of the secret finally lifted.

Maybe he won’t want to keep pretending to be your boyfriend after this…

“You can still tell me his name, you know, sweetheart?” Satoru moves closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, as if it’s completely natural for him, but there’s a tension in his touch. “I can take care of him and—”

You shake your head to dispel the tiny bit of resentment that’s urging you to say yes. “It’s okay. Thanks for agreeing to pretend to be her father. I know it’s going to be a bit of a hassle for a while, but she cares a lot—”

“Nuh-uh.” He places a kiss on your cheek, then another on the side of your neck, causing you to shiver. “She’s already talked about it in my office.”

You open your eyes wide. “What…?”

“Hinata likes you much more than you think… You’ve suffered too much,” His other hand glides over your stomach, and his thumb traces affectionate circles on your waist.

“Thank you,” you breathe, leaning into his touch. And for a moment, the weight on your shoulders completely lifts. “We haven’t had the best birthdays recently, so I’m happy to see Hinata get what she wants.” Your eyes rest on your daughter, dressed as a fairy, waving her glittery wand at one of her friends dressed as a witch. “So, thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. But which birthday are you talking about? Yours? When was it?”

Embarrassed, your mouth feels dry. “...A while ago.”

Satoru pulls you tightly against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, his nose buried in your hair. “You’re such a strong woman… I can take care of you if you want. You and Hina will live like princesses, and if you want to sleep with her or have your own room, that’s no problem for me.”

“What? No, Satoru, you’re joking…”

“I’m not joking,” he insists, his gaze diving into yours — and for a second, sincerity fills his cerulean eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, you whisper, “We barely know each other, and—”

“Mama! Papa! We need to break the piñata!” Hinata rushes over to you, not paying any attention to how close you are to Satoru, and grabs each of your hands.

“Yes, angel, we’re coming,” you respond to your daughter with a weary smile, before glancing at Satoru, who is no longer looking in your direction.

Why are his ears so red?

°°°°

You place the last birthday decoration box in a corner of the living room as Satoru asked and straighten up with a grimace from your aching back. “Geez…”

The upper floor of the huge house is strangely quiet, and you furrow your brows. Could they have gone downstairs?

“Hinata? Satoru?” you call out as you walk through the hallways.

The evening darkness makes it hard to see clearly, and only the faint beam of light escaping from the kitchen door guides you.

“Are you there?” you ask, gently pushing the door open, and what you find leaves you stunned.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” the two of them exclaim, holding an enormous cake between them.

A few candles illuminate the underside of their beaming faces, party hats perched on their heads. The kitchen is a huge mess, counters covered in flour and frosting, and dishes overflow from the sink, threatening to topple over.

You stand speechless as they continue to sing your birthday song. Your nostrils and eyes start to itch strangely. Why is your vision suddenly blurring? It looks like transparent waves just above your lower lashes, threatening to overflow if you dare to blink. Yet, you can’t escape it.

Not when they set the cake on the table and pull you into a hug while your nose runs, tears roll down your cheeks, and your choked-up throat is on the verge of bursting into sobs. Satoru keeps kissing your hair, never stopping for a second to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, his hand drawing circles on your back. Hinata wipes your tears while her own roll down her little cheeks.

Seeing you cry has always been contagious for her.

The moment gives you a glimpse of what your life would be like if you had a complete family, and Satoru’s words echo in your mind. How could he be so perfect in just a few weeks of knowing him?

Once the emotion passes, a few minutes later, you eat your birthday cake with laughter and cheer, accompanied not just by the one person who now means everything to you, but by both.

°°°°

“Watch out, Hina. You have applesauce on your chin,” Satoru chuckles, his hand grabbing a napkin to wipe the excess food around the child’s mouth.

The heartwarming scene makes your heart swell. You definitely don’t regret going out with Satoru and Hinata to have a meal at a chic terrace in their company. The family atmosphere finally gives you a glimpse of the life you’ve always hoped to live. Hinata growing up with a loving father and mother, and you, loved and supported by an ideal partner. Why not reconsider Satoru’s proposal, then? He’s the first man to think of you, even after your birthday had passed some time ago.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you murmur to Satoru, who nods in response, a wry smile curling his pink lips.

But why did it have to be on this day that a man finally approaches the two people you care about just as you slip away? He clearly waited from afar for you to let your guard down around your daughter so he could show up right in the middle of the table, facing a little girl — his daughter, technically — next to a man who isn’t her father.

Satoru slowly raises his head toward him, brows furrowed and wary. “Can I help you?”

Your ex says your name. “Where is she?” he mimics asking as if he didn’t know.

“What do you want with her?”

“To talk to her. I have the right. And you’re with my daughter, just so you know.” He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to appear threatening, but Satoru remains stoic, more contemptuous than anything else in the face of such a scruffy, unshaven nuisance.

“She’s not here; you can leave,” Satoru responds. And out of protective instinct, he pulls Hinata’s chair closer to him, his eyes narrowed. Satoru understands perfectly that your ex is back to claim his rights over his daughter, just as he’s been harassing you with messages about it.

“Excuse me? When my daughter is in the arms of a stranger? I could call the police immediately and we’ll sort this out very quickly,” your ex retorts sharply. He takes a step toward a lost Hinata, her big doe eyes blinking innocently between the two men. Of course, she doesn’t recognize him.

An altercation begins between the two, which naturally attracts the attention of other diners around. And you walk into the middle of the scene, frozen in shock at the sight of your ex hurling threats at Satoru.

“She’s taking my daughter, so I’m taking her back! And it’s not a bastard like you who’s going to help her regain my rights!” your ex spits with venom. His icy eyes find yours, terrified, your hands trembling and your complexion as pale as a sheet. He’s about to address you with the same angry speech, his face flushed with rage and a vein ready to burst at his temple.

Do you get déjà vu?

“‘Your daughter’?” Satoru repeats with a deadly gaze and a jaw quivering with rage. “She’s been sitting next to me for over an hour, I’ve been feeding her for over an hour, she’s been calling me by my name for over an hour, and you’re talking about ‘your daughter’? At this point, whose daughter is she... yours or mine?”

Your ex, publicly humiliated, opens his eyes wide with hatred. “You little son of—”

“Sir, we ask that you leave the terrace; you’re disturbing our customers,” a security guard declares firmly. He’s accompanied by another colleague, and when your ex protests, they grab him by the arm and escort him away amidst his shouting and the murmurs of other customers who keep staring at the three of you.

You move closer to Satoru, who immediately stands up upon seeing you — having not realized you were there — and can only offer you an apologetic look. “Let’s go,” you silently mouth (your throat too tight to dare let a sound escape, fearing it might break before you say anything), taking the hand of a silent and lost Hinata. “I’ll pay the bill and—”

“It’s already taken care of; we can go,” Satoru gently interrupts, following you to his car.

And it’s on the silent drive back that you realize something.

You’ve officially fallen in love with Satoru Gojo.

°°°°

“Look, Mom, Dad and I made a drawing for you!” Hinata proudly holds up a colorful picture with three easily recognizable characters on it.

“Did you brush your teeth?” you ask as you take the drawing to admire it, just as much smiling as your daughter. She nods and then does a little twirl to show off her new pajamas that Satoru gave her earlier in the day. “It’s beautiful. You’re so talented,” you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Satoru appears in the doorway of Hinata’s room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual playful smile curving his lips. “Ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes, and I showed our drawing to mama,” Hinata asserts, bouncing on her bed.

“Oh yeah? Did mama like it?” Satoru asks softly, his eyes now locked with yours.

“Mama loved it and thanks Daddy,” you whisper, your voice quivering with emotion that threatens to spill over.

Half an hour later, Satoru and you find yourselves in the hallway with a sleeping Hinata and her little lullaby snores.

Satoru wraps his arm around your waist as usual and buries his face in your neck. Your heart is already racing, and your breath catches when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” The embrace is a simple hug but with unspoken words easily guessed.

“For everything.” Satoru sighs, and for a split second, you hope he’ll let you speak, but no. “I didn’t mean to make a scene and—”

“And you think I’m going to blame you for protecting us? That I wasn’t touched by what you said about Hina?” you mumble near his ear. The closeness gives you another chance to see his ears turn red. “Is Satoru shy?” you giggle, open to teasing. He hums, hiding his face so you don’t see his expression.

“I love you.”

You blink, because you must have heard wrong. “Huh?”

“Marry me.” And he’s already on his knees before you, eyes pleading. That usually confident cerulean blue is now so submissive, so close at hand… But the sudden turn of events leaves you stunned. “I want to be your husband, not just have you as my wife. I want to raise Hina with you and give you everything you need.” Not letting himself be distracted by your stunned expression, he continues, “Want my money? I’ll give it to you. My house? It will be in your name. Want my body? It belongs to you. My heart? It’s already yours.” And he starts kissing the backs of your hands desperately. “I love you, I love you… Please, marry me…”

“Satoru… You—” you stammer, backing away, your brow furrowed. Everything is a jumble in your head, both from his touching declaration but also because it’s all moving too fast for you. “You… love me?” you manage to whisper.

He crawls to you and wraps his large arms around your thighs, almost choking with desperation. “I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you, as soon as you covered me from my father, as soon as I heard your laugh, saw the amazing mother you are, and realized I never wanted you to leave this house.” He whispers your name like a divine invocation. “I’ve fallen in love with you more than just once.”

You don’t immediately respond, and that’s okay in his eyes. He doesn’t want to pressure you, just for you to know the truth and for him to be completely transparent with you.

“It’s okay if you don’t share my feelings; I just want you to know that—” But he’s cut off by your rush toward him on the floor as you press your lips to his, pulling him into the dance of your lips that one gives to the other in a long, passionate kiss. “God… I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Satoru,” you murmur against his mouth between kisses that turn into moans as he slides his warm, wet tongue between your lips to request access to your mouth.

Both of your breaths become ragged and heavy. Satoru takes the opportunity to lift you by the underside of your thighs and lead you to his bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him without breaking the contact of your swollen, desirous lips. He gently lays you on the king-size bed with silver satin and frost-blue sheets.

With a tenderness of loving slowness, Satoru breaks the kiss. “Do you want to continue?” he asks, his voice husky. You nod timidly, but he shakes his head with his mischievous smile — finally back. “Nuh-uh. Your words, sweetheart.”

“I want it, Satoru,” you reply after a sigh of exasperation so adorable in his eyes that it makes him laugh, then he places a light kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Alright… Gonna take care of my beautiful girl, the best, the most wonderful mother, and maybe future wife—” He places a finger on your lips. “Oh no, you’ll answer that later if you want, when I have something concrete for that occasion.”

You sigh in frustration because the answer is already on the tip of your tongue, but it soon turns into a moan as he kisses the side of your neck with such deliberate slowness that you really wonder if he’s going to tease you to the limit. His hands roam over your clothed chest, exploring your already hardened nipples. His lips find their way to your collarbone, marking it with love bites and hickeys that elicit muffled moans from you.

“If you knew how long I’ve dreamed of doing this…” Satoru comments with a touch of affection, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your shirt. “Exactly how I would act with my wife—”

“And your father?” And he chuckles again.

“We don’t care about him.” He casually tosses your top aside to tease your sensitive, erect nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. “Such humble underwear… Would you like me to buy you something more daring?” he purrs, pulling on a strap to snap it against your gooseflesh-covered skin.

“Would you do that?” You bring your lips to his, and he immediately responds to the kiss. You also remove his black turtleneck sweater to reveal his toned, muscular torso. An adventurous hand glides over his chest, making him groan slightly, and then stops at his lower abdomen where a vein runs lower down. You place a kiss there with a small, sly smile.

For the first time, you’re about to make love with someone.

“Hmm? Satoru? Have you ever thought of me in outfits like this?” Your nimble fingers unbutton his pants, revealing a prominent bulge in his fly.

“Sweetheart, don’t—” he hisses between his teeth from the sensation of the slight friction between his erection and your eager fingers as they pull down his pants to caress and rub his dick through the thin fabric of his boxer. “Your hands feel so good…” He breathes softly, his hands stroking your bare arms with a feather-light touch.

“Answer my question…” you purr, your nails pulling at the underwear to free his hard, twitching cock. The tip is perfectly reddened, with veins coursing along its pale length of 8 inches. Almost automatically, your mouth waters, and you waste no time kissing the slit of his already glistening tip with pre.

“Babe, don’t tease…” Satoru closes his eyes and lets your hand wrap around his length, begging to be touched. “F-fuck— Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it, about buying you the most expensive and luxurious lingerie— ah!” he almost whimpers. You take a little over 2 inches of him into your mouth to stroke the base. “But also in those maternity clothes— oh god… C-can you really blame me?” He rolls his eyes and can’t help but buck his hips toward you, his body pleading for your mouth to take care of him.

You withdraw his cock from your mouth to whisper, “So you’re a naughty boy, hmm?”

“I won’t last if you keep this up— hgnn…” he whimpers completely, his dick splitting your mouth in two as you take him all in. Your head starts to bob back and forth, and he is so close that he spills moans of your name. “G’nna cum, baby, don’t—”

You hollow your cheeks, and the next moment, he cums in your mouth, long, thick ropes of his release filling your already full mouth with his shaft. You hum under his orgasm and swallow slowly. You slide his dick out of your mouth with the same rhythm to smile at a Satoru with ears as red as his cheeks.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he pants, his calloused finger wiping away the mixed cord of your saliva and his cum with a swipe of his thumb.

“M-hmm… You taste so sweet…” He doesn’t let you continue and crushes his lips against yours, tasting himself on your mouth. “I want you, Satoru…”

“I’m yours, princess.” He helps you quickly remove your remaining underwear so that you’re completely naked in front of him, knees resting on the expensive mattress. He kneels at the foot of the bed, and his fingers explore your sensitive, already dripping cunt.

“So wet for me… Did I do this to you just with my cock?” His fingers spread your swollen folds to gather your fluids and rub your throbbing, needy clit.

Your nails dig into his arm as you lift your hips under the sharp pleasure. “Satoru, it feels good…” you gasp in a whimper. His forefinger and middle finger spread your wetness all around your intimacy. “Please don’t tease…”

“Not tease? Weren’t you doing it, sweetheart? What a nerve,” Satoru scoffs, tapping his finger at your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please…” You wince as you move your hips down for more. And that’s exactly what he does, immediately inserting his finger into you, cursing.

“You’re so fucking tight… and so wet,” he curses, his finger moving in and out of you with careful softness. “I can already fuck you without making you cum first.” He stops finger-fucking you and looks up at you. “Is that what you want, love?”

You nod before arching your back on the bed. Satoru climbs onto the mattress and helps you wrap your legs around him. “That’s it…” He takes his length in his hand and teases your responsive cunt with the tip to get it wetter.

“Don’t tease, Toru, I swear…” And he smirks.

“Toru?”

“Sorry, I—”

His tip presses against your tight, pulsing entrance, and he grins. “I want you to moan that nickname while I fuck you, ’kay?” He grips your hips to pull you closer to him, and with one swift movement, he slides into you, a groan escaping from behind his lips as your deliciously tight, warm, gummy walls wrap around him as if you were meant for him.

The stretch causes a slight discomfort at first, and you almost cry in relief when Satoru notices. He patiently waits for you to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm inside you.

You widen your lustful eyes, tears forming at their corners. “Ah! Toru… Jus’ like that…” Your eyes roll back as the tip of Satoru’s dick hits the back of your cervix, making you shiver and tighten around him. “Fuck… s’deep…”

“So fucking perfect, so fucking mine,” Satoru groans, his hips rocking into you without ceasing to swell between your gummy walls. His chest rises and falls in a breath as ragged as yours, asking for more every time you moan for him to go deeper. (He discreetly rolls his eyes and babbles incomprehensible words — completely pussy drunk.)

And that’s exactly what he does. He slams back in brutally, making you cry out his name with each thrust. “Shhh… You don’t want Hina to hear us, right? So keep quiet, baby…” He helps stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure by capturing your lips with his, alternating between fast, rough thrusts and slow, gentle ones in your hole that he fucks shamelessly.

Blood rushes to your ears, a rare sensation you haven’t truly felt the last time you were with someone. It wasn’t just about carnal pleasure between Satoru and you — but about love. The fusion of bodies loving each other and providing mutual pleasure, even as they burn for each other— physically and emotionally.

One of Satoru’s hands slowly slides to one of your breasts and teases a sensitive nipple. The arch in your back encourages him to detach his mouth from yours to capture the other nipple with his wet lips. The growl he lets out sends a wave of intense shivers through you, making your eyes roll in overstimulation.

“P-please, Toru, please, I’m already close,” you whimper against your trembling palm — a feeble attempt to contain your sweet sounds as he speeds up his hip movements in your sloppy cunt — the sound of his balls slapping your skin filling the room. Your words are punctuated by the tightening of your walls around him, swearing he could cum inside you just from hearing you beg.

“Cum on my cock, baby, cover it,” he coos, giving another kiss to your abused chest. The clenching of your jaw with your teeth dug into your lower lip forces you to groan. “Want me to fill you up?” And you nod, tears showing your imminent orgasm. “Anything for you, my beautiful girl.” His hips slam against yours, and his fingers continue to tease your breast, rubbing your puffy clit.

Satoru’s own breath becomes heavier, more labored as he keeps singing praises while you gasp, his lips pressed along the line of kisses he’s placing down your jaw. “T-Toru, Toru, cumming!” you cry out as your walls spasm around his cock while he reaches his peak and fills you with his hot, liquid release, warming your lower abdomen. You see blinding stars illuminating your vision.

He hisses almost gutturally, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “Oh god… S-Squeezing me while I’m cumming too…” He closes his eyes for a moment, letting his peak subside at the same rhythm as yours, his forehead damp with sweat resting against your chest.

Only pants and groans escape your lips, each one accompanied by difficult swallows and the feeling of your sweaty bodies pressed against each other.

“How was it? Did I make you feel good?” Satoru asks immediately, once his breath has returned.

The concerned questions touch your heart so deeply that you lift tearful eyes to him. “Are you going to leave, after this?”

His expression falters, and he gently withdraws from you to envelop you in his embrace. “No, baby, of course not… I won’t, I swear on my life I won’t leave you… I’m not him. I’m the one who hopes you won’t leave…” he whispers hurriedly. “Don’t think about that. I’ll always be here, for you and for Hina…”

You sniffle, your eyes red. But Satoru smiles tenderly, wiping away your hot tears. “Save your tears for later, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You clear your throat.

He sighs, the aftermath of the effort from the activity settling on him, and places a chaste kiss on your sweaty temple. “Did I tell you that my father invited us to dinner tomorrow night?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but what’s the link?”

“Don’t you understand?” he murmurs in your ear, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll understand in time.”

°°°°

“I see. So it was an unexpected encounter.” Gojo’s father nods, shrugging his shoulders. “But I wonder how a woman like you can have feelings for such a fool…”

Satoru chokes on a piece of meat he’s chewing and takes a sip of his water. You stifle a giggle, with some steamed vegetables speared on your fork, just waiting for you to devour them. For a man who appears so stern and strict, Mr. Gojo is quite a wealthy man who spends his days reprimanding his son for not doing this or that.

Yet, there’s a certain paternal camaraderie between them — a father-son relationship, if you will.

“That’s not true,” Satoru retorts, his voice still gravelly. He has an adorable pout on his lips, like a child wrongly scolded.

“Yes, like you’re not a womanizer,” his father retorts, rolling his eyes.

“It was so you’d leave me alone,” with furrowed brows, he wears a mischievous smile at his father’s incredulous expression, “but sweetheart came into my life,” he continues, looking at you with a tenderness he has rarely shown.

“I hope you manage to put up with him until… well, until you decide to marry — if that’s what you choose,” his father sighs, turning his attention back to the dish in front of him.

“Satoru isn’t a bad person, you know,” you start gently. “He is certainly a thoughtless brat with grotesque immaturity,” Satoru almost spits out his water this time, and you continue with a wry smile, “but he has a great sense of attention and unmatched generosity. I believe he will be a good husband, I assure you.”

“I must admit,” he says with a wise smile, his wrinkles less pronounced.

Satoru casually says your name, “Yeah, yeah… By the way, could you pass me the salt, please?”

You freeze, while Satoru’s father suddenly looks up with an incredulous expression. “Who?”

And you smack your forehead with the palm of your hand.

°°°°

The cries of a newborn fill the room as, breathless and on the verge of fainting, the midwives congratulate you, bringing your second child wrapped in clean blankets at your request.

“He’s beautiful…” Satoru murmurs as he approaches you, leaning down to the tiny baby with his albino hair and blue eyes — his exact likeness. “Thank you, my love, thank you, thank you, thank you…” His voice breaks as you raise a weak, exhausted hand toward him, but with a serene smile on your lips as you whisper how much you love each other.

He immediately wraps his fingers around yours, your wedding rings sparkling as they brush together like stars sealed for eternity.

a/n: how i love desperate men, hihi! 🤭 hope you all enjoyed this one-shot!

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison

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artpo · 1 year ago

Text

WIP Wednesday - Lights On (Part 2 of Meet-cute in a club AU)

Kinn has never felt such an array of different and intense emotions in his life. Not before Porsche. The whatever was blossoming between them is scaring Kinn more than he would ever dare to admit.

Control has become his comfort. His unbreakable shield to never let himself blindly trust another soul again. When it comes to Porsche, control started slipping from his grasp, devoured by feelings that began as lust, but turned into something deeper along the way.

"What do you mean we should stop seeing each other?" Porsche is looking at him in disbelief, his hand is gripping the railing of the balcony.

Kinn's head is spinning. He is staring into Porsche with what he hopes is a cold, calm and collected gaze. "Exactly what I said."

Porsche raises his index finger and points it at Kinn’s chest. "What you said is a bunch of bullshit, Kinn."

Kinn takes Porsche's hand and grips his wrist. If this is his last time seeing Porsche, he wants to savour every little touch. He wants to remember every single look Porsche's beautiful eyes send his way, be it the angry, confused or hurt one. "Your safety is not a bunch of bullshit. Not to me."

Porsche tears his arm from Kinn's hold, narrowing his eyes at Kinn in fury. "Asshole! Why are you treating me like an idiot?"

Kinn hates himself for making Porsche feel this way. Before letting his feelings swallow him any further, he purses his lips, closes his eyes, takes in a sharp breath and exhales. "Excuse me?"

"I knew from the start what you were doing for a living. I knew and just thought I would sleep with you, so it's not a big deal..." Porsche pauses, his eyes scanning Kinn’s face in desperate attempt to find something. Perhaps the old Kinn, the Kinn from last night. "But we both know that didn't happen as we planned. My every interaction with you was conscious and out of my own will. I'm not an idiot and you don't get to decide for me."

Kinn wants the Earth to swallow him whole. The concept of being wanted for who he is has been foreign to him since Tawan's betrayal. He can't have Porsche care for him when he needs to stop for his own good. Kinn hopes Porsche takes mercy on him and starts despising him to save them both from feelings when he says: "Very well, Porsche. Then I decide that now that we had sex, it's time to part ways."

"I don't believe you!" Porsche runs his hands through his hair. "So it was just sex for you? Was I hallucinating last night then? The things you told me and the way you looked at me...were all a lie?"

"Yes."

"No. They fucking weren't, Kinn. What you're doing right now is lying." Porsche is searching his face again. It has never been harder for Kinn to maintain his cold shell. Every second under Porsche’s scrutiny is a second close to him cracking, giving in to his feelings, giving in to wanting Porsche by his side every day, giving in he wants to make Porsche feel the exact opposite of what he's doing right now.

"We got what we wanted from each other," Kinn says under his breath.

"Is that all that you wanted?" Porsche shoots right back. His eyes which are fixated on Kinn with stubborn determination soften for a second and Kinn needs to look away.

Is that all that you wanted? It was weeks ago. But now it isn't. Kinn knows this, but he chose to run from it. Porsche's teasing, Porsche's laugh, Porsche's kisses, Porsche's touch. Kinn wants to keep all of it forever. Porsche has never done anything, but be sweet to him and Kinn's brain is telling him to watch out. When something is too good to be true, it's a trap. A man like this has to be guarded.

Kinn wants to be Porsche's happiness, Porsche's only one, he wants it to be just them and nobody else.

Perpetuated with emotions of warmth, Kinn's brain circuits. He is reminded that he didn't answer Porsche's question when he hears the sound of Porsche's voice again.

"I never should have loved a shitty man like you."

Loved. A word that scared Kinn. A word that embodied exactly how he feels towards Porsche.

Porsche loves him. Kinn is a disaster who messed up. He must let Porsche know--

But Porsche is turning his back to him and heading back inside his room.

"Porsche wait, I--" Kinn struggles when he sees the sadness in Porsche's eyes as he turns to look at him again. God, he is such a dick. He needs to confess it and salvage everything before--

"Save it, Kinn. You can't even tell me you love me. Get the fuck out of my house."

Kinn stays on the balcony for a few moments, watching Porsche’s tall, lean figure enter his room, then exit it and head for the bathroom.

Kinn follows him on the inside, hearing the bathroom door lock, a cruel mimick of how him locking his heart just lost him the greatest thing he's ever had.

#LightsOn #kinnporsche #kinn x porsche #kinnporsche fanfic #wip wednesday #it's angst o clock :D #angst is only temporary #kinn is scared of love but we will make him fight for it now that his slow ass caught up

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soaps-mohawk · 6 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 22: I Won't Be Gentle

Summary: Things begin to develop in your new relationship with Simon, but luck is so rarely on your side.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,074

Warnings: Slight NSFW, suggestive content, kissing, dry humping, anguage, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, Ghost’s emotional constipation, angst, a wee bit of horror at the beginning, also a lot of feet in this chapter (gross), oh yeah and did I mention ANGST

A/N: Please don't hate me

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s far too quiet. You can hear the air blowing through the vents, the quiet hum of the fluorescents in the hallway. You push yourself up to sit, the blankets falling around your waist. It’s still dark out, the blurry time on your clock reading just past 2 AM. You’re not quite sure why you’re awake, aside from the eerie silence that has settled over the barracks.

You push your blankets back, shivering as you leave the warm, cozy comfort of your nest. You shove your feet into your slippers to avoid the cold floor before standing, making your way slowly to your door. Something feels wrong, something feels off. You’re on guard, listening, waiting for a sign of whatever is causing such a reaction.

The click of the lock on your door might as well have been a gunshot in the silence, the sound almost echoing. Any chance of stealth is out the window, so you’ll have to be prepared to run in case something happens, in case something is waiting for you on the other side of the door. How something or someone could have gotten in without the guys noticing is beyond you, but you suppose nothing is impossible.

You crack the door open, peeking out through the gap, but you can’t see anything. No one’s moving around, no one’s waiting for you on the other side. The urge to hold your breath is strong as you step out of your room, the silence almost deafening. It’s too still, not even the sound of snores coming from the other rooms. The stillness is eerie, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

You take a cautious step towards John’s room, moving on your tiptoes to avoid making any noise. You don’t really want to wake him two hours before he normally gets up, but you can’t stand the feeling crawling beneath your skin. Even if you just slip into bed beside him, it’ll make you feel safer in this ominous atmosphere that’s settled over the barracks.

The sound of shuffling breaks the silence, making you freeze mid-step. Your breath catches in your lungs, muscles tensing as you pray it was just your imagination, or perhaps your own movements that disturbed the unearthly quiet. Time seems to still as you stand there frozen, your heart pulsing in your ears.

The sound of shuffling unmistakably echoes in the air again. You don’t care how much noise you make as you take off running to John’s door, throwing it open in hopes it wakes him immediately before whatever it is that’s creeping around the barracks finds you.

His bed is empty.

It’s made up like he’d never slept in it, the sheets tucked in pristinely, and the comforter perfectly in place. He’s not in the bathroom either, the door cracked and the light turned off. You walk backwards out of his room, wondering if you had read the time wrong after all, or maybe if he’d just not gone to bed in the first place. You opt for Kyle’s room instead, hurrying to his door before opening it.

His bed is empty too, made up just as perfectly as John’s. You’re beginning to panic, your heart thudding faster than it had been before. Your shaky hands fumble with Johnny’s door across the hall, his room empty and more organized than you’ve ever seen it. You even check Simon’s room, a place you’ve never seen, a place you’ve never been in, but it’s empty too.

Simon’s clock tells you it’s too early for them to be up, too early for them to go to their training. They wouldn’t just leave you like that, would they? Not even a word or a goodbye? You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you stand in the middle of the hallway. Maybe there was an emergency. Did they say anything about doing training tonight? Maybe this is training, maybe they’re testing you and what you’ll do if they ever disappear. Maybe they want to know exactly what you experienced when they left you the first time.

You turn as the shuffling sound gets louder, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as you spot the figure standing at the end of the hallway. It’s dark, the lights at the end of the hall off. They’re never off, the lights in the barracks always on no matter what time it is. Tears sting your eyes as you stare at the shadowy figure at the end of the hall. You can’t see their face, you can’t tell who it is, but something in the back of your mind whispers that it’s not one of your packmates. There’s nothing familiar, no comforting warmth at the sight of them.

Fear nearly blinds you as the figure begins moving down the hall, the lights going out one by one as he gets closer and closer. You’re hyperventilating, your brain screaming to run, but your legs are frozen. You’re alone and there’s nothing you can do. You’re alone and about to die, or worse, and no one will know. It could be days before anyone finds you. The thought of your pack returning to find your mangled body has a sob tearing from your chest, your scream dying on your lips as the darkness finally reaches you.

You jolt awake with a gasp, your heart thudding violently in your chest. You’re shivering, not just from the terror still pulsing through you from the nightmare. The blankets are still pushed down to the end of the bed, leaving you naked and unprotected from the eternally cold barracks.

There’s a heavy weight against your pelvis keeping you from shifting your position, or even sitting up. The aching in your hips and lower back is starting to register as your brain becomes more and more aware of reality. A glance downward reveals your legs are still tossed over Kyle’s shoulders, the position you’d been in before you fell asleep. Kyle is asleep too, his face squished against your pelvis as he snores quietly.

A quick glance at the clock reveals it’s just past 2 AM, your breath catching in your throat. The dream had felt so real, the sensations, the feelings. You pinch yourself, the pain in your back and hips not enough to make you believe you really are awake and not stuck in some nightmare still.

“Kyle,” You whisper quietly, trying to shift, but the hold he has around your thighs is stopping you. “Kyle.” You say a little louder, shaking him gently.

He lets out a quiet grunt as he jerks awake, lifting his head from your pelvis. He smacks his lips, releasing one of your thighs to rub at his face. You immediately free that leg from his shoulder, groaning quietly as you straighten it out. The crack of your knee is loud, Kyle blinking blearily up at you as awareness slowly returns to his brain.

“I think we fell asleep.” You say quietly, still shivering from the cold and the terror remaining from your nightmare. You’re tempted to reach out and squeeze Kyle, just to ensure he’s really real, really here with you.

“Fuck,” He breathes, untangling himself from your body, pushing himself up onto his kees as you straighten out your other leg, sighing at the relief of finally being able to move and stretch your cramped body.

He moves from between your thighs, giving you more room to move and readjust yourself into a more comfortable position. You push yourself up higher against the pillows, sighing at the ache in your lower back.

“Pussy so good it knocked me out cold.” He grins, settling himself down next to you, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. “Fuck you’re freezing.” He frowns, finally noticing the subtle shivering of your body.

He pulls the blankets up, tucking both of you in before wrapping himself around you like a koala. You turn onto your side, tucking yourself into his hold. He lets out a hiss as your feet touch his legs, his arms tightening around you. You press your cheek to his chest, listening to the quiet, steady beat of his heart. A shiver runs down your spine as the nightmare replays in your mind, feeling just as real as it did when you first woke up.

You’re not entirely sure it didn’t happen.

You know it couldn’t have. You woke up in the same position you fell asleep in, legs thrown over Kyle’s shoulders, his head between your thighs. He’d laid there, lazily lapping at your folds after making you cum three times until you both drifted off from exhaustion. It might have been embarrassing, had it not been for the time Johnny fell asleep still inside you moments after his orgasm. You had been stuck under him until he inevitably rolled away, starfishing himself as best he could across the small bed.

“Kyle?” You whisper quietly, not wanting to wake him again if he’d already fallen back to sleep.

He grunts softly, likely half asleep.

“You wouldn’t leave me without telling me, right?” You ask, not sure if you’re going to get an intelligible answer in response.

He shifts just slightly, his arms tightening around you. “Of course not.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll always tell you, love. Wouldn’t just disappear without letting you know first.”

His words end in a yawn, but they offer a sense of comfort to you. You know you might not always have much notice ahead of time. Sometimes they don’t even get a lot of time between finding out about an assignment and when they have to leave. John had warned you about that, that they might have as little as an hour between. They’ll always make sure you know, though. They won’t just disappear into thin air without so much as a goodbye.

It might be their last.

You push that thought from your mind, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathe in Kyle’s scent, praying for your mind to go blank.

It’s like being around a wild animal. You’re not quite sure what to do. You’re afraid to move too quickly, to startle him. Despite the confession, despite your intimate moment on the couch in the rec room, you still feel like you’re dancing around him a bit. You’re not sure where the boundary lies now, what’s okay and what’s going too far.

He sits closer to you now. On the days where you sit between him and Johnny at breakfast, you’ve been close enough to brush arms with him. He stares at you more now too, but less in the way one stares at an annoying fly buzzing around the room, and more in the way one stares at a painting or at the TV when they watch their favorite sports team.

He walks slower now, side by side with you, close enough his hand brushes yours every so often. The thought has crossed your mind to reach out and take it just to see what he would do, but you’re not sure you could handle the rejection if he didn’t want it. You feel very much like you’re tiptoeing around him, afraid to push too far but unsure of where the line stands.

You could just ask him, but you’re afraid he might laugh at you, that he might think you’re stupid for just not knowing. He’s so intune to you. You saw proof of that in the lingerie store, and how he always knows when you get uncomfortable in the mess. You wish you could read him like that, that you could be as intune to him as he is to you. It might be his training, his years of developing the skills to be attentive to every detail, every scent, every emotion. Or maybe that’s just him. After years of living the way he did growing up, you’d imagine he’d be good at knowing when someone is upset versus when they’re not.

He could probably read you like an open book, and yet he’s like a locked safe in an armored vehicle. You’d sooner be able to see through concrete than you would be able to figure out Simon Riley.

“You have to put your feet there?” The low timbre of his voice cuts through your thoughts and you look up at him from where you’re laying on the couch.

He’s staring at you from his seat in the chair, book in hand. You’re laying on your back on the couch, your legs propped up over the arm with your feet right next to him. You could probably reach out and touch his shoulder with your toes if you tried.

“‘S comfy.” You say, going back to your own book.

It’s quiet in the barracks, just the two of you occupying the rec room. John had taken Johnny and Kyle out to do some kind of training or something. You had only been half listening to Simon as he entered the rec room and joined you in the quiet space.

“Well, they stink.” He says, pushing them away from his arm.

“They do not stink.” You say, moving your book aside as you pull your foot towards your nose to smell it. “Liar. My feet are perfect.” You move it back over the arm of the couch, putting it closer to him than it was before.

“Eh,” He stares at your feet for a moment. “I've seen better.”

You gawk at him, looking offended. “Who's?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Johnny’s.”

You pause for a moment, thinking back to all the times you've seen his feet. “You're right. He does have beautiful feet. How does he manage it?”

“He gets pedicures every few weeks.” Simon says, staring at his book. “Usually goes when we return from assignments too.”

You gape at him. “And he's never invited me?”

“Don't think he's gone since you got here.” Simon shrugs. “Kyle was the one to put him on it. They go together sometimes.”

You continue to stare at him, mouth hanging open in shock. You wouldn't have guessed it. Kyle, it made sense for him. He takes better care of his skin and body than even you do, but Johnny too?

“He likes the massaging part. Says it makes his skin extra soft and smooth.” Simon shrugs. You can imagine Johnny trying to convince Simon to tag along, but the mental image of the giant, imposing alpha in a nail salon nearly makes you laugh.

You shake your head, picking your book back up. “I mean, it makes sense, taking care of your feet. They're a vital part of your job.”

“I think they're gross.” He admits, turning the page in his book. “Especially when they're so close to me.”

“Hey, my feet are clean.” You say, poking his arm. “I wash them every time I shower, thank you, and I change my socks every day.”

He pushes your feet away from his arm, letting out a huff. “Keep your trotters away from me.”

“I was here first.” You say, moving them back close to his arm.

“You're such a child.” He says, setting his book down.

“I am not-” The last word cuts off in a shriek as he suddenly grabs your foot, tickling the bottom of it.

You giggle and shriek, trying to pry your foot from his hand, kicking out with the other. He catches both, tickling the bottoms of your feet. Your book drops as you twist and wiggle, tears gathering in your eyes from laughing.

“Okay, okay!” You say, managing to pull away from him and sit up properly on the couch. “You win.”

You pick your book back up, curling up against the arm of the couch as you try and catch your breath. You know he's storing the fact you're ticklish away for later, and had you looked up, you would have seen the slight crinkle at the sides of his eyes indicating the smile hidden beneath his mask.

“Something’s going on with those two.”

“Yer right. It's odd.” Johnny says, leaning against the sink in the bathroom. “They're so...comfortable.”

“Not one tensed muscle or nervous glance.” Kyle says leaning against the wall.

“She's sittin’ close tae him too.” Johnny says. “I think my plan worked.”

“The panties?” Kyle's brow raises. “There's no way a pair of panties changed things this much.”

“It's not just the skids. Tha’ was the push they needed.” He smirks. “They did the rest themselves.”

“I can't believe it.” Kyle shakes his head. “What if it's just a fluke? She was there first and he chose to sit there by chance?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Simon always sits in tha’ chair.”

“What if she was too nervous to move after he sat there.” Kyle argues.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out what they’re really feeling.” Johnny says, moving towards the door.

Kyle follows him out of the bathroom and into the rec room. You don't look up as they enter, Simon barely glancing over the top of his book before going back to reading. Kyle and Johnny share a look before they join you on the couch, Johnny taking the seat next to you.

“Have a good afternoon, kitten?” He asks, stretching his arm across the back of the couch behind you.

You nod, glancing up from your book. “Yeah, just been reading.

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, staring at you. “That all?”

“Mhm.” You hum, continuing to read. “You can turn on the TV if you want.” You say, not even giving him the chance to ask the question.

Johnny turns away from you, glancing at Kyle before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. Kyle shrugs, settling into the couch as Johnny flips through channels. You and Simon continue to read, your body curled up against the arm of the couch, closer to Simon despite Johnny’s arm still draped nearly across your shoulders.

A small smile tugs at Johnny’s lips, a pleased aura nearly radiating off of him. Normally you would be sitting as far from Simon as you could, and you would have leaned into Johnny as soon as he sat next to you. Now you’re sitting as close as you can to Simon, and staying that way. Johnny’s not even upset by you unintentionally ignoring him.

He’s just happy his plan worked.

It’s not just existing around Simon that has changed since his confession and your moment in the rec room. Training has also changed. Things feel different, stranger between the two of you. Despite the partial lowering of the barrier, it feels as if there’s a thicker one between you. Is he dancing around you as much as you are dancing around him? Are both of you fumbling to find where the new barrier lies? The thought is comforting, that he might be struggling with this as much as you are.

He avoids touching you as much as possible during training, only adjusting your stance when necessary. You haven’t done much on the floor either, instead his focus is on working on your kicks and punches again.

He’s as stone-faced as usual, the tenseness back in his body as you throw punches at the bag. Your knuckles hurt and you’re quickly getting tired between the lack of sleep due to your nightly activities with the other members of your pack, your nightmares, and also the thousands of thoughts causing turmoil in your mind. You just want to know where you stand, you just want to know where that boundary lies. You just want him to talk to you.

You’re tempted to throw a punch at him just to get him to do something.

You take a step back from the bag, taking a breath. You want to confront him, ask him every burning question in your mind in a place where it is less likely someone will walk in and see you or overhear. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand this, how much longer you can do this dance before you lose it. You need to know, you need to place that boundary somewhere so you can stop worrying.

“You’re in your head again.” Simon says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “That’s going to get you hurt someday.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t have to be in my head so much if you’d just talk to me.” You snap, starting to get frustrated.

He shifts on his feet, his shoulders tensing just slightly. Your words and obvious frustration striking something within him.

“I just...I need to know what we are...where we stand,” You continue. “I need to know what we’re doing, what’s okay. I feel like I’m just tiptoeing and dancing around you and I can’t stand it.”

He shifts on his feet again, staring at you blankly. You need him to say something, anything. It’s not often he’s been quiet, speechless when you’ve confronted him. You know you’ve put him in a place like you did in the rec room, cornered him in a vulnerable position. You also know that’s where he’s most uncomfortable.

“I...I don’t know.” He says, obviously scrambling for words, for something to answer you with.

“Well, it would be nice if you figured it out, because you’re stressing me out here.” You sigh exasperatedly. “I just...don’t want to make you uncomfortable or do something that’s going to ruin things.”

“I don’t think you could do that.” He says, shifting on his feet again.

You blink at him in surprise, not expecting that to be his answer. “I-I don’t-”

All thought of moving or defending yourself is out the window as he moves, knocking your feet out from under you and sending you sprawling on your back. He’s on you instantly, pinning you against the floor. Your breath leaves your lungs as you suddenly find yourself face to face with him, close enough to see the shades of brown in his eyes.

“Do you know how long you’ve been teasing me, torturing me? How badly I’ve wanted to touch, to feel, to get a taste for myself?” His face lowers towards yours, and you’re certain if he hadn’t been wearing the mask, you could have felt his breath on your lips. “Weeks I’ve been forced to sit and listen to you with the others, wishing it could be me, wishing I could have that with you without the risk of breaking you, of ruining everything.”

“You’re not going to break me.” You say quietly, trying to reassure him like you did during your chat in the rec room. “I’m not made of glass.”

“I can’t...I can’t risk ruining things for everyone.” He shakes his head, pulling back just slightly.

“What makes you so sure you will? Have you even considered the fact that I want you too? I’ve been waiting for this for so long. Hell, I would be happy if you just wanted to be my friend. I’ve been trying so hard for weeks just for your approval. I never even thought...” You shake your head. “I never even thought you’d feel like this about me. I thought you hated me for so long.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring down at you, his eyes searching yours. “I tried to. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t.” He lets out a long breath. “It’s not fair to either of us, it’s not fair to the rest of the pack if we keep doing this. It’s fucking us up, I’m fucking us up. I can’t focus anymore. I damn near killed Johnny when I caught your scent on him after you fucked him before training.”

Your face warms at his words. Of course he’d smelled like you, of course they knew what he was up to. “Well, it’s more like he fucked me... It was his idea.” You shrug.

“Christ.” He breathes, his eyes darkening just a little.

“You don’t have to hold back anymore.” You say. “I-I’m sorry I never noticed, I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” He murmurs, leaning in close again. “My own damn fault for being so stubborn.”

“You don’t have to be anymore.” You breathe. “It’s never too late to start.”

You stare up at him as he hovers over you, chests brushing with every inhale. You’ve been this close before, been in this position before, but it’s never felt quite like this. The intensity between you is greater, not just a test of your will, of your strength when it comes to resisting an alpha’s imposing energy anymore. You don’t want to fight him, you’ve never wanted to fight him in this position. It makes sense now, every time he’s forced you out of that headspace during these moments hadn’t just been to keep you focused on training.

He’s been holding himself back.

“I won’t be gentle.” He says, his voice rumbling through you. His words are honest, spoken in truth. You can see it in his eyes, silently conveying the reality if you decide to continue. It’s a warning, a chance to turn back. He’s offering himself up raw and unfiltered.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be.” You counter, eyes fluttering as you stare up at him. “I don’t need tenderness, someone to comfort me, to pick up the pieces. I’ll go to John if I need that. Maybe I just want you to be yourself.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest at your words, his eyes darkening as he stares down into your shining ones. The back of your neck prickles as the energy shifts, the tension between the two of you coming to a head as the wall keeping the two of you apart begins to crumble.

“I’m not made of glass.” You say, snaking an arm around his neck, his eyes dropping to where your teeth sink into your lip. “Maybe I want someone to be a little rough with me.”

Another growl rumbles in his chest as he leans down even further. You automatically submit to him, tilting your head and bearing your throat to him as you’ve done so many times before in this position. He doesn’t stop you this time, doesn’t force you to turn away as he sinks down completely, pressing his face into the side of your neck. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent from the source for the first time since your arrival on base.

His breath is warm through his mask as he exhales deeply, his body going lax as he practically squishes you into the mat. It’s not uncomfortable, the heavy weight of him a welcome sensation. It feels like a protective barrier against the world, a comfort knowing he’d keep you safe from any physical threat that might pose itself to you.

That is the difference between the two alphas. John can keep you safe from the horrors in your mind, offer you a comfort only your alpha can as he eases your fear and anxiety. Simon offers a protection against the physical, not that John doesn’t as well, but it feels different between the two of them. John would stand between you and a gun, while Simon would run headfirst towards the person wielding it towards you without a second thought.

Simon shifts just slightly, pulling away from you enough to reach up towards his mask. Your heart stutters in your chest for a moment at the thought of him taking it off, allowing you in enough to see his face. You’re nowhere near that close yet, you know that logically, but the idea excites you.

He tugs his mask up over his nose before pressing back into your throat, his hand slipping under your back to press you tighter against him. A shiver runs down your spine as his skin presses against yours, warm and slightly sweaty from training. You don’t care as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent unfiltered. His exhale is warm and shaky against your skin, his lips slightly chapped as they brush the side of your neck.

Something twists in your stomach as he drags his lips across your skin. Your hand lifts to cup the back of his head, pressing his face further into your neck. You don’t care if you suffocate him, and he doesn’t seem to care either as his body shifts just enough for him to press his thigh between yours.

Your breath shudders as he mouths at your neck, his tongue dragging across your scent gland. Your hips push up against his thigh in response, the friction igniting a fire in your veins. A quiet moan slips through your lips as he drags his teeth across your scent gland, your hips pressing harder against his thigh.

“Fuck.” He breathes against your skin, his hand dropping to grip your hip as you grind against his thigh, your body feeling electric from his touch.

Your head is spinning, your entire body alight with energy as he finally lets go, as he finally loosens that hold he’s been throttling himself with. The sensation of him is nearly overwhelming. His touch, his scent, the knowledge that it’s him. You’d let him fuck you right here in the training room, right on this mat, if he wanted to. You’re already wet, soaking into your panties as you grind against his thigh, his muscles tensing under his sweatpants. You're certain there’s going to be a wet spot against the fabric, something that can’t be explained away by training.

The thought of him finally wearing your scent thrills you.

His hand holds your hip, guiding your movements as you work yourself up. It would be perfect, him giving you your first orgasm just like this. Fully clothed in the training room, the place where your relationship has been tested, where the boundaries have been pushed the most.

Alas, you’re not so lucky. You’re never that lucky.

Both of you freeze as his phone alarm begins to go off, signaling the end of training. It forces you both back into the real world, the electric feeling beginning to fade as the moment ends and the mood in the room shifts. Simon lets out a sigh against your throat, slowly releasing your body as he pushes himself up onto his knees. His eyes are still dark as he stares down at you, your face sweaty, hair sticking to your skin as you lay there on the mat, probably looking absolutely ruined already.

You stare at his skin, the only part of him you’ve ever seen before. You’ve tried to imagine what he might look like, trying to piece together the rest of his face from what you’ve seen.

“We’ll continue this later.” He rasps, tugging his mask back down before pushing himself up to go silence his phone.

You lay there for a moment, catching your breath. You never thought it would feel like that, like straight energy coursing through you. He’d barely touched you and you could have cum from that alone had you been given a couple more minutes. His promise of continuing things later has a thrill running through you, a promise of this new relationship building between you.

Simon walks you to the mess, your face still warm from what had happened in the training room. His arm snakes around your back, his hand on your hip as he leads you to the line, his fingers tightening their hold on you every time someone passes too close. They all stare at you, all giving you looks. You can only imagine the smell, imagine what’s going through their heads.

They all know. They think you fucked him before coming to breakfast.

It wouldn't be the first time you walked in smelling like sex and a member of your pack. It’s just the first time it’s been him.

Your pack eyes you both as you and Simon take your seats at the table, you sitting yourself between Simon and Johnny again.

“Bit late today.” Kyle says, giving you both a look.

“Training ran long.” Simon says, pushing his mask back up over his mouth. Your scent flares a bit as you think about what those lips had felt like on your skin.

John eyes you both, all of them obviously picking up on the change. “I’m sure it did. Did you have a good time?”

“Would have been even better if we’d had a few more minutes.” You shrug, trying to hide your burning face in your porridge.

“Your punctuality has finally worked against you, Simon.” John says.

The alpha shrugs. “Didn’t want a grumpy, hungry omega on my hands.”

“I’m not grumpy when I’m hungry.” You pout. All four pairs of eyes at the table turn to look at you. “Okay, maybe a little.” You admit, spooning a heaping mouthful of porridge into your mouth, hoping the topic of conversation at the table changes so you can cool off just a bit.

Your face is still slightly warm as John walks you back to the barracks. He’s quiet as he leads you across the courtyard, and for a moment you’re worried he’s jealous, or perhaps upset that you’ve taken interest in another alpha besides him. He wouldn’t feel that way. Simon is part of the pack. It’s perfectly natural for you to feel a connection with him. It’s perfectly natural for you both to want to progress your relationship. Plenty of omegas take multiple alphas in a pack. Hell, many of them are claimed by more than just one.

“I’m happy you and Simon have finally worked things out.” He says as you stop in front of your door.

You turn to look up at him, a soft look in his eyes as he stares down at you. “About time, right?”

He chuckles quietly. “Yes, Johnny and Kyle were going to lock you two in a closet soon if things didn’t start developing.”

Your face warms again just a little. “Well, it is thanks to Johnny that we got here.”

“Yes, the skull-print underwear.” John says, smirking slightly. Of course he knows about that. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut. He probably gave them all a detailed description of what happened at the lingerie store. “I much prefer those pink lacy ones myself.”

Your brows lift as you stare up at him. “What, these ones?” You tug the waistband of your exercise pants down just enough to show the pink lace against your skin.

A low growl leaves John’s lips as he stares down at them, his body crowding you against the door. “Yes, those ones exactly.”

Your breathing quickens as you stare up at him, your underwear still uncomfortably damp from your little tryst in the training room that had forced Simon to leave you high and dry. How no one else had tried to approach the table from the smell of horny omega you had been projecting through the entire mess is a mystery to you. Then again, perhaps it was your pack that had kept you safe. The threat they posed was enough for all the alphas in the room to resist the scent of your slick leaking into your panties.

You wonder how many of them got up to sniff the bench you sat on after you vacated the mess, pressing their faces against the plastic in an attempt to satiate the effect you had on all of them. How torturous it must be, knowing they’ll never have you. An omega right in front of them and their desperation, but they can only look, as the threat of dismemberment is not worth the risk of trying to touch.

The thought has your stomach clenching, more slick dribbling out of you.

“Got you all worked up, didn’t he?” John murmurs, pressing his face against your throat and inhaling. “Fuck, that’s a mixture someone could get drunk off of.”

The alarm on his watch begins to go off, and you half expect him to pull away, to leave you high and dry too, but instead he presses closer to you, his lips blazing a path up the side of your neck.

“Don’t you have training?” You ask, your voice trembling as he nips at your jaw.

“I’m in charge.” He says, pulling away to turn the alarm off before he grabs the waistband of your pants, tugging them down around your knees. “They can wait.”

He spins you around, pinning your body against your door. You can feel him, hard in his cargo pants as he presses up against you, his breath hot against your ear. He drags his hips against your ass, the line of his cock brushing against the thin material of your panties.

“I’ve got more important things to see to.” He growls, slipping his hand down the front of your body to cup your dripping pussy through the lacy pink panties.

You should have known. You should have known things were too perfect, working out too well. Something always happens, something always ruins it. Something always comes between you, right as things begin to work themselves out, right as you begin to get comfortable.

“I’m leaving.”

You blink up at him, the words barely processing in your mind. “Huh?”

“I’ve got orders, shipping out within the hour.” Simon says, almost too casually.

It is casual to him, though. This is a normal event, part of his existence, part of his normal life.

“The others?” You ask, the words trailing off but you don’t need to finish the question.

“Just me.” He says, crossing the hall to open the door to his room. You follow, feeling like you’re wading through sand.

It almost feels sacrilegious, getting a peek into his room, into his personal space like this. You’ve never seen inside, the few times you’ve walked by as he’s exiting, you’ve averted your gaze, almost afraid to try and look, to see inside his most vulnerable area. The space where he gets to be himself.

Even now you find yourself looking away, turning your gaze down the hallway towards the door. The door he’s going to walk through and disappear for an unknown amount of time.

“How long?” You ask, fighting the urge to look as he moves past the door.

“Don’t know.” He answers, his voice slightly muffled as he stands behind the door, likely grabbing things out of his dresser. “However long it takes.”

You swallow thickly. Of course this is happening now. Of course he’s leaving right when things are starting to happen between the two of you, right when you’ve started to get closer, when he’s starting to allow you in. What will happen when he returns? Will things go back to the way they were before, or will they continue as they are now? What if he changes his mind with some distance, with a chance to clear his head?

What if he doesn’t come back?

Your teary gaze snaps to him as he steps back out into the hall, closing his door behind him. You want to beg him not to go, drop to your knees and convince him to stay with you. He’d never do something like that. He’d never give up his job, no matter what you said, no matter what happened. He’ll always be a loyal soldier over everything.

Even you.

“I’ll be back,” He says, tossing his pack over his shoulder. “Then we can talk.”

You stare up into his eyes, furiously blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “Okay.” The word is so small and broken sounding. You shouldn’t feel this way. He’s not even your alpha.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment, hesitating just briefly before he straightens up, heading down the hallway. You hold your breath as you watch him go, his figure blurring as the tears continue to well up. You should tell him, you should run after him and confess, confess to everything. You should hug him, hold him just one more time because you might never get a chance to again.

Your shoes squeak as you race down the hall, throwing the door open. The rain bites at your skin as you run out into it, the weather a perfect metaphor for how you’re feeling inside.

“Simon!” You shout his name, hoping he can hear you over the rain.

He turns back around to face you, both of you standing there in the rain, staring at each other. It’s soaking through your clothes, your hair sticking to your face. You can barely see him, your eyes squinting from the water dripping into them.

This would be the perfect moment, the scene when you run towards each other and collide in the middle in a passionate kiss that speaks of weeks of longing and desire finally being released. No matter how badly you want to run up to him and kiss him, you know you can’t. You want to shout at him, tell him you love him, that you don’t want him to go. You want to confess everything, let all the walls down and beg him to stay, to leave this life behind and run off with you somewhere safer, somewhere there’s no threat of him not coming back.

You wish you could see his face, you wish you could read his thoughts, know exactly what he’s feeling right now. Does he feel the same, or are you a fly buzzing around him again?

“Be careful,” You shout over the sound of the pouring rain, the things you want to say fading to the back of your mind. When he comes back, if he comes back, you’ll tell him. You’ll tell him everything. “And come home safe.”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Always.”

You turn back to the barracks, your shoes crunching on the wet gravel. Your steps are slow, your body still feeling like it’s wading through sand. You turn back, looking over your shoulder one last time at his retreating form slowly disappearing into the heavy rainfall.

Johnny is standing in the doorway as you turn back around, holding it open. You approach it slowly, feeling like the wet, miserable rat you probably resemble. You’re glad for the rain soaking through your clothes and your hair, glad for the droplets streaking down your skin hiding the burning tears sliding down your cheeks.

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