#why give your money to a corporation when you can hand it to me a gay /joking

[zooophagous]

So why do you hate the advertising industry?

Hokay so.

Let me preface this with some personal history. It's not relevant to the sins of the advertising industry perse but it illustrates how I started to grow to hate it.

I wanted to be a veterinarian growing up, but to be a vet you basically have to be good enough to get into medical school. I do not have the math chops or discipline to make it in medical school. I went into art instead, and in a desperate attempt to find some commercial viability that didn't involve moving to California, I went into graphic design.

I've been a graphic designer for about seven or eight years now and I've worn a lot of hats. One of them was working in a print shop. Now, the print shop had a lot of corporate customers who had various ad campaigns. One of them was Gate City Bank, which had a bigass stack of postcards ordered every couple months to mail to their customers.

Now, paper comes from Dakota Paper, and they make their paper the usual way. Somewhere far, far from our treeless plain there is a forest of tall trees. These trees are cut down and put on big fossil fuel burning trucks and hauled to a paper mill that turns them into pulp while spewing the most fowl odors imaginable over the neighboring town and loads the pulp up with bleach to give it a nice white color.

Then the paper is put on yet another big truck and hauled off to the local paper depot, then put on another big truck and delivered to my print shop, where I turned the paper into postcards telling people to go even deeper into debt to buy a boat because it's almost summer. The inks used are a type of nasty heat sensitive plastic that is melted to the surface of the paper with heat. Then the postcards are put on yet ANOTHER truck and sent to the bank, which puts them on ANOTHER truck and finally into the hands of their customers, who open their mail and take one look at the post card and immediately discard it.

Heaps and heaps and literal hundreds of pounds of literal garbage created at the whim of the marketing team several times a year. And thats just one bank in one city.

I came to realize very quickly that graphic design was the delicate art of turning trees into junk mail.

And wouldn't you know it there are a TON of companies that basically only do junk mail. Many of them operate under the guise of a "charity," sending you pictures of suffering children or animals and begging for handouts and when they get those handouts the executives take a nice fat cut, give some small token amount to whatever cause they pay lip service to, and then put the rest of the cash right back into making more mailers. "Direct mail marketing" they call it.

Oh but maybe it's not so bad, you can advertise online after all. Now that there's decent ad blocker out there and better anti-virus ads usually don't destroy your computer anymore just by existing.

Except now when I search for the exact business I want on Google it's buried under three or four different "promoted search items" tricking me into clicking on them only to shoot themselves in the foot because I searched for the specific result I wanted for a reason and couldn't use those other websites even if I felt like it.

And now we have advertising on YouTube and on every streaming service, forcing more and more eyes onto the ad for the brand new Buick Envision that parks itself because you're too stupid to do it on your own.

Oh thats ok maybe I'll get Spotify premium and go ad free and listen to some podcasts- SIKE we have the hosts of your show doing the song and dance now. Are you depressed and paranoid from listening to my true crime podcast about murdered and mutilated teenagers? That's ok, my sponsor Better Help can keep you sane enough to stay alive and spend more money.

It's gotten so terrible that now you have content farms, huge hubs of shell companies that crank out video after video to get more and more precious clicks. Which if the videos were innocuous maybe that wouldn't be so awful except now you have cooking hacks that can actually burn your house down and craft hacks that can electrocute you being flung into your eyes at the speed of mach fuck so some slimy internet clickbait jockey doesn't need to get a real job.

It of course goes without saying that animals are also relentlessly exploited by clickbait companies that will put them in compromising situations on purpose to create a fake fishing hack video or even just straight up killing them for sport by feeding small animals to a pufferfish that rips them apart for the camera.

And all of this, ALL of this doesn't even touch how adveritising is the death of art in general. Queer topics, any kind of interesting art, any kind of sex or substance use topics are scrubbed clean and hidden at the behest of advertisers.

Sex education, a nude statue, topics such as racism or sexism or bigotry in general have tags purged or hidden from search, even life saving information about SDTs or drug use, because if someone saw that and complained then Verizon might sell fewer tablets and we can't fucking have that.

Conservative talking heads often bitch and moan that they're being censored on social media. The stupid part is, they're right! They are being censored! But it's not by a woke mob, it's by ATT and Coca Cola not wanting their adspace sharing screen time with their stupid fucking opinions.

However, they won't ever figure that out, because the talking heads they get their marching orders from like Tucker and Jones ALSO rely on the sweet milk flowing from the sponsorship teat and they aren't about to turn on their meal ticket so they have to come up with even stupider shit to say for the train to continue rolling.

I managed to rant this far without even getting into the ads I see for the beauty industry. The other day a botox ad described wrinkles as "moderate to severe crows feet" as if wrinkles are a symptom of a fucking serious disease! Like having a flaw in your skin is a medical problem that you need thousands of dollars of literal botulism toxin to fix! I was incandescent with anger.

Advertising is a polluting, censoring, anti educational and anti art industry at it's very core. It destroys human connections, suppresses human thought and makes us hate our own bodies. It ads no value, actively detracts from value, and serves no real purpose and I believe it should be almost if not entirely banned.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 x reader (gender not mentioned/implied/specified); SYNOPSIS: Your first meeting with him was anthing but charming. Especially when he cornered you to the point, where you know you'll have no choice but to submit. TW. implied age gap, manipulation, threatening (?), red flag, power imbalance;

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"How can I help you, sir?"

"Be my sugar baby."

You blinked owlishly, trying to process what this customer said and if it was on the menu. When in fact it turned out that it isn't and you connected the words and their meaning, you were ready to burst out laughing.

He can't be serious.

Just by looking at him, you can tell he occupies a high position in some fancy corporation. You were even ready to bet that he was a CEO! It was a mystery itself why he was here, in a food chain restaurant in the first place. An enigma why he even said something like that to you, a plain worker who is pretty much opposite in every aspect one could think of.

He is handsome, you give him that. Probably older than you, since his face was more defined and mature. His suit, which you imagned to be tailor-made, colonge that was so strong you could smell it from behind the counter and all the expensive accesories (I mean look at his watch! Worth univesity tuition installment or two!) he had on were probably worth more than what you owned now.

But no, you aren't stupid. Sleep deprived, yes. Hungry, yes. Broke, also unfortunately, yes. But not stupid.

This man must be high then. No other sane and sober and filthy rich man would propose something like that to the (broke) food chain worker during the first meeting.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to be calm. He is still your client and you are fighting to be this employee of the month. You can already envision your photo hanging by the cashier and feel the additional money in your bank account. You won't lose your cool now.

Instead, you plastered your best fake smile.

"I'm afraid that's not on our menu sir. Do you fancy something else?"

The man chuckled, as if you told the best and poshest joke known to mankind. Your eyebrow twitched, yet your smile didn't budget.

Calm down...he is high...let him laugh...employee of the month...additional money...!

"You're more amusing than I thought." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Trust me sweetie, I love how you call me 'sir' but that doesn't change the fact that my request still stays. I want you to be my sugar baby."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sir."

"Ho ho, everything is possible." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 hid his hands in the pocket of his pants. He was staring down at you, like you were the most interesting thing he saw in a long while. You began to feel uneasy and slightly curled into yourself. You didn't like how mischievous his smirk looked.

A beat of tense silence passed, before he spoke again.

"I won't back down, sweetie. You know, I've learned that when you really want something, you should fight for it till you'll achieve it. This situation is no different than a business. I provide you safety and money, while you agree to be mine and fulfill my (every) requests." He finished his speech with a smile worth a million dollars, showing off his pearly white and straight teeth.

"Sir -- "

"After all, you wouldn't want your current life to crumble, hm?" You froze when his expression became sinister and his voice lowered to the point of mocking. In your gut you began to feel dread. You knew this feeling bery well. It appears whenever you sense danger. Currently, this man in front of you was a person who you should be afraid of. One thing for sure, he wasn't lying when he said he can destroy you in a matter of one call.

Money rules the world.

"Your measly, little thing, who believes something will change. That it is just a stepping stone. But what if I make it your prison? Force you to be stuck here until you break under pressure? In the end, you'll still agree to be mine, sweetie. It depends on you if you want to suffer or not."

And destroy those who are too weak and gets crushed under its ruthless rule.

"This choice is yours." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 straightened his back and only now you realized he was holding a sheet of paper. "All you have to do is to sign this..."

You knew you have no choice.

"So pick carefully, sweetie."

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[cinnasweetss]

to love and to cherish. | l.hs

genre: smut, very minimal plot, fluff (a pinch.)

characters: husband/dad!heeseung, wife/mom!reader, “uncle”!jake at the end, seung (reader & heeseung’s son)

wc: 2.8k

content below cut. (plz read…or you’ll be v surprised…)

content: established relationship, mentions of pregnancy & marriage, domestication, reader is a stay at home mom, body insecurity, body description, SLIGHTTTT dacryphilia, lactation, love making, tit play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (hun, love, baby, etc.), praise, etc etc…

A /N: i’m experimenting in my writing (still tame imo)! this might not be everyone’s cup of tea n that’s ok <3 thanks for reading!!

"dinner looks great, hun." heeseung slides in, slipping a hand around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek.  it startles you, whipping your head around to him, soft smile plastered on his face. 

"Didn't hear you come in." you mumble, returning his smile before you continue the dishes. "Got you something." he pulls away, shuffling behind you, "give me a second, hee." you need to finish these dishes tonight. it'll be pain the ass tomorrow if you don't. "Did you put Seung to bed? Told you I wanted to see him, hun." he says, immediately noticing how quiet the house is tonight. lights dimmed, living room picked up and neat instead of the usual plethora of toys. "he got fussy." 

"Baby, come on-"  he nags, only because you have barely looked at him since he stepped in. no 'how was work, honey?' and a cheerful smile like usual. 

"Give me a minute, heeseung!" 

there's a long pause in the air, making you immediately regret raising your voice, dropping the plate in your hand back into the soapy water, "I'm sorry." 

heeseung told you to not let it get like that. he told you to not stress yourself out when you both found out you were pregnant. he knew this would happen. it was inevitable. but you promised him. "Look at me." 

"Oh, hee..." you immediately soften, face falling into your hands once you see the beautiful, huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. he sets the bouquet down on the island, quickly moving to wrap his arms around your crying figure. you quickly accept the embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Why are you crying?" he chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back soothingly. "I'm sorry!" 

"It's okay, love." he pulls you off of him, wiping away your tears. "so pretty." he leans in to kiss you, using his thumbs to wipe the rest of the stray tears. 

Heeseung is so good to you. he always has been. when you met him six years ago, when you married him three years ago, and when you gave him his firstborn a year and a half ago.  his love has been unconditional, unwavering, always consistent. all you could ask for and more. 

"I told you not to stress yourself out. You can ask me for help." he's smiling, despite your continued tears. you feel so awful. "But you're working-" he stops you there, "so are you, love." he knows that being a stay at home mom is a lot, a lot more demanding than his silly little corporate job. "what are you handwashing the dishes for, anyway? we've got a dishwasher." 

"cause, it's a lot to run it..." he sighs, face shifting to a scowl. he hates when you talk about the price of things, bills, anything with money. "It's not, and that's not for you to worry about." it's firm, almost scolding. but you know it's just because of the many times he's had to tell you to not worry about the bills. not that you've seen one in years. 

"Get in bed. I'll finish up." he pulls away then, moving to the sink. you scurry behind him, grabbing a vase to put the flowers in. "Bed, babe. I'll do that too." 

"let me warm up your food-" he doesn't have to say much, turning with a dissatisfied expression across his face as he leans on the counter. "Get upstairs." you know better than to argue after the third time, so, you do as told.

...

he joins you just an hour later, walking in on you fumbling with the baby monitor, making sure it's on and working before you set it on the bedside table. he eyes you, wet hair stuck to your shoulders and neck, saturating the t shirt you have on. 

he grabs your hand, pulling you back to the bathroom. he places you infront of the mirror, reaching for the hair dryer in the cabinet. "Did you even towel dry it? you're soaking." 

"Thought I heard Seung crying..." you mumble, heeseung running a brush through your hair. "That hairdryer- Dyson. it's so expensive. you won't even use it."he grabs a towel, gently drying each lock of your hair, then your neck and shoulders. 

"I do use it!" five times since he got it for you during Christmas. You'd brought it up maybe once, showing him a video on TikTok of some influencer using it. it was probably the millionth video you'd showed him. still, he paid attention. "Sometimes." he agrees, flashing you a playful smile in the mirror. 

"you don't have work to do?" you look at him through the mirror, squeezing the water out of your hair with the towel. "Work? While i'm at home with my wife?" he turns on the hairdryer after, running it over your now damp hair. 

this week he's been coming home without his laptop. spending almost no time in his office downstairs, instead getting into bed with you every night after work. 

you hadn't said it out loud, but he knew you were bothered by sleeping first. sleeping next to an empty space that he only filled from the hours of 1am to 6am. disappearing into his office right after dinner. you continue watching him through the mirror, fond smile on you lips as he finishes. his eyes catch yours, mouthing a playful "what?" before he shifts his eyes back to your hair. 

he turns off the hair dryer, using a brush to smooth out the now dry hair. he guides you out the bathroom, stopping you in front of your shared dresser.

reaching for the bottom of your tee, he pulls it up, only stopping when you step back and push his hands away. "come on, you gotta get out of this. it's wet." 

"I'll do it." "Babe, really." 

you surrender at that, raising your arms so he can lift your shirt above your head and get you a new one. Only he has his gaze locked on yours...trying to remember the last time he was intimate with you. the last time he saw you undressed. you notice his expression change, unfamiliar glint in his eyes. 

had it really been that long? 

"What, hee? you're staring..." you ask worriedly, afraid he might not like what he sees. you damn sure don't look like the woman he married, not after having his child. 

each time you look in the mirror you're reminded, each time you look at your wedding pictures, each time you get naked infront of him, each time you look at your son. 

your arm lays against your chest, holding your breasts as you reach for another shirt. Heeseung's way quicker, grabbing your arm before you can reach it. "Wait."

his lips are on yours seconds later, pulling your body flush against his, trapping you in a very passionate kiss. 

you know what he wants when he kisses you like that. when he pulls you in by your waist and holds your cheek with one hand. when he lifts you up and takes you bed, placing you against the mattress softly. your stomach flutters with excitement, eager to experience a different type of intimacy with him.

he pulls away, pulling at his tie with one hand and letting it fall to the ground, undoing a few buttons of his shirt after.

he connects your lips again as wall as your groins, grinding softly through kisses. it's enough to get you worked up, moaning into the kiss when he gropes at a tit. 

he gives it some love with his mouth too, sucking one and squeezing the other. its enough to stimulate your ducts, breasts tingling as they secrete milk. he purposely squeezes a nipple, milk spilling from the ducts, as you squirm beneath him. his skilled hands force a moan from you, his tongue swirling as he sucks, likely making your other breast leak too. 

his hips rut against yours, grunting at the little bit of friction it gives. he's gotta get out of these slacks, and fast. he pulls his mouth away, kissing down your chest and abdomen, paying special attention to those areas he knows youre insecure about. 

your lower belly that's riddled with stretch marks and hips that look the same from carrying his child. he wouldn't trade you for the world, not when you've given him the best gift on gods earth. a family. 

he pulls your night shorts down with one motion, doing the same with your panties before he spreads your legs. his kisses move to your thighs, stopping when he reaches your core. he moves your hips to the edge of the bed, kneeling before you. "Fuck.." he feels his mouth water just looking, pushing your legs before he dips his head between your thighs. 

six years and every time feels like the first. six years and neither of you can get enough. 

he always takes his time, soft kisses against your pussy to start, soft licks against your clit when he slides his tongue through your folds, huge hands that knead at the flesh of your thighs to stimulate you even more. he gradually moves to sucking, tongue flat against the little bundle of nerves, forcing moan from you.

your eyes flutter closed, sinking further into the mattress as you reach for his hands. 

your fingers intertwine perfectly, much like they did the first time you two met in college. he was sweet then, he's even sweeter now. always, always so compassionate and caring, even more since you've gotten married. 

he watches from between your legs. eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth agape as you let out the prettiest moans. matching the pretty expression you have. 

he knows you like the back of his hand, sucking your clit just how you like it. your back arching off the bed tells him so. especially when you remove a hand from his, sliding it through his hair instead to swirl your hips. 

"oh, god- hee!"

he can hear your breath quickening. short and shallow through endless curses as your orgasm builds. "fuck, baby, i'm cumming!" it hits you like a truck, heeseung moaning as you cum right on his tongue, nothing else. holding your hips steady so he can eat you through it. through the soft convulsions and quiet moans, hands that grip his and his hair. 

heeseung finally pulls his lips way, rising from the floor with lips coated in your arousal. he doesn't lick them, keeps them wet and moist so he can lean down and kiss you. he's letting you taste yourself as well, sliding his tongue past your lips to give you sloppy, wet kisses. 

you pull at his button up, pulling it from his slacks, moving to remove his belt right after. you pull away from the kiss, pulling at the buttons with frantic hands. "help me, hee..." you mumble, looking up at the man above you. he forces you both up, reaching to unbutton his pants as you work on those damn buttons. 

"take your time, darlin'. Im not going anywhere." he kisses your forehead gently, capturing your lips again once you finish. you push his shirt off his shoulders, only satisfied when you hear it make contact with the wood flooring below. "tell me how you want me." you barely manage to get out between kisses. he doesn't respond for a minute, focusing on kissing you before he makes up his mind. 

"bend over." he pants, catching his breath from the very heated kiss. you do as instructed, turning around to bend over for him. his hands immediately attach to your hips, one hand pressing against the small of your back, guiding you into position. "Arch that back, yeah..." he pulls you back against his dick, hard length sitting right between your ass. he retracts, sliding his length through your folds, coating it in your arousal. 

you can feel him line himself up with your entrance, head of his cock just barely penetrating, pausing before he decides to fully slip inside. a soft cry leaves you,  leaning yourself away from the intrusion that has your walls stretching. "Uh-ah, keep that back arched for me baby." that makes you whine, forcing yourself back into position as he pulls you right back on his cock. "Good girl..." he coos, hand rubbing softly against your back to soothe you, legs already trembling just from him sliding in. 

he takes you painfully slow, pulling half his length out, pushing it back in, in a long drawn out movement. his eyes are stuck right where you suck him back in, despite your little noises that tell him you're struggling with it. he barely has to move his hips, you're pushing back on him likely without even realizing. 

"Fuck," his dick is soaked, coated in your wetness, glistening in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. He grabs both hips, taking over your soft and cautious movements, replacing them with his own. Still slow, but much deeper, holding your ass to his hips each time he pushes himself back in. 

"Taking it so good, baby." heeseung doesn't know why you're always so caught up in your own thoughts. each time he fucks you like this, you forget all about your silly little insecurities. It's all proof of the woman you are today, anyway. the mother and wife he's built within you. 

"Hee..." you reach a hand back to hold his, heeseung quickly pinning your arm behind your back, hand clasped within yours. His movements increase, throwing his own head back as your body drives him to near madness. you sink further down, hand knitting into the soft fabric of your cream coloured duvet. 

so deep, so big. he's hitting all the right spots, bending over you to reach and grab a tit. he squeezes at the flesh, mouth steady kissing on your shoulder as he fucks you near completion. the both of you. "fuck, baby! harder!" nothing but a word, he happily obliges. he's been waiting for you to say it since he started. "Yeah?" his breaths shallow and short as he fucks into you harder, a loud moan of approval from you forcing a smirk on his lips. "Yes! god, heeseung!" from his lips on your neck, to the way his balls repeatedly slap against your clit, you're already there before you realise. "Like that, yeah, let it out."

you grab at his flexed arms beside you, crying out as you both ride out your orgasm together. Heeseung's hips stutter as cums inside you, sloppy uncoordinated thrusts pushing more waves of pleasure through you. "Shit." He blinks through the haziness coursing through his body, only pulling out when both of your breaths return to normal.

you stay even when heeseung leaves, relaxing your body against the bed. he comes back, turning you back over so he can clean you up, laying next to you right after. 

comfortable silence fills the air, heeseung pulling you into his arms when you snuggle up close. "I love you, hee."

"I love you more, baby." 

...

"Say hi!" you grab your sons arm, waving at the man in the doorway. "My big man! Say hi to uncle Jake." he takes the baby from your arms, bouncing him in his. "Where's your dad, big man? always leaving mommy to do the work, huh?" you move to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker for heeseung.

"Dad is doing laundry." Heeseung emerges, passing Jake the diaper bag. You furrow your brows at that, heeseung hadn't said anything about Jake taking Seung. "Morning." he slips behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Seung is-"

"You need a break." he quickly interjects, eyebrows raising when you don't immediately respond. "What? You don't wanna spend some time with me?" it's sly, the way his hand slips under your shirt to grab the soft flesh of your ass.  "I was the only man in your life at one point, you know." he smiles, moving his hand back to a more appropriate position. "Whatever." you laugh, eyes shifting over to Jake who's preoccupied with your son. You slip past heeseung, going to say your goodbyes. "Thanks, Jake. You really-"

Heeseung's familiar hiss of disapproval stops you. Jake simply laughing, "It's all good. My girlfriend wants to see him anyway. she calls it playing 'house'."

"Marry her and have your own, dude." heeseung comes over, kissing his son’s cheek. "Yeah, yeah." he's always dismissive when the topic comes up, but you know he's just waiting on the right time. "I'll take off then." Jake smiles at the both you before he makes his way to the front door. Heeseung pulls you in as you both wave Jake and your son goodbye. 

"Let's have another one." 

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/741884957599973376/httpswwwtumblrcomeldritch-spouse741700018004?source=share

I need to know in explicit detail the first time breg allowed this human to collect samples. Also need to know the embarrassing situations they are put in that their coworkers judge them

I honestly love this so much I'm kicking my feet and giggling ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Fem reader. I kind of rushed this. Doodle at the end.]

TW: Heavy themes of abuse (including mentions of noncon, death and captivity); Dubious consent moments.

" Listen, we just need you to get in there. "

You blink. " ... This can't be serious. Is this a joke? "

The half-fiend woman, superior to you in professional rank, drags a hand across her blonde locks and grimaces. " Look, I know it sounds bad- "

" Of course it does! This was nowhere in the job description- "

Not that the job description was very uh, descriptive, anyway. But any straw will do, anything to cling to a modicum of your dignity as you get told what your next task will be.

She seems to switch through a few different corporate tactics to ease the blow. " Listen, please. We are short-staffed at the moment, and this has been affecting production a lot more than you can imagine. Specimen 197 is a big bread-winner here and we all know he's uncooperative with machinery, going as far as to ruin it constantly, which leads to more expenses- "

She's explaining this to you like you're a particularly slow toddler and you're not amused.

" We have also noted that M197 is clearly attached to you and a bond has been formed, which is why your presence is requested in certain situations, to reduce his stress levels during tasks. This... Is another one of those tasks. We just need you to get a few samples- " She points at the two canisters next to her. " And you can think of it as a way to improve your bond with the specimen even. "

" Ma'am, he's entering a rut. " You pause. " You want me to walk into a male breeder's cell while he's rutting and engage sexually with him? "

She gulps. " For- For strictly professional purposes- "

" I'm not doing this. "

...

" There's a significant monetary bonus if you manage to do it. "

A long, shameful, disgustingly filthy moment of silence unfolds where you internally debate how far you're willing to go for some much needed money.

Too far, apparently.

" ... I'll do it. "

" Great, that's wonderful, we- "

" No cameras in the room. "

She flinches. " But then how are we supposed to know if you're in danger? "

" No cameras, please. "

If you die you die. You don't want footage of you being possibly mauled by a breeder out there...

A begrudging glance is cast towards the canisters sitting innocently on the table.

Grabbing them, you prepare for the shitshow you signed yourself into.

We have him tied up, the techs had informed you, it'll make things easier.

Just hearing them gives you headaches.

Yes, of course, because forcibly restraining the already volatile lifeform will make it cease being hostile. Logical.

A long-suffering sigh exits your lips when you input the code to open 197's cell. It's a code you know by heart now. If not from the regular standard visits, then from the hurried string of numbers your coworkers would scream at you over the radio before getting launched around by a monster several times their size and weight.

It's hard to forget something like that. There are just some faces you never see again.

As soon as the heavily reinforced door hisses open, you're greeted by an immediate build-up of a snarl. As scary as the sound was when you first heart it, and continues to be on an instinctual level, you understand now that it's mostly born out of fear.

Nothing good ever happens when 197 is cuffed and he's right to be frightened.

The moment you step into view and the door slams shut behind you however, he visibly seems to shift gear instantly.

Sitting on the rather uncomfortable tiled ground, specimen 197 has his ankles spread and cuffed to the ground, his wrists joined behind him and his neck nearly choked to the wall. A muzzle prevents the breeder's jaw from elongating as it tends to do when he's threatened. His tail is likewise restrained in two areas. Those cuffs are the best things modern technology can offer, you haven't heard of a single solid monster type that can shatter them. They're likely also tampered with by some more magically-inclined individuals, but you've never been one to dabble in that.

He exhibits the signs you'd expect from any male entering a rut. Excessive sweating, goosebumps, a faster breathing rate, tension, restlessness and a dilated, humid slit. His skin flickers from time to time, signals somewhere between aggression and courtship displays. You would never have associated heat cycles with torture before starting your work here, but seeing the way these monsters are chemically forced into hypersexual, unhealthily exacerbated heats has shown you just how cruelly this biological process can be exploited.

Sometimes they die. A hormonal, frenzied, artificially accelerated metabolism like this is powerful, but it's also very fragile, in a way. Either they're able to maintain their required ridiculous nutrient intake, find a way to preserve as much energy as possible, or simply panic and end up dying from a mixture of stress and lack of sustenance.

Another sigh escapes your lips, you try to clear your head by placing the canisters on the ground.

The breeder in question, who was once nearly pitch black in his effort to intimidate the perceived threat, is now snow white, having registered you as his favorite, the "nice one". 197 shrinks in himself, then begins a litany of keening whines interspersed with specific chirps.

It might be a plea for attention from an already hormone-fried brain, it might also just be a desperate request to be released from his binds.

You're no paragon of morality, but unlike your coworkers, you understand that building a bond with anyone requires depositing some trust in them. And, even if 197 is rutting, you can only continue to build a connection with him if he has a modicum of comfort in this situation. Which is why you steel yourself before moving closer to the specimen in question and inputting the specific combination to unlock all of his cuffs.

The process is timed, giving workers about five or so minutes to leave the cell before the cuffs drop and the monster is freed. It prevents casualties, naturally.

197 tries to thump his tail in appreciation when he realizes what you're doing, quietly rumbling and trying to lean into the small brushes of your fingers as you work.

" There big guy, just give it a second... " You take a few steps back while you wait.

It feels like a small eternity before the restraints begin falling off one by one. First the tail ones, then the muzzle, the neck, the wrists... And the ankles. On that last click, the breeder shrugs everything away and stretches as he stands.

You've studied these monsters and their mannerisms, he's not stretching just to soothe his joints, he's displaying. The exaggerated curve of that spine says it all, you know exactly what reaction he's after. Though, already riled up as he is, you don't think it's a good idea to respond.

In a second, he's closed the distance between the two of you, this near suffocating hovering over your front, hands and arms twitching with the urge to touch you. 197 is not good with boundaries, which was very surprising to you, considering he absolutely detests it when 99% of people touch him.

The 1% being you.

He waits, visibly pained, for the signal.

" You can touch me now. "

And like a sudden wave, 197 nearly crashes onto you, his comparatively massive pale body blanketing over yours as his arms cage your upper body, lifting it along with him. You squealed the first few times, now you know to stay mostly still and lean to the right so he can shove his face in the crook of your neck without bonking his head against yours. Painful.

He takes a couple deep, shameless inhales of your scent. And, if you had to guess, you're probably a bit sweaty from anxiety. Not that he seems to care, 197 actually appears to slow down a little, enjoying the closeness and now familiar odor you possess. His tail coils around your legs and you pat his back when the telltale chirps and trills of elation make it past his throat.

" Yeah, I missed you too buddy. Take a breather. "

This close to the male, you have absolutely no choice but to drown in his musk. 197 can't help it, he's ruttting after all, those pheromones have to come out. Fortunately, as a human, you're not affected by them, though some of your monster coworkers have to wear specific masks when they enter rutting breeder cells. To you, it's just vaguely unpleasant and heavy.

197 would usually give you a bit of room by now, but he doesn't seem interested in that, instead shifting you around so he can smell other parts of your figure, particularly your hair. Your face warms from his excessive body heat and the sensation of being corralled, your protests silenced when a long blue muscle dips to trail from the base of your neck to your jaw and up the side of your face. The movement is quick, and your attempt to reflexively lean away is met with a tighter grasp as he repeats it.

197 has a habit of dulling his teeth to look more humanoid for your comfort, but not today, in the state he is, he likely forgot that detail altogether. This unfortunately means that you feel the scrape of those pointed daggers every time he amorously samples your skin.

" Alright okay, that's enough- "

You butt in when it feels like he's getting a bit too riled up too fast. It's not exactly counter-productive to your task, but letting him get more and more control over the situation will make it difficult to get the samples later. You can't wrangle a breeder in the throes of their rut, you have to do things before that critical stage.

However, the specimen isn't interested in listening to anything you have to say, responding instead to your tone with his own whine and starting to tug at your uniform. That does it. Thoroughly soaked in his drool, you grab onto the breeder's forearms hard.

" 197! " It's not a tone you like to use with any of the breeders here.

He eventually snaps out of his little trance, gulping, steadying himself before frowning and giving you the space you want.

In this barely minute-long episode, 197 has already kicked into high-gear. Breathing accelerated again, open-mouth panting, excessive drool production, somewhat puffed figure and the tips of his twin cocks already poking out of a pelvic pouch that can barely hold them back. He seems to shiver in his own overwhelming arousal, and though this species is known for having its eyes shielded behind a layer of skin on the face, you know he's fixed on you like a famished animal.

Although your cheeks are moments from setting aflame, this isn't exactly a new sight for you. 197 has gotten aroused in your vicinity several times, you've actually lost count. It'd be nonsensical of you to get irritated over such, given that these males are forced into hypersexuality by the concoctions introduced in their organisms. That paired with his fondness for you probably makes it hard for 197 to not get erections constantly. A hug can set him off, even simple closure paired with your scent is enough to do it.

Well. No time to waste.

While he's mildly disoriented, you grab one of the canisters and move towards a corner of the room with a seemingly randomly arranged pile of fabrics. This, as confusing as it may be to some, is a breeder's nest. And in this species of monsters, the males tend to be the ones who arrange spaces for coupling. 197 has expressed clear discontentment with the fabrics given to him during times of rut to fulfill his instinctual needs, but no one here is ever acting with the specimen's best interests in mind. Besides, he piped down when one of the techs had the bright idea of giving him a jacket you forgot in the workplace. It's right there in fact, the gray hue contrating with a mostly white and pale color scheme.

The nest itself is big, if it fits 197 then it definitely fits you too. And, knowing exactly what you're doing, you let him observe you take a step into it and sit down on the middle, empty canister beside you.

Oh boy.

You can practically hear the popcorn crackles in his brain.

The monster trills loudly, proudly, your supposed acceptance of what have amounted to months of unsubtle courtship from his part being finally rewarded. It's a dangerous moment, you're perfectly aware of such, but it's also necessary to get this over with.

197 drops to a creepily nimble crawl across the floor, rapidly posing over your seated form with blue-tinted cheeks and rabid need. Before you can get so much as a word in, he's dropping some of his weight on you, showering you in hasty licks and clumsy kisses again, this time unable to help himself from nipping at your clothes. The coverings visibly bother him, and the male growls quietly before his instincts tug at him again and he's trying to slot himself between your clothed legs. It takes some yelping, and fussy movement from his part, but you eventually rationalize that stressing him out can lead to a violent response right now.

Might as well let him get away with some embarrassing acts.

Hormone-muddled as he is, 197 has only enough of a mind to hold onto you and press two hot lengths against the front of your body. He's already full-mast, the heat and weight of those things dragging across you when he automatically moves his hips is utterly filthy. He groans, probably the first kind of decent friction he's been getting since he entered this phase of his cycle, the softness and smell of his favorite human getting the monster to leak already, lost in his desperate search for a modicum of relief. As gross and ridiculous as it is, at least he's not tugging at your clothes yet.

You can sense his frustration, the frantic way 197 mechanically bucks against you, the pressure he puts in every thrust, the way his claws puncture into your lab coat and he whines low, this noise that turns into a pleased sort of snarl. Overwhelmed, you shiver beneath his figure, glad there are no cameras to see you fluster and shamefully let a rutting monster grind at you.

You dare say you can get into this.

There's something so appealing about having a monster yearn for you so madly that he's driven to this senseless and primitive display, that even so much as humping you could have them blissed out. Your legs quake around his and you feel your pussy throb in response to the muted friction from his lightly barbed cocks. It's not the first time you've wondered about how it would feel... You've always been a monsterfucker at heart, and 197 is a brutally gorgeous specimen. He's always imploring for even a single touch from you, if you spread yourself out you have absolutely no doubt he would ram those alarming inches into you like a wild beast.

Yeah, maybe your coworkers would call you a sickfuck, but it's not like anyone who works here is moderately normal...

It's a secret. One that you're vaguely paranoid might not be so secret anymore, now that you've been entrusted with this.

In your horny little stupor, you make the critical mistake of forgetting that breeders quickly detect arousal in others. And you are probably making a wet spot in your pants as of now.

With a sudden snort of an inhale, he rises like a man possessed to start ripping at the sides of your lab coat, forcefully trying to rip it off even as he's unable to stop rocking his hips. He knows how to unbutton things just fine, but you bet he can't be fucked to think much in this state.

" Hey- Hey, easy, slow down. " You grab onto his wrists, being ignored.

Okay. Time to think this out while you still can. He's going to rip through your clothes if you let him, and that's not just needless damage, it'll put him in control. But being aggressive about getting him to stop isn't ideal with this type of monster, you need something that distracts him too much to realize he's not exactly holding the leash here. Eventually, an idea graces your mind, though it makes you grimace a little.

Already blazing with shame, you carefully edge a hand between you and, with some hesitation, grab one of the twin members pushed against you.

Instant reaction.

The monster halts, as desired, and looks at you almost oddly, but hopefully. The trick is not giving him enough time to think, so you quickly get a feel for what you're working with, and start stroking him generously.

It's not the frenzied, rushed jerking he inflicts on himself when his own libido becomes bothersome, the fisting of a large hand with little focus and care. You handle him as pleasurably as you can manage, using both hands on him and attentively reading his face. 197 pants openly again, glancing vapidly at your small hands while they work him and he fucks into the motions, strings of thick drool falling from his teeth.

" Good...? Yeah? " You ask, gulping.

He falters and gasps, trying to articulate something. " Please. " Gets dragged out, his dick pulsing in your grasp.

You don't quite know what he's begging for, but you assume he's enjoying himself. Watching the neglected length bob uselessly, you take the opportunity to remove your own lab coat, switching hands quickly when necessary. The shirt comes off too, leaving you in your bra and pants.

By the time you glance back at him, the breeder's skin has shifted entirely to black, and he's hypnotized by the new parts of your body revealed to him, the mounds on your chest breeder females don't have but that he somehow finds pleasing to the eye regardless.

You make a lifting motion, trying to get his attention. " Knees. Come on, knees. Let me show you something. "

It takes a hot second, but he computes the request and does as told out of genuine curiosity. You're about to show an already decidedly horny monster the wonders of oral sex, which is likely not the brightest of ideas, but no one's here to judge your poor decisions.

197's girths hover far too close to your face while he waits a tad impatiently. Studying the things you'll be pleasing soon, you nearly pale a couple shades, knowing it'll take some prayer not to end up hurting your jaw. The male has lived in captivity since the day he hatched, you've enjoyed showing him some of the nicer things in life from time to time, this is just another one of them.

Carefully grabbing onto the left one, you glance at 197 as you deliberately slip your tongue out, so he doesn't just assume you're going to try biting his genitals. He tenses, because of course he would, but you take your time, stopping the moment only his tip is inside your mouth. The breeder is a tad confused and quaking slightly with ambiguous anticipation.

Then you suck.

And it clicks instantly.

God, just this little of his length is already forcing you to open wider than you've ever had to with previous partners, still, you strain to take a few more inches down and focus on that part.

The male exhales tremulously, experiencing the feeling for the first time ever, you're certain. 197 has to straighten slightly as the first intense waves of pleasure course through him, and bless the big dorky monster, he has no idea what to do with himself or his arms. As your jaw adjusts, a tad uncomfortably, you start truly gouging how much of him you can handle. Not that much honestly, but it's to be expected. It's already more than enough to please him, if the increasingly louder growled trills are any indication.

Oh, you bet this is the closest thing to heaven for him. His favorite human, with a mouth warmer than he could have ever expected, lips much softer than any of his species', no apex predator teeth to get in the way, and a tongue that although flat and short, can still chase after those wonderfully sensitive spots.

He has exactly zero idea how to react beyond making bestial noises and drooling on his own chest like a vapid animal. The way his cock pulses in your mouth is a tad bothersome to the rhythm you're trying to keep, but you figure you don't have to show-off to someone who's never had oral before, he's already blown away.

Humorously, 197's hands land on your shoulders, and that's the only way he can apparently steady himself while he's sucked off. His spare cock oozes precum that smears onto your bare chest and you half-heartedly pump it when you pop off his other dick.

" Is this okay, hm? " Needless question, really.

The breeder doesn't even make an effort to reply, whining at the loss of friction and edging forward until both his members nudge against your cheek and lips, begging without words to have that bliss again.

Feeling vaguely in control, enough to be playful, you lean away from the one closest to you and take the right one into your mouth, sucking it as far in as you physically can before switching to the other one, all just so you can hear 197 gasp and grunt out moans. His desperation causes him to buck, and as you gag, a little lightbulb fizzles above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The next time you try to pull away, his hands rise from your shoulders to the sides of your head. Each dark finger nearly curves over the perimeter of your skull, and you freeze instantly, not wanting him to tighten his grasp by any means. Everything is fine so long as he only holds onto your head this way, gently.

He's the one moving this time, apparently marveling at the sight of his length disappearing past your somewhat swollen, drooled lips. Except, as expected, he's going faster and deeper than you'd like, getting into it enough to trigger harsh flutters in the back of your throat. Your gagging and subsequent reflexive jerks are met with warning rumbles and one of his hands caging you in place by the back of head.

He learns fast, needless to say.

The more he drives into you, the less you can control your saliva, creating gross pops and slurps as you have little choice but to huff through your nose. Merciless, not even the odd cough around his dick will stop him now that he's nearing orgasm, or so you're willing to guess by his franticness.

Eventually, he makes the mistake of shoving his cock far enough that your jaw strains and your stomach flips, a grossly loud hurl being his response. The horrid noise finally jolts him to a still, giving you enough space to pull away and catch some much needed breath, controlling your belly before anything unfortunate happens.

" Fucking Hell! " You groan hoarsely, irritated. " You're hung like a horse, be careful... "

The rutting male's fried brain only understands that you sound wounded, a concerned chirp followed by soothing sloppy laps to your jaw being his response.

Not an ideal development at all, and yet, progress.

197 is usually very violent with the breeders they tired to pair him for mating. Which is to be expected, being the golden goose of the facility comes at a cost- The rush of hormones in his machine of a metabolism doesn't just contribute to more virility than his male peers, it also causes bursts of hyper aggression not easily controlled. And the only socialization this one usually gets is fights with other males who feel threatened by his presence, understand that they are being hurt by techs because they fail to live up to the standard 197 created, that they might be killed for such.

The females, likewise, fear him.

197 is bigger, louder, scarier. He has a reputation amongst the other breeders, and some of them were more likely to try fighting him off during their heats than accept getting sexual with him. This has led to 197 rejecting all breeders regardless of the context, which resulted in many of the paired females being immediately fatally attacked whenever a scheduled session was arranged. Sometimes he would simply slaughter them, other times he would actually instinctually attempt to mate, and end up ignoring cries of distress, nothing but rage and hormones in that brain causing him to end up killing them mid-coitus.

Shitshows, complete shitshows you've had the displeasure of partially witnessing in the past.

Which is why you're so incredibly shocked he stopped when he heard you nearly throw up. Then again, you're no breeder, and you like to think you've created as decent a connection with him as possible. It could be that.

When the monster thinks you've recovered enough, he attempts to get you to sit in the same position from before so things can resume, and if the way he's insistent on keeping a hold of your head is any indication, then he's learned he prefers to take control of this. And you won't be the fool that argues with him in this state.

After licking your lips a few times, hearing his impatient little huffs, you take one of those slicked cocks into your mouth again, letting him build the pace back up. On the one hand, you're glad you don't have to pretend to keep any composure, letting yourself drool as much as possible for the sake of making the process easier, and uncaring of the filthy noises that only seem to make his thighs quake. On the other, you need a solution so he doesn't just peirce past the back of your throat.

So, experimentally, the next time 197 pushes far enough to have your eyes rolling, you get a firm grasp of the base of his tail and tug.

The appendage lifts and his spine curves back in sudden shock. You doubt it's pain that has him straightening like a plank, after all, you know these beings can oftentimes carry their young by the tail, so if it can handle their body weight, then it can handle a yank from a human's hand. It's more so a sort of "freeze reaction", effective in getting the male to pull back even if he grunts in mild agitation.

It's only fair, in your eyes.

The moment you let go, 197 continues to fuck your face as he pleases, moaning and curving over you once more to find his own pleasure, until he drives in too much again and you repeat the gesture. Over and over, so he understands there are limits.

It seems to succeed in getting the message across. If he wants to keep getting sucked off by your hot little mouth, then he needs to be minimally considerate.

This goes on for a while, you're almost proud to feel him eventually actively hold back from going too far. Because that would halt the friction, and judging by the way his tongue lolls out in pleasure, 197 wants to come really bad.

He seems to have enjoyed your antics from before, because the male actively pulls out of your mouth with another lurid pop and positions his spare length against your lips, fucking into you a couple times before switching to the other one, doing this enough times that you honestly struggle to contain some laughter.

His throbbing increases and you know his peak approaches, quickly reaching beside you for the container as fingers race to open it. Your spare hand makes an extra effort to stroke the length 197 can't fit inside you and with as much vigor as possible, you complement his every motion.

The second you back away to breathe, strings of saliva still clinging from your lips to his dicks, offers the monster enough of a nasty view to trigger exactly what you need. 197 snarls at the top of his lungs, rapidly fisting both cocks before you. It's a decidedly disgustingly arousing display that has you staring heatedly, until the first rope of thick pearly cum lands on your cheek.

It jolts you into flustered movement, holding the canister up to the closest of his girths, you try to get as much as possible inside, unable to shield yourself from the rest of his load as it lands on your neck and tits, warm globs marking you in the throes of the specimen's ecstasy.

It's immensely relieving for him, the sighed, low and needy moans that rip out his throat evidence enough that 197 had been pent up for more than a while. And you... You're soaked in warm seed, observing his maddened jerking slow down.

This is your job now.

Personally collecting from the golden goose of the facility. All for a bonus.

Whatever, just don't think about it too much.

Giving into the guilty sense of pride you feel over making 197 stare at the ceiling in total bliss, you lean down to catch the trails dripping down those teal blue lengths, cleaning him. You don't have to, by any means, but you've already sunk so low today, what difference does it make if you let yourself go a little?

The specimen's legs tremble and he glances down at you with this utterly cum-drunk, infatuated smile. Dark, stained digits rise to comb through your hair in some kind of comforting gesture until you eventually pull away and allow the male to recover.

Now, two things.

You need to clean up somehow, you don't want his cum to dry on your skin.

There's also the matter of the second canister, you think while you grab one of the cloths in the breeder's nest to wipe your face and chest on. You probably won't be allowed to leave his cell until they're both full.

Reaching for the one already warm with 197's sample, you seal it tight, the small device in it emitting a faint green light and beeping quietly. The signal that one container has been filled is then sent to whichever tech is keeping track of this particularly... Unique task.

A pang of shame courses through you at the thought of one of your coworkers now knowing that you've made 197 orgasm.

Time to get the other one and hurry this up.

Unfortunately, as soon as you're about to set a foot outside of the nest, a huge black hand captures your leg, and you're possessively tugged back by a disgruntled breeder who barely gives you enough time to scream before he starts shredding the rest of your clothes...

Hours have passed. You're sure of it.

As far as anyone's concerned, your work has been accomplished. Both canisters are practically overflowing with untainted samples, sitting in the corner of the room so that nothing happens to them.

You're naked, sticky and likely to bruise in some areas from 197's lack of strength mediation, but you did it.

At any moment now, coworkers of yours will enter 197's cell, and you know it's going to be a total wreck. Between his likely immediate aggression, the damage they'll cause him and your less than sightly state, it'll be unpleasant.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when a tireless tongue continues to groom your already exhausted form and 197's meaty cock lazily fucks globs of his hot cum back into your puffed pussy while he trills soothingly. His breathing has steadied and his heartbeat slows.

Any moment now, he might fall asleep inside you, enjoying a sweet moment of bliss before you're taken away again.

It's almost cruel.

[sugar-plum-writer]

No One Else <3

Tags: Creampie; rough sex; cum-play; size kink; over-stimulation; public sex; whored out; spanking; unprotected sex; manhandling; MDNI (18+!); smut; NSFW + NSFW; Public Sex; humiliation; degradation kink; porn with little plot; fem!reader

A/n: Finally I am back from Hiatus~ my college exams over woo-hoo! enjoy this fic~ feel free to send asks and your ideas for other fics~

Synopsis: What happens when your boss- The Gojo Satrou your boss the CEO sees you fucking the manager instead of him? How could you? aren't secretaries of CEO's meant to seduce the CEO's?

Word count: 2.2k

Gojo

Moans escaped your lips as you sat on your manager's lap; you've always been the pretty obedient secretary everyone loved- hell you were always looked up to by the people around you at work. The perfect "secretary" of CEO Gojo Satoru of the multi-billion dollar company "The Gojo Corporation" just their logo the italic fancy "G" was enough for everyone to bow their heads in respect.

Your boss being the most sought after bachelor- tall, handsome, rich, future head of the Gojo Corporation who could manipulate the global market with a lift of his finger. You liked him who would not? though you never confessed as well- why would he ever look your way when top models, actresses, etc where always around him?

"Who knew you were such a natural huh? CEO Gojo must sure love having his way with you", kissing your neck and whispering in a deep voice- his eyes darkened as he smirked biting your neck and leaving hickeys

"Ah- ", your eyes glossy as you grinded on his bulge trying to earn even a little bit of stimulation- "B- Boss Satoru… hah…he never fucked me till now", you blurted out as you panted

You were fucking your manager- scandalous? yes; if anyone saw you right now? Hell, Gojo will chew you out alive and even fire you for breaking the rules. The only reason you were even taking this risk was because the manager was hot and your brain just had lost it today from stress

As you looked into his eyes as you kissed him- the olive green eyes nearly hypnotized you, he could never beat your boss Gojo's hotness but hey? who can blame you for getting the second-hottest guy to fuck you? especially with how frustrated with work you are these days.

Non-stop meetings, travel from one country to another, prepare your boss Gojo's documents, schedule, deal with his affairs and what not

Gotta Blow off some steam cause working overtime for money is not enough to fulfill your needs

"Is that so? hm-", chuckling darkly he grabbed you by the jaw "Well- a secretary as good as you deserve to be fucked we-"

Before the next words could be uttered the door suddenly opened- making your jaw drop in horror. It was your boss- Gojo Satoru the CEO

His Italian leather shoes shined as usual- was it the new Armani shirt he was wearing? your eyes looked him up and down nervously as you got off your manager's lap. Sharp black suit, his white hair swept back making him look even bossier than before- and the cold look in his azure eyes- made you gulp

You are fucked today, aren't you?

"Oh, sir! This-" your manager tries to speak, his hands shaking as got up from the chair, "Fired"

Without batting his eyes he just walked towards you, hands in his pockets- sharp- intimidating- completely different from how he normally was

The look he was giving you made you shudder- your legs nearly going weak

"Boss- this! I can explain-" Coming to your senses you scrambled to explain

"How annoying", he grabbed you by the jaw tilting your head as he gazed at the hickies your manager had left even more pissed, "Is my secretary this much of a whore? Should have added that to your resume tsk"

"S-Sir!- please- I really"

"Really what? my dear secretary?", his grip tightening on your wrist as he dragged you with him outside. The whole office floor was looking at you two awe-struck about what the hell was going on

Why is the secretary's neck covered in hickies today?

How did the Miss perfect secretary get on Mr. Gojo's bad side?

"Do you wanna be fucked that badly?", with a whisper he chomped down on your neck- teeth grazing your neck- over the hickies the manager had left- blood coating his lips as he looked into your eyes- so possessively it was scary

"G-Gojo- ah! it hurt-", wincing you tried to push him away making him only pin you against the wall biting harder- as if ingraining into your bones on who you belonged to

"Gojo- Sir-!" gasping you cling to him as tears trickled down your eyes, "E-Everyone is- hah look-!" Before any words could be uttered, he kissed you hard with his tongue biting your lips and making you breathless

"Hah so?"

"Taking the risk of getting fired for him is fine? fucking me the man who owns the place is embarrassing? huh", pulling back- a string of saliva connected you both; he brought his knee up and grinded against your cunt. The expensive suit probably worth more than your months of salary combined covered in your slick.

"Ah-" you gasped as the sudden wave of pleasure hit you- "Gojo!" eyes wide you dug your nails into his back- your poor cunt was ruthlessly being abused by him right now

"Please- Merc-y! ah-", you squirmed pathetically but he just got even harsher

"Shall we show them all, how much of a whore you are? hm? The oh-so-perfect secretary is a hidden slut?", he whispered darkly sending goosebumps down your spine

It was pathetic how even in such a situation your cunt just kept getting wetter- your slick covered his pants as his knee continued to grind against your pussy. All sloppily and puffy asking for mercy as it dripped in front of the whole office.

"I-I am not a Slu-! ah!" you moaned again as you squirmed, "Then what are you getting even wetter for huh?", smirking he leaned in, "You wanna cum so bad? Shall I make you cum my dear secretary?"

"W-What? G-Gojo please…'tis too m-mu-" Before another word could be said his grinding got even harsher, "Ah- ahh-" gasping you arch your back cumming all over his pants- juices all gushing out dripping all over the pristine floor

"hah- ah..." you panted your brain hazily- hell your legs were still shaking from the intense orgasm- "Gojo…Sir..", you gazed up at him with your glassy eyes

"Fuck…" he whispered under his breath

"Guess I really should have fucked you before huh?", removing his tie he dropped it on the floor while simultaneously he removed his coat- god- he wanted to fuck you till he owned you- the way you were looking at him was better than all imaginations he conjured up while he jerked off thinking of you

"Y-Your heard everything? i-inside?", hearing his words made your eyes widen- goosebumps spreading across your skin after all how long was he standing? how did he know? so many questions swirled your already hazy brain

"I did", with a smirk he spoke, his voice strained by how much he was holding himself back from his ramming his dick into you

"A good secretary deserves to be fucked well right?", with a dark animalistic gaze he leaned in as he whispered- his deep voice enough to make you lose your mind; god have mercy

You don't know why but the way he said it made the walls of your cunt clench tight oozing with desire- You might at this point give in to being fucked in front of the whole office

"Mr.Gojo should have had his way long ago huh? How much of a natural you are", he continued to whisper as his hands went to your clitoris stroking it and making you moan even harder as you held onto him

"Ah-", your brain already felt hazy from the previous intense orgasm, "'toru- please..please..I wanna cum! Please!", the pleasure again was making your brain numb- the whispers, his hand on your clit, stroking it- teasing you while you gasped and moaned in front of the whole office

"I don't think so- after all which good secretary goes and fucks her manager instead of her boss huh?", he smacked your cunt- making it even more puffy as pre-cum dripped out of you

"N-No…Ah! I mean-", whining your grip on him tightened even more- tears spilled out- the pleasure was too good, and at this point, you did not care he was fucking you in front of the whole office

"You keep forgetting whose paycheck you are on dear- what about him even made you think he could give it to you better huh?", pissed he pinched your clitoris making you mewl and cum instantly

It was too much- he was too mean- the pleasure was too much- you were nothing but a mess right now- cum dripping all over, tear-stained face- voice cracked from all the moaning- you wanted to save your poor cunt from more abuse- but it felt so good

He looked so hot hell just when you thought he could not get hotter he just did

The carnal gaze, his icy cold blue eyes looking into yours, tie and coat on the floor, shirt unbuttoned, his hair slight bit messy- while he made you cum again and again- his deep voice- you were melting under him all the while the employees just stood stunned

"If you had seduced me like a good secretary does- you would not be like this you know?", smirking he sat down on the couch kept in the center of the office floor; all the eyes still on you two, "It's time you really show the skills you got darling"

Mind hypnotized by the sheer desire you were feeling right now- you literally crawled to him- legs shaking from the previous orgasms as you looked up at him- embarrassed, shameful, literally you felt so humiliated right now you could die but hey? even god won't blame you right? he was so- hypnotic it's like he just knew how to have his way

"Y-Yes Sir...", pushing your hair aside he brought your face close to his dick, "I don't think I need to tell you want to do?"

"No sir...", hazily you started sucking on his dick dragging your tongue from the base to the tip- he was so big; you knew he was big but this big? the veins on his dick pulsing as his hand gripped the back of your head

"Fuck..", he tossed his head back, "-should have done this long back"

You kept sucking, pre-cum dribbling down your chin as you kept going- tongue swirling around the tip

"Shit- Fuck-" , without a warning he rammed his dick deep into your mouth- deep throating you as he buried your face into his crotch

"G-Gojo- ah!", chocking on his dick tears trickled down your eyes from pleasure. His cum dripped out of your mouth, your face covered in cum as you gazed up at him. Next thing you knew he pulled you onto his lap and rammed his dick into your pouty sloppy and pathetic cunt- he was too big- your poor hole had to work overtime to adjust to his length with how big he was

"'toru..", you looked at him in the eyes with the last bit of rationality gone. You really had lost it today- how will you ever face the office from here on out? secretary letting her boss fuck her in the middle of the office floor and even sucking his dick for him? That too the CEO Gojo Satoru of the "Gojo Corporation" quite the headline for the morning news- the list goes on as you imagined the headlines

"Dragged from fucking manager to boss!"

"What's the relationship between Mr. Gojo and his secretary?"

"Did Mr. Gojo pay her? How much money was involved?"

"Secret revealed! learn to suck Dick from Mr. Gojo's secretary! Exclusive interview from sugar daddy website editor!"

...

Smirking he started stroking your clit again rubbing your clitoris- fingers moving in circles teasing you so much you could hit him- too bad your whole body was shaking right now. The smirk that always made your heart flutter, was making your heart flutter even now; though you tried to bury the feelings it never worked and certainly not right now

"You really are quite the piece of work~ huh dear secretary?", he whispered as he continued to jerk you off while his dick kept ramming into you, "'toru! ah! 'tis too much...I can't!...I really can't!", digging your nails onto his back you continued to moan

"You can, you are a good secretary of mine aren't you? be a good girl and cum", increasing his pace he stretched your folds making you curl your toes from pleasure and intensity your vision went white for a minute you though you could see the gates of heaven

"I-'m cumming!...ah! 'toru!" burying your face of the crook of his neck you came again at this point you had no idea how many times you came- all you knew was just pleasure in your hazy mind as you knocked yourself out exhausted

Little did you know Gojo in the mean time you were asleep on his lap- continued to make the employees work unbothered of everything that happened as he carried you in his arms- all security footage and everything was over-ridden and edited- you were all his after all- and only he get's to have his way like this with you

As for your Manager may lord have mercy on him, how dare he think he could lay his hands on you?

"Just say the word and it's yours after all- there is nothing I Gojo Satoru cannot do all you gotta do you open your mouth darling~"

Link to my Masterlist!

[bluecollarmcandtf]

M O O N L I G H T ™

Pulling into the lonely gas station, my eyes quickly find what I'm looking for, a pair of blue lights emanating in the darkness. The glow is coming from the gas attendant's skull: clear indication that he's a Moonlight™ employee.

"Good evening, sir," he says with the overly-endearing tone of a gracious host, "How may I be of service tonight?

I don't hide my distaste for the pathetic menial worker, leaning on his mop and waiting for my reply like he's got the best job in the world. He doesn't actually believe that. He doesn't even know what he's saying, let alone doing!

"Just fill her up," I grunt.

"You got it, sir!" he beams, tending to my car with a pep that's out of place for the late hour.

Moonlight™ was the app that revolutionized working culture forever. It allows the user to sign up for a job while they sleep. All they have to do is doze off and some insufferable AI from Moonlight™ will resume control of the body via remote connection. People like it because they get paid work without experiencing all the boring hours and insincere customer interactions. Subsequently, they always get the same unbearably eager personalities stuffed in their bodies. Even without the glowing eyes, their idiotic grins would make them stand out a mile away!

"How has your day been, sir?" he contines mopping as the gas slowly pumps.

"Don't try to chat," I snap.

"Of course, sir," he doesn't miss a beat, smiling as he returns his neon gaze to the sidewalk he's swabbing.

I just roll my eyes and wander inside. The app doesn't record memories while it's in control, so this guy has no idea how humiliated he should feel. No one should have a shit-eating grin on their face working the night shift as a gas station janitor! I'd die before I gave up my dignity to Moonlight™ like this fucking loser!

On the TV behind the register, an ad plays...

The costumed man on the left steps forward and announces, "Join the revolution. There are over forty-two-million Moonlighter's taking advantage of their sleep! That could be you!"

The statistic makes me cringe. It's nearly doubled since the last time I checked...

The man on the far right of the screen happily taps in, adding, "We're constantly expanding our scope, so check with your employer! If your job doesn't already have a Moonlight™ option, then ask your boss to give you one!"

God, they're pressuring people now? Some jobs should not be done by an AI puppeteered Moonlighter...

Finally, the man in the center steps forward to deliver his lines, "Remember, Moonlighting is a safe and healthy way to not only make money but also get a good night's rest! Why work all day, when you can do it in your sleep!" his head turns, making it seem like he's smiling at either of his coworkers, "After all, we are!"

The three men laugh in unison, like true colleagues chumming up at work, but I know the truth. These three are worse than actors, they're empty marionettes for the Moonlight™ corporation. I doubt they'd ever even met each other in real life...

"Shut up!" I groan, smashing the power button to turn it off.

This world is going to shit. Moonlight™ has grown too large over the past year for there not to be some conspiracy or ulterior motive. I don't know what it is: the elite keeping the working class in their place, our government influencing our decisions, a foreign country converting us into their slaves! It all sounds crazy, but I don't think a single theory is impossible with an app like Moonlight™.

I'm the only one probing into this mess. I may have only worked as a detective for a few years, but I never did any of it fucking asleep!

A few days later, I track down my first lead...

"Good morning, sir," the garbage man says in that unnaturally smooth cadence they all have, "Is there any trash you need collected?"

"I just have some questions," I snort.

One hand pulls the hem of my shirt over my nose while the other swats at the flies. These garbage trucks are absolutely filthy. I doubt the garbage companies even bother washing them out anymore, but why should they if their workers are soulless husks without the ability to care? The man in front of me seems completely oblivious to the mixture of rotting smells and accompanying bugs. His glowing eyes don't even blink as a fly lands on his face, crawling through the hairs of his beard. He's probably lucky that he goes home with no memory of this downright awful job.

"Are you looking for employment with Moonlight™ incorporated?" his smiling lips stir the bug on his face, but it quickly buzzes into the moist retreat of the man's dark armpit, "I'd love to help you install the app and-"

"No," I cut, "Just open the truck. I accidentally threw out something I shouldn't have."

I study the man's frozen grin for anything. It's a test. The Moonlight™ AI is designed to accept demands from free-willed customers, but I have a suspicion that the building nearby is an undocumented base for the company. If I'm right, the company would hate for anyone to root through the garbage of their secret lab...

"...I apologize, sir, but the garbage has already been compacted, and it is unsafe for non-employees to look inside. Please let me know what it is you are looking for and I will search for you."

His artificial glee didn't wane, but the blue light in his eyes did flicker just barely. This guy might be asleep, walked around by remote AI tech, but I could still tell he was lying. I'd like to see one of the Moonlight™ detectives figure that out. As I said, some things are better done the old-fashioned way...

"Well, thanks anyway," I snark, planting a slap on his sweat-soaked back. He says something about it being his pleasure as he resumes handling the garbage, flies eternally buzzing around his smiling head and glowing eyes.

Continuing my investigation, I pop down in the sewer, looking for an underground entrance to Moonlight™'s secret lab...

"Are you lost, sir? Let me help you."

I've had to breathe through a mask to put up with the heavy cloud of steaming sewage, but the Moonlight™ septic worker seems fine, smiling with an open mouth, specks of God-knows-what dried on his teeth.

"No, I'm where I should be," I dismiss him and march past.

Suddenly a muddy glove sticks out and holds my chest. "I'm afraid you cannot pass, sir," his smile is as strong as ever, but the trademark glow of his eyes intensifies.

I've never felt more sure about my suspicions. This mind controlled worker seems ready to fight rather than let me pass. I wonder if this poor soul knows he's being used as a guard as well as being a Moonlight™ sewage worker.

"Why don't you show me the way out then," I relent.

"Of course, sir," his hand removes itself from my chest, leaving a dirty print, "The sewer is a dangerous place for civilians."

I follow as he marches me out of the sewer. It's better to leave and come back later with a plan. Today, I confirmed my suspicions, but tomorrow, I'll finally see what secrets they're cooking up in that lab. I return home and end the day with the satisfaction of being close to a major discovery. Sleep finds me quickly...

Waking up in my bed, I check my phone and find an unsettling message waiting for me...

"Congratulations on finishing your first shift with Moonlight™!" the text reads, "Here is a photo of you hard at work last night!"

"What the FUCK!"

I jump out of bed, but instantly everything feels off. My back aches and my legs are more tired than they were last night! My pajamas are uncomfortable, pinching in areas like someone else dressed me in them! My mind is racing with confusion, and an overwhelming sense of self-consciousness rushes over me. My face burns from the violation, but most of my fear is focused on the strange feeling lingering in the back of my private area.

"What did they do to me?" I try to be pissed, but all I can do is whimper.

Suddenly my phone rings...

"Hello," I growl.

"Good morning, sir," a familiarly gracious man's voice rolls through the call.

"Tell me who the fuck this is!"

"Someone who noticed you snooping the other day, sir," his voice sounds like it's smiling.

Suddenly it clicks. Whoever's calling me from Moonlight™ would never use their own phone and voice. They must be using some poor schmuck that thinks he's working an honest job right now. How am I ever supposed to find who's behind all these layers of lies?

"You can hind behind your brainless puppets," I sneer, "But I will not stop looking into this fucked up company!"

"But now you're one of our puppets, sir. I'm not sure how much credibility a detective has if he spends his nights working the room at the dirtiest club in town..."

"That's sick..." I whisper, thinking about the picture on my phone. The idea of me gleefully stripping for a room of disgusting old men makes me shiver.

"Good luck with your investigation, sir," the voice continues, "But just understand that every time you sleep, your body will get up and report to that club. I have to admit that you're hiding a rather tight body under that trench coat of yours."

"You were there?" I mutter.

"Oh I had to meet the man poking his nose where it didn't belong, sir. I got very familiar with you. You were very friendly last night, so I poked something of mine where it didn't belong."

The voice on the other line laughs, and all I feel is utter humiliation. I hang up the call and stare at the photo he'd sent. It was me alright, smiling like a maniac in the gayest outfit I've ever seen. I didn't like my body being dressed like that. I hate that I was happily busting my ass for the enemy. He had to have been getting off at my humiliation last night. I'm sure he relished every second of what he did to me. I don't even want to think about the sensation left in my ass.

I need to push this investigation faster.

Because tonight, when I go to sleep, I'll be helpless to prevent this from happening again.

[ghostfilecabinet]

I've thought about this a little bit, and it feels like a cop out, but truly I can see both sides.

On one hand, it's a fledgling company who wants to make art in a way they feel proud of. It's all well and good for us to say "we were here when the text was blue and yellow and we don't care about production value", but as someone who in her own right creates - whether its gifs or writing or silly little scrapbook pages - it's about creating something you believe is of the highest quality you can create.

Not only that, it's also about being a company that can support its employees and pay them a more-than living wage. It's potentially about being able to fulfill promises to people who had invested in Watcher in the beginning, though I know less about that.

To say that 'they make bank' with patreon and sponsorships and merch when they support a staff of over 20 people is potentially untrue. What seems like corporate greed can have several layers.

On the other hand, it's not an overreaction for fans to feel abandoned and disregarded - especially those in non-Western countries, as well as younger fans.

Fans feeling bitter at being told that USD5.99 is an amount 'anybody and everybody can afford' isn't unreasonable. It's a large amount for many fans who live in countries where several USD is a quarter of what they earn in a month, or even for people who are at stages in their life where everything they earn has to go into keeping themselves fed and housed.

Imagine a life where you struggle so much to meet your own needs, where some of your only comforts is sitting down at the end of the day and watching people talk about conspiracies or shout at air in abandoned buildings, only to see that was being taken away from you (and by the very system that's been holding you hostage and making you miserable)? I can see why people would lash out. Why it would seem like these people who joked about eating the rich and understanding privilege have been lying all along.

To me, both of these things - creatives turning away from a highly controlled space like YouTube with its low financial returns, and fans hating that content that used to be free now has to cost them money and reading that as capitalist predatory behaviour, all stem from the same issue, which is that money and art are intertwined. Whether this is terrible and insidious or just a fact of life is another point of mixed feelings, for me.

The point is: I understand why Watcher is doing this. I understand why people don't want Watcher to do this.

Do I think it's a good thing? I'm not sure. How much will their content change? Their reasoning is feeling that they're having to make content for both their fans and advertisers, so that creates an expectation that making this decision will change what they put out in a positive way. That's added pressure. Another thing is that there is a narrative they're pushing of doing this for their audience, while of course making it inaccessible to a potentially large chunk of them. How will that bridge be crossed? These questions definitely need answering, but they need time to be answered. I'm withholding judgement until these get answered for me, and I'm ready to be patient.

Do I think it was the smart thing for them to do in the long run? I have no idea. I want it to be, because I don't want them to fail and decide to give up. It's not a nice feeling to see artists give up on making their art be their livelihood.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part II

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

II. The Interminable Fucking Car Ride

“So…what do you do?”

“I run the marketing department for JD Power.”

“The car trophy people?”

“That’s a magazine.”

“Ah. So you’re the grand architect of big corporate’s bid to tell us what to think while slyly taking all our money.”

He snorts. “Only those who are incapable of thinking for themselves. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to apply to you.”

If you squint, that almost felt like he was paying you a compliment.

“So, what do you do?” he asks in turn.  

You don’t know why you’re almost embarrassed to tell him. “I run an art gallery/gift shop on the beach in Playa Bonita.”

He blinks, those lovely dark eyes fixed on you for a moment. “Of course you do.”

“What does that mean?”

He huffs a little. It almost sounds wistful, but then he frowns, utterly fucking ruining the moment.  “You just look the type.”

You’re not sure why that stings…or why you even give a fuck.

The Fucking Rehearsal Dinner

“I’ve never really understood the point of the rehearsal dinner. Is eating so hard we really have to rehearse it?”

You sense an almost twitch of the corner of Frank’s mouth. They have stuck you together at a table in the far back. The black sheep who they felt they had to invite, but didn’t really want to.

“Not to miss the opportunity to make the groom’s parents spend unnecessary money too?” Frank offers.

“Fair to spread the misery, I guess.”

“Didn’t you sue Keith over this shit?”

“My parents did. They lost thirty thousand dollars in deposits.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. No one should spend that kind of money on a wedding.”

“Strangely, I agree with you now. I didn’t know any better at the time.” You’d been so young, you could hardly even fathom how much thirty-thousand dollars was.

Your parents had been happy at the time with the prospect of marrying you off to Keith. He’d been successful, charming, and outwardly doting on you. They never really thought you had much going on your own, so they probably thought he was the best you could do. The thought still hurts, more than it should.

“I mean,” you blurt, “Did you know who you are or what you wanted when you were 20?”

“Of course not.”

“He was my whole world. When he dumped me. It...it really fucked me up.” You don't know why you're admitting this to this near total stranger. There is just something about his forthright manner that demands honesty. 

“Ah well, join the club. My father tried to shoot me once, if it makes you feel any better.”

You blink. “He tried to shoot you?”

“Yes. With a gun.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran at him.”

“You ran at him? Not away from him?”

“Yeah. Well, I was pissed off. He tried to shoot me again, but I got the gun away from him and hit him with it. Broke his orbital bone. He said I was the accumulation of all his bad decisions. He started to cry and begged me to kill him. I didn’t, only because I didn’t want to fuck my whole life up. The poor bastard jumped out the seventh floor the next day.”

Before you can stop yourself you reach out to place your hand on his on the table.

Before he can stop himself, his long fingers close around yours.

This connection endures for precisely 1.5 seconds before he shakes you off.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think your fine.”

“Fine, I’m all fucked up, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

You sigh, sinking down in your chair, embarrassed. Why did you touch him? What were you thinking?

“I guess we’re in the club together,” you answer miserably.

You feel him looking at you out the corner of his eye. There is a weight to this man’s gaze. It’s not unpleasant, just…you feel as though he sees everything.

“I feel like we should get at least decoder rings or something,” he grumbles.

The bride and groom make their entrance, interrupting whatever acerbic thing you were going to say next. You watch as they make their way through the crowd, basking in the glow of being the center of attention. Keith always loved that shit. You hate to admit, that his bride to be is a solid stone cold foxy 10. The kind of woman that men will trip over themselves for as they walk down the street.

You weren’t bad looking but you’d never had that kind of power.

If you wanted to trip a man, you had to do the dirty work and actually stick out your foot.

“Oh, look at us, let us presume to inconvenience you with the ostentatious display of our love,” you mock quietly in a mousy little falsetto.

It actually makes Frank laugh. At least, you think it’s a laugh. Maybe it was indigestion.

He joins in, though forgoing the funny voice, “And we’re conceited enough to think we’re actually different from the rest of the human race, and our love will last forever and ever…”

You’re enjoying this malicious bit of fun, but there is something in the way that he says it that makes you pause. “You don’t think love can ever last?” you ask.

He snorts. “Well, he doesn’t. I heard the prenup she had to sign was brutal,” he tells you.

 “Poor thing.”

“You really feel sorry for her?”

“Slightly?”

“Are you going to say hello?”

You sigh. “I guess I fucking better.”

You slowly make to stand, the chair screeching under you. “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

You flip Frank the bird as you go, and hear that peculiar strangled sound that must pass for his outward expression of mirth.

Dumb ass free shit you would never do on your own

"I spoke to the bride last night."

“Indeed?”

You’ve had pedicures before, but you’ve never sprung for a professional foot massage, and you have to admit it feels pretty good. It totally surprised you to find Frank there, but he’d informed you unashamedly that he can’t resist free shit. You find that amusing, considering he’s obviously comfortable, if not outright rich.

Maybe that’s how he stays that way.

“Yes, and she told me she doesn’t mind that you’re here, and she’s not threatened by you.”

You snort at that, taking a long sip of your iced latte.

“At least, I think she meant you. She’s dumb as a box of rocks, it was hard to tell who or what she was talking about at times.”

You sigh at hearing that. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to soothe my feelings.”

It’s his turn to snort. “Merely reporting facts, I assure you. If you still feel badly about Keith and have not managed to move on to one of the other 8 billion people on this planet, then there is no helping you.”

“Is that your method for getting over a bad breakup?” He makes it sound so easy, you cannot help but roll your eyes at him.

“No, I have opted out of that shit show. It makes me uniquely qualified to offer comment on your own situation.”

You tilt you head in confusion, looking over at him. “You’ve…opted out of what? Dating? Romance? Marriage?”

“All of the above. It never ends well, as I have learned from watching my mother’s train wreck of a life as she blithely stumbled between marriages and boyfriends and suitors.”

“That’s so sad,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

If you hadn’t already started to learn this man’s gestures, you would have missed the way he stiffened slightly, staring fixedly down at his feet.

“How many times have you been in love?” he asks.

You think about it, and regret the answer. “Just the once.” With Keith, the asshole. Any one who came after didn’t have much luck getting over the wall you built to protect yourself from another heartbreak.

He looks at you then, and you are pinned by those chocolate brown eyes, that for once seem earnest rather than annoyed. “What’s it like?”

The fact that this man, who is at least ten if not fifteen years your elder, is asking you tears your heart into little bits of confetti.  

“It’s like going insane,” you answer truthfully, and he looks back down, frowning.

“I thought so.”

***

You are standing in your inflatable body bumpers together on the sidelines, declining to partake in this insane sport, content to watch the others attempt to inflict cervical injuries on themselves and others.

The question is eating at you, and you decide what the hell. What’s he going to do? Be mean to you?

“So, you’ve never been in love?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers, frowning, though it’s the same frown he’s been wearing for the past hour watching the idiots running around the field.

“Believe me, you would know.”

“Do insane people know they’re insane?”

“Ok, maybe that was a bad comparison. It’s…total surrender.”

“Wow, you’re really talking it up.”

“It is though. You have these special feelings for a person, and you just know whatever they do to you, it won’t matter, because you’ll still care for them.”

“It doesn’t matter, until it does matter.”

“Some people have higher tolerances for pain than others.”

“If you loved Keith you could probably take a Caesar-style stabbing without flinching.”

You’re not sure how exactly to respond to that.

“At any rate. I prefer to avoid pain rather than withstand it. My parents inflicted quite enough. No need to spread it around.”

“Alright, I get it that your parents sufficiently traumatized you, with the failed marriages and the…shooting thing. But doesn’t there come a point where you have to let it go and rise above it?”

“I don’t see any reason to.”

“Think about all your missing out on though.”

“What exactly is that?”

“You know…human connection. The things that make life worth living.”

“Jesus, are you sure you don’t work for Hallmark?”

“Positive.”

“I bet you sell rocks in your shop that have inspirational words carved in them.”

“Of course I do. The markup on those things is astronomical.”

You see him smirk out the corner of his eye.

“I bet you also sell little statues of big-eyed children slinging bible verses.”

“Ohhh, now those are fighting words, sir.” You bump him lightly with your inflatable tutu, making him shuffle a step. For a fleeting moment, you catch a hint of a smile, and it feels like a resounding victory.

Feeling bold, you fix him with an earnest stare. “You claim you’ve opted out of this mess. But what if you meet someone you really like?”

“Then I should probably run swiftly in the opposite direction,” he says, paying you a side-eyed look.

Five minutes later, he does quit the field, though he doesn’t quite run from it. You tell your self that it’s just a coincidence, and that he was just done standing in a polyvinyl orb in this heat.

But deep down…there is the tiniest kindling of something in your heart, and you know you should kick dirt over that shit and stomp on it.

You don’t, and you carry a ridiculous little light feeling with you as you return to the hotel.

It feels like you swallowed a butterfly.

[merbear25]

A still beating heart

Dread and turmoil mix into a deadly elixir which is drunk by the masses. Whilst two wandering souls seek out refuge in this unforgiving world, finding each other by chance feels too good to be true. You’ve started crumbling at the feet of your health complications, and although you are in need of his support, distrust deludes the gift of his companionship.

a/n: This is heavily inspired by the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera because it’s a masterpiece and Caesar would thrive in this world. Divider made by me.

CW: Repo man AU, gn!reader, angst, horror themes (mentions of gore, murder), yandere undertones (kidnapping, possessiveness, Stockholm Syndrome), reader has health conditions, some romance and fluff, no sexual themes.

The city bathed in the moonlight, but even still there were crevices that remained absent from its rays. Having been traced and hunted down, the shadows were the only things to bear witness to the woman’s pleas. Choked cries painted the cold bricks, now weeping for her when no one else would, for the hands that played as judge doubled as her executioner. The predetermined verdict being brought on by a lack of funds had sealed her fate after contracting her life in the hopes that something more would come of it.

Others shared the same lack of foresight: choosing to turn a blind eye to the repercussions if they failed to keep their end of the bargain. Even so, they all willingly gave these cosmetic corporations an ungodly amount of power, which in turn had these lost souls collapsing like dominos—each spreading the word of such wonders being gifted to them all while deluding the dangers which came with it.

As the sprouted weeds in the pavement drank the spilled life, the blood would only stain the hands of the reaper who’d slain and even then, the deed would bear little weight on his conscience. With the sobs of the recently departed fading into the late hours of the night, they received no pity as the man’s hands collected the organ for bounty money.

With such negligence making these companies swell to the brim in cash, it was no wonder why they relied on repo men such as him; casting down on them swiftly while also being morally numb to the horrors they were unleashing were qualities scarcely coupled. However, once found, they would be cherished, perhaps flourishing under the watchful corporal eye.

Trudging through the bleak city, even the sun peeking over the buildings did nothing to relieve this world of the melancholy plaguing it. With such a tarnished reputation, there were few other prospects residing outside this one, whether career wise or personal.

Finding yourself in an elongated hallway, the lights above were dim, just barely giving you leverage to see what lurked beyond. Calling out, there was no answer—there never was, and yet you kept trying to connect with someone, anyone.

The chill pricked at your exposed flesh, making you wince. As you wandered down the hall, you noticed the walls were bare—stripped of the potential portals you could’ve unlocked. With only being given two possible directions, the gravity of the decision was weighing you down, sinking you into the floor. The further you sank, the dimmer the lights were. Isn’t there anyone there? Despite all your might, your words fell silent.

Couldn’t there be a reason for this? Why were you given the short end of things time and time again? The self-loathing only pulled you down deeper into the floorboards, making you gasp for air as you dipped below them.

Drifting in the void of your own dismay, you made one last attempt to cry out, “Who am I meant to be?” The doubt of being able to live in this world without acquiring the essential brutality cascaded on you, further forcing you into the depths of your awaited despair. In a shrill voice, you shrieked, “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me who I am?” Although faint, your desperation made its way to the surface.

A beacon of light lifted your head, enticing you to follow, but the closer you got, the top remained out of reach. With your arms tiring and your will running on fumes, you debated whether or not to push forward. Before being given the choice, your eyes shot open.

Parting your curtains, you were met with thick clouds of smog obstructing your view of the park, albeit the grass and flowers had browned and wilted long ago. Despite promptly reclosing them, it didn’t change the dread that awaited you. No matter how many times you shielded yourself from the reality you were born into, the cruelty of the world persistently seeped through the paned glass with doubts of it ever changing poisoning your already rocky optimism.

In spite of the climbing bills regarding your medication, it was still better than opting out for a heart transplant. After all, going without your medication could be risky, but it paled in comparison to the organ being ripped from your chest. With that in mind, today of all days when the smog seemed to be the thickest it’d been all month, venturing to the pharmacy to retrieve your medication was a necessity.

Even with taking precautions, the polluted air restricted your breathing, tightening your chest as your heart struggled to fight against the harsh conditions. Pushing forward, you kept reminding yourself that the pharmacy wasn’t far, meaning you’d be able to regain your composure once entering. However, upon reaching the door of your temporary sanctuary, the bolt was fastened and no one was inside.

Panic at the unforeseen turn of events set in, looking around in a frenzy made matters worse, as your breathing grew more shallow. Clenching helplessly at the fabric around your form only further drilled hopelessness into you. Staggering along the walls, you stumbled to your knees. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you huddled in a ball on the pavement. As you laid there clutching at your chest, a robed figure came into view before the bleak city surroundings dimmed into a haze.

A barely audible voice crept in as you came to. “What to do, what to do…” Shuffling could be heard in the distance which was then followed by clinking glass. When your eyes fluttered open, the light shining down on you was unpleasantly bright. Squinting from the abrasion, you caught sight of a tall figure in the shadows.

Scanning the surroundings of which the light touched, the understanding that someone had dragged you back to their home jumped out at you. With such a conclusion, other more frightening ones followed suit. Kept for ransom, sold on the black market or forced into slavery: all seemed plausible given the hard times everyone was continuously finding themselves in.

Even when gingerly shifting yourself, creaks of old springs sounded under your subtle movement. Although the figure blended into the dark, the outline was still jagged enough to separate itself from the still backdrop.

As the stranger’s hand eased its way onto the counter top, their head shifted and even though your vision was obstructed by the fluorescent bulb, the dreadful feeling of eyes being on you was unmistakable.

Restraining yourself from shouting for help, demanding answers, and bursting into tears was whirling within you, pulling you in too many directions to focus on one tactic to break free. Instead the trembling dread was kept bottled up, making you shake from the building pressure.

“Don’t get so worked up,” his voice alluded to a disinterest in your wandering thoughts.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Your assertiveness prevailed over quivering lips.

Tilting his head back and forth as if contemplating whether or not to answer, he remained silent.

When you failed to coerce an answer from him, your chest heaved from the burdening assumption that you’d found your eternal resting place. Putting your trust in a higher power that would somehow pull you out of this was like grasping at straws. Such powerful beings had never casted their grace on you before, but they appeared to be the only ones in whom you could place your faith.

Closing your eyes to the terror surrounding you, you said a quick prayer, mumbling your pleas in hope that they’d reach the ears of some pure entity. “Please,” you begged to yourself, “Is this really how I’ll die, Lord?”

A curious smile stretched his lips at your increasingly labored breathing. Turning slightly towards you, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your feeble attempt at appealing to the heavens. “Do you honestly think anyone is listening?”

Refusing to acknowledge his obvious attempt at getting under your skin, you irked him. However, it led him into thinking of your tenacity as a challenge. Inching out of the shadows, his unconcealed contempt burrowed into you.

Leaning down, his words dripped with anticipation of you admitting your lack of faith. He spoke just above a whisper, “Tell me, what kind of God would bestow such hardships onto one as frail as yourself?”

With contorted lips, you failed to stop the tears from streaming down your face. Pressing your forehead against your laced fingers, you were tempted to fall victim to the seeds of doubt he was planting. “There must be someone out there who cares.”

Furrowing his brow, he huffed a bit at your self-pity. “The sooner you realize there isn’t, the happier you’ll be.”

Wiping the stinging sorrow from your eyes, you cautiously asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

Looking down his nose at you, he wondered that himself. “Why indeed.”

Risking a glance, you hastily averted your eyes. His golden orbs were burning into you with searing intensity. His sudden reach made you flinch. He paused briefly before fully extending his arm to the end table. With a soft clink, he retracted from you, yet his eyes held on, studying each subtlety you exuded.

“Drink it,” he commanded. However, his tone shifted slightly when your eyes held distrust. ‘It will help you feel better.”

Seeing as he wasn’t going anywhere until you downed the liquid he gave you, gulping it down left your tongue coated in bitterness. Pleased with your compliance, he allowed you time to rest, giving you some much needed solitude. 

Once he left the room, your ears followed his footsteps through the wooden corridor. He hadn’t locked the door, though taking it upon yourself to leave felt more like bait if anything. Instead, you held tight, looking about the room you found yourself in.

With the muffled sounds echoing throughout the house, your curiosity got the better of you. The walls were cool to the touch, leading you to believe you were in the basement and although the room was seemingly empty, there were drawers in the disheveled desk.

Poking around, you dared to uncover any shred of who this man was. Stumbling upon a collection of documents, you unfastened the folder securing them. Thumbing through them carefully, the names of their faceless owners were becoming overwhelming. “Why would he have such papers within his home?” you muttered to yourself.

There were papers containing medical information, addresses, places they frequented, all of which were filling your head with the glaring truth as to who this man was.

Thuds traveled down the hall, alarming you that they were marching your way. Fumbling with the evidence stacked against him, you shoved them into the folder and quietly shut the drawer. Jumping on the sofa, you were just able to control your racing heartbeat in time for him to enter your dwellings.

Closing the door behind him, his gaze was fixated on you as he approached. Before he could get a word in, you spoke out against him holding you there. “When can I leave?”

Stopping in his tracks, he was less than pleased to be greeted with such an ungrateful attitude. “If you want to leave, there’s the door.”

“I can just go? You won’t stop me?” Your questions held your disbelief. When he nodded, something about the situation chilled you to your core.

Smirking at your hesitation, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Watching your eyes dart between the exit and him, he informed you, “There’s no trick, no trap.”

Smiling down at you - as unsettling as it was given the circumstances - gave you an ounce of courage to motion off the sofa.

“If you’re sure in your abilities to find your way back without any help or medication, then by all means, you have my word to let you go.”

The fact of the matter was you were in no position to go anywhere, and he wanted you to understand that. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your forehead against them.

With triumph wafting off of him, he glided towards you, requesting you to tilt your head up. He patted your knees, signaling you to put them down to allow him an easier time checking your vitals. Checking your eyes and pulse, his hands then wandered over the sides of your ribcage.

Inhaling sharply, he asked if the pressure hurt. Truth be told you weren’t quite sure if the gasp was brought on by pain or the sudden touch. Letting him know that there was a slight pain issued for more probing: his fingers pressed at the front and back of you in an attempt to find any other pockets of discomfort. When none were left, he leaned back to fully take in the marvel you were presenting yourself as.

With a slight nod, he whispered, “Good.” Getting up, he looked back at you. “If you’re in no hurry to leave, you can either spend the rest of your time down here or I can show you where the spare bedroom is.” 

Despite his gracious offer to extend more of his home to you, the aura emitting from him gave you reason to proceed with caution.

When you absentmindedly bit your lower lip, he shrugged off your doubt. “Stay in this room, don’t stay in this room, it makes no difference to me.”

“No!” Your own burst of enthusiasm made you recoil. “I-I’d be grateful for a room.”

Ushering you to follow him, his chuckles trailed alongside the both of you. Reaching the top of the stairs, the lavish style all but took your breath away. The embroidery along the ceiling and the fine details on the furniture had you awe-struck.

“Who’d you have to kill to be able to afford all of this?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. Well, so long as you know how to play your cards right.”

Leading you to the door you’d be calling yours for the time being, he followed on your heels as you aimlessly sauntered into the room. A sense of pride swelled within him, while he watched you stand there mouth agape. 

The ivory window sills complimented by the forest green curtains suited the cream-colored carpet and speckled bits of gold across the wallpaper. Sitting yourself down on the bed, comfort and serenity dispersed around you, having you pondering if you ever wanted to go back to your decrepit apartment.

Folding your hands in your lap, you looked at him with a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

The gentleness to your demeanor pierced his once thought to be dead heart, reigniting the life lying dormant within it. In a meek attempt at hiding his contentment from your appreciation, a short nod was all you were issued as he swiftly left you alone with your thoughts.

Grinning, you threw yourself back on the clouds surrounding you. Being under the crushing weight of the world for as long as you had, there’d been little to dream about. However, this was the first moment in perhaps a decade or more when fresh air was allowed into your life, soothing your woes.

Such ease washed over you, their waves carrying you out to sea. Although the tide started out calm, the storm clouds on the horizon were cause for concern. The rough water crashed into your boat, forcing you to brace yourself against the oncoming malice.

Pouring rain blinded you to the tidal wave gaining speed in the distance. The full weight of it submerged you deep beneath sea level, forcing the air out of you on impact. As you thrashed your way towards the surface, your body gave out, going limp in the storm ridden waters.

Lifting your eyelids, you stirred under the covers. The streetlamps were shining through the crack between the curtains. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you looked around for a clock. Carefully making your way down the steps, there appeared to be no sign of your host anywhere.

Stumbling around to the front windows, headlights bathed the parlor. Thinking it must be him, peeking out came instinctively. A long black latex trench coat was cloaked over him, his long hair partly matted to it after having fallen out of the ponytail it was thrown up in.

There was no denying who those uniforms belonged to—the repo men who stalked the streets.  The nail in your coffin was being hammered in as he stepped across that threshold.

For a moment, he hadn’t even noticed you standing there. Taking his coat off gingerly so as not to loosen any missed droplets of blood onto the floor, your trembling form caught his attention.

“What are you doing awake?”

“I was just…I couldn’t sleep is all.”

Folding his coat over his arm, he sauntered across the arch way, keeping his eyes on you. “Shouldn’t you know it’s bad manners to snoop in your host’s home?”

“I wasn’t snooping, I promise!”

Him disappearing around the corner caused the hair on the back of your neck to rise. His footsteps were no longer audible and the still of the night was deafening.

“What are you most afraid of at this moment?” His voice seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving you feeling completely surrounded.

“I’m afraid of dying,” you choked out. With the room closing in on you, you were backed into the corner. 

“And what is it that you want most of all?”

The tightening in your chest was making you dry heave from the stampede of terror trampling you. While you struggled to control your breath, you sank down to the floor. His stoic form stepped into the night’s rays peeking through, his golden eyes being illuminated by the cross light.

“I don’t want to think about the pain I’m feeling anymore.”

“Then why not let me lighten your load?” You showed a shred of reluctance, which invited him to kneel down by your side. “You can either accept my help and my conditions, or you can become another forgotten name lost to time.”

Offering you his hand, you saw no better option waiting for you, even if placing your faith in this man was contractual.

“Why did you help me?”

“It was a lapse in judgment.”

“But why do you continue to do so?” 

He did not answer, only letting the air between you grow stale. You were being given the opportunity to interpret the nonsensical ways of his generosity, although this wouldn’t go without pitfalls of suspicion.

Looking at the hand he was still offering you, you threw caution to the wind and placed your hand in his. When your eyes met, a somewhat genuine smile stretched upon his face while he gently eased you up from the floor.

With the days and nights spent with him on seamless rotation, the unknown reason of him permitting you to stay with him burdened you. There were times that you wondered that perhaps the logic behind it was lost even to him. But the longer you remained with him, the more uneasy you got. Not understanding why, you were there left questions to build up in the darkest corners of your mind: “When could he lose interest?”, “What could make him lose interest?” and the grave reality of “What will happen to me if he loses interest?”

Dark clouds swirled above from the lack of clarity of where you stood with him. As bleak of motivation as it was, it made you contribute around the house, trying to add to whatever worth he originally saw in you, eventually leading him to taking you under his wing of professional guidance. 

Despite the unwavering gratitude you had for him, being in his debt had hooked into your immortal soul. With the metal having sunk into your flesh, you were being brought down to the brimstone lined caverns where he was.

Through the anguish you kept secret from him, you persevered, allowing an unwanted yet natural talent you held to unearth itself.

As your lack-luster eyes fell on the fading life sprawled at your feet, he sensed you pulling away from the life you were building together on the backs of those who closely resembled yourself.

“Do not pity those who knew the risks, yet did nothing to prevent them. Time eats all his children in the end, my dear.” His words, albeit cruel, rang true. With each moment shared together, his disdain for the world and those in it wore off on you more and more.

Self-loathing emitted off of you and was misplaced onto him, souring the air. “I cannot help it, but when I look at you, I grow distasteful. The ruthlessness you cast is only seen as mercy to yourself.”

Taken aback by you bearing such a festering grudge against him - the man who’d shown you the utmost kindness - made him grind his teeth. Frowning at you, he spoke without having first collected his thoughts. “And yet here you are by my side. Here you are soaked in the blood of the less fortunate, and you have the gall to throw blame onto me?”

Closing the gap between you, his breath was hot against your ear. “You’ve willingly shredded any ounce of innocence you held over me long ago. Tread lightly, for you’re beginning to reek of self righteousness.” His warning lingered in your ears.

Maneuvering through this minefield was wearing on you. Caught up in your own self-indulgent pity party, you nearly missed glimmers of him being heavily affected by such barriers separating the two of you. Even if his demeanor was rigid and his stare cold, there was a sense of feeling isolated emanating around him.

He sat in his armchair, while he mulled over the precarious justification of having dragged you here all those months ago. Following your descent down the stairs, he drummed his fingers on his pursed lips, leading himself to believe this was to be your farewell to him.

Ignoring the daggers behind his eyes, you kept in mind that he was just as damaged by this world as you were. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Cautiously lowering his guard, you’d piqued his interest. “I see how my behavior has been unjustifiably disgraceful towards you and the second chance you gave me.” 

Seeing his eyes wandering over you, you proceeded. “You’ve helped me understand that in this world, one must take center stage and you can either steal the spotlight or fade into the background.”

Choking back the rising emotion, you divulged your soul to him, “I don’t want to fade with the others.”

“You won’t have to.” Easing out of his chair, he opened his arms to you. Holding each other tightly, it dawned on you that this was the first embrace you ever shared.

While his hands caressed your emotionally drained form, your frets were plucked out of you, leaving behind tranquility. “This feels nice,” you admitted in a hushed tone.

Humming at the comfort you found in his touch, such affection was surreal for the life he led. As your arms wrapped around him, he smirked at the resolution to the issues you shared. Looking up at him, his thumb stroked your cheek. His words carried such delicacy, “I trust this means you have no intention of leaving me?”

“I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Two souls deemed undesirable by society.” Leaning down, his lips briefly ghosted yours. “What better match could I have asked for?” Sealing your union with a long-overdue kiss, any lingering doubts of who you thought you were supposed to be dissipated. The ash of your former self, along with your prior morals, circled you as your kiss deepened. Collecting at your feet, you paid them no mind. 

The man who’d brought forth a new perspective on this dreary world captivated you. Together you would stay in the spotlight, sharing it as you danced under its beam. Your devotion to each other would keep the shadows at bay, for your adoration would outlast their persistent attempts at tearing you down with the others who were being forgotten to time.

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

8. Sponsored by the Devil

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen @one-of-thewalkingdead

AN: Not crazy about this chapter, BUT there is smut at the end so...

I sit at the bar watching the TV. A newscaster babbles on, “As all nations race to secure uranium and control the future of energy, a shortage has emerged, turning even allies into potential competitors. Will energy prices surge this winter and will it lead to an expanded war?” I chuckle softly with the shake of my head, finishing my drink. I see the familiar figure of my old friend. My old friend who sounds like he’s gotten caught up in the communist bullshit. “Sorry you couldn't make it to the party the other night, Charlie,” he looks at me with a blank face. “Guess you had one of your meetings, huh? One of your Communist meetings?” He sighs, taking the seat next to me, “Come on, man.”

“We watched people die together up north fighting against all that horseshit.” He shrugs, “Yeah, and for what?” I scoffed, “What do you mean, for what? For the American dream. We're actors. We make movies, Charlie.”

“Yeah, the American dream has me getting shot in the ass by you all day.” I roll my eyes at his excuse. “You got five acres in Tarzana. I think you're doing all right.” He shakes his head, “It doesn't matter, Coop. Vault-Tec's the fucking devil, man.” I weigh in. “Vault Tech is a shifty company. I’ll give you that. My ex-wife works there. She’s a lot of things, but the devil? Come on now.” “Do you know what "fiduciary responsibility" means?” “Fiduciary responsibility? No, I have no fucking idea. I play a cowboy for a living.”

Charlie goes on, “Okay. So, the U.S. government has outsourced the survival of the human race to Vault-Tec. Vault-Tec is a private corporation that has a fiduciary responsibility to make money for its investors. And how does it make money? By selling vaults.” “That's called capitalism, Charlie.” He continued digging, “But they can't sell vaults if these peace negotiations go through. So Vault-Tec has a fiduciary responsibility to make sure that it doesn't work out.” I can’t even wrap my head around his speech. “Yeah. How are they gonna do that?” He falls flat, “I don't know. You remember that movie we did with Johnny Morton… you were the sheriff and I was some generic Indian?” I disagree, “Come on, man, don't say that. Tall hand Mudlake could talk to horses. You played him with grace and with dignity. It was a great role for you.”

“Morton played a rancher who owned half of Missouri. And what happens when the cattle ranchers have more power than the sheriff?” “The whole town burns down.” “Right. Vault-Tec is a trillion-dollar company that owns half of everything. And after ten years of war, the U.S. government is broker than a joke. The cattle ranchers are in charge, Coop.” I wave at his words again, “Come on, man, you sound like you're in a cult.” He fires back, “And you're sitting here defending a system that's ready to set the world on fire, Cooper. Maybe you're the one in the cult.”

I look away with the roll of my eye. He slides a card on the bar. “Look. You should come to a meeting. You should learn the truth about where your ex-wife works, and what they plan on doing with their employees. For (y/n)‘s sake.” With one final smile, my friend leaves the bar. Leaving me confused and a knot rolling in my chest.

Why the fuck would (y/n) be or any danger with Vault Tech? I stare at the card and begin to dive down a hole I’d rather not be sober for. I raise my hand, gesturing to the bartender, “Bartender, can I get one more?”

~

I caved and went to attend Charlie’s meeting. It was a basic conspiracy for weak-minded individuals. She sits at the front, coffee in hand. “These soldiers that we're fighting abroad, their families, we have more in common with them than we do with the people here in power, the real enemy.” I shake my head, “That's about all the horseshit I can take.” I stand, place my hat back on my head, and make my way to the exit.

“Mr. Howard?” I stop as she addresses me. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said.” I raise my eyebrows at her, “I said that um… this is about all the horseshit I can take.” She smirks, “I didn't realize that America's favorite gunslinger was so sensitive.” She earns soft laughter from her followers. “I have my principles, Miss Williams, that's all.” I try to leave once more but she begins the conversation again, “Uh-huh. And those principles of yours… how much did Vault-Tec pay to take them off your hands?”

“Well, this is America. Everybody has a sponsor, and, uh, I'm not ashamed to earn a living.” She bickers back, “Vault-Tec is the largest company in America. There's a lot of money in selling the end of the world.” I couldn’t take her words. I fire back to her, “Well, I'm sure there's a lot of money in selling a political ideology that ends in breadlines.”

As the crowd gets upset, Charlie stands and backs away with me, “Okay, uh, sorry, this was a mistake. We'll be leaving.” Miss Williams shakes her head, coming to stand. “Oh, no, I'm-I'm quite glad you brought Mr. Howard today. You see, it happens that I know your wife… or Ex-wife. And perhaps a side of her you don't.”

I walk out and she follows close on my heels, catching up by my side. “How do you know my ex-wife?” “My research company was acquired by her division. We were developing this kind of technology that's… difficult to monetize. Cold fusion. Infinite energy. Several projects were advancing. Synthetic creations. That's what I was on the verge of achieving when Vault-Tec swept in and bought up every company I'd ever worked for.” I stare at her with no hesitation, “Every one of them? So, what are you, a millionaire communist?”

“Hypocrisy is like violence in your movies. If you only let the bad guys use it, the bad guys win.” “Yeah? I, uh, I got a little showbiz secret for you. A good bad guy doesn't see themselves as the bad guy.”

She pushes more, “America has been locked in a resource war for over a decade. Vault-Tec bought the means to end that war, the same war you fought in, so they could put it on the shelf. All because it didn't fit into their business model. I want your help in getting it back.” She passes a small device into my palm. I roll the small object in my fingers, “What is it?” “It's a listening device.”

I nod, disbelief running through my mind. “A listening device. You… you want me to spy on them?” I chuckled softly, passing it back, “Good luck with the revolution.” She shakes her head, “You can keep it. As a token.” She sighs, “I'm not a communist, Mr. Howard. That's just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren't insane.” I meet her with silence. She speaks once more in a hushed voice, stepping closer, “I understand you have a fond relationship with Ms. (L/n). If I were you, I’d be keeping her at a distance from Vault Tech. They have plans for her.” I clenched my jaw, “what the hell are you on about?” She taps the small listening device before turning on her heel and returning to her meeting.

~

I sit on the couch bouncing my knee, paranoid, thinking the worst of what could happen to (y/n). They could kidnap her. Keep her trapped in one of those damn vaults. They could kill her!

To add to the stress, we were about to set Janey down and talk to her. I roll the divine in my pocket overthinking the worst. My nerves got the best of me, and I gave up, going to the pip-boy on the counter. The divide pairs within seconds. Just in time for Barb to walk out and retrieve the bulky oversized wrist technology. She straps it onto her wrist before looking at me, eyebrows raised. “Are you ready?” I nod, “Yeah. I'll be out there in just a minute.”

She nods and exits the house. I watch as she sits down with Janey. I place the listening divide in my ear, clearly hearing Barb and Janey from outside. Roosevelt whines causing me to shake my head. There was no logical reason to believe anything those conspiracy theorists had to say. “You're right, Roosevelt,” I tuck the small device into my pocket, “What are you thinking?”

Janey has to be the smartest, and most intelligent little girl in the world. I had been very honest in explaining how her mother and I just didn’t feel the same and how we were going to be living away from each other. She knew something had been off for months. She had no issue expressing her feelings and opinions on the scheduling. “As long as daddy and (y/n) can take me for ice cream every other Friday!” I smile at Janey, while Barb does not. She simply ignores it.

~

The sun rose on Saturday morning, kissing the land of California. I stand on the back patio with a cup of coffee just taking in the beauty. It had been a month to the day since Cooper and I started dating. Life was good. I was happy. He was here more days out of the week than not. I couldn’t think of a better day than today to tell him the news.

The sliding glass door catches my attention. Cooper walks out, coffee in hand and a smile on his face. He wraps an around around me, nuzzling into my neck. “Good morning.” It’s such a perfect paradise with him at this moment. “Good morning, love.” I lean back into him, rubbing my fingertips up his arm, tracing each speck and freckle. “I have a surprise for you.” He looks down, trying to find a hint within my soul. “What type of surprise?” I turn around in his hold, now facing him. “A good one. I think you’ll be pleased with it.” He trails a finger down the front of my chest, dipping into my robe, brushing my concealed skin. “Wouldn’t happen to be you would it?” I shake my head, moving out of his grasp before I get caught up. “Nope. Get dressed Mr. Howard because we are going on a little adventure.”

We both get ready and exit my house. I get into the driver's seat before he can argue. "So where are we going?" I smirk at him as I begin to drive to the secret location. "You'll see."

We pass the line in Bakersfield and Cooper looks at me, even more confusion in his eyes. 30 more minutes down the line we pull up to a gate. I flip the keypad and enter the entrance code. The large gate slides open and I drive up the start of a long gravel driveway. Cooper looks at the surroundings in awe. The lush land filled with vegetation, and life. "6 acres on each side. There's a big barn in the back. I figured Sugarfoot could have his own space." Cooper sits silently as we pull up to the large cabin. I park the car and turn off the engine. I exit with a smile. "Are you coming?"

Cooper gets out of the vehicle, mouth gaping as he tries to make sense of the situation. "What did… Is this…" I grab his hand, intertwining our fingers. "It's ours." I pull the keys from my pocket and dangle them in front of his face. "How did you do this?" I waved my hand at him, "It was nothing. Heather and her boyfriend are sold in California. I offered them my house at an amazing rate, and I was able to get this place up here."

I squeeze his hands with a nervous smile. "I knew this was a risk. A huge one, but I know we had talked about it before, and it was just the perfect opportunity. It just… felt right." Cooper finally breaks into a smile, he hoists me up into his arms. I laugh in surprise, "What in the world are you doing?" He smiles charmingly down at me. "Well, I'm carrying you through the threshold of our new home, sweetheart." Nothing could be better than this moment. He passes through the doorway, the warmth of the cabin enveloping us in its glow.

"What you say we… break in a few rooms? See if the acoustics are good for that angelic voice of yours. I want you to sing for me, honey. Just the way you know I like." He kisses up my neck mumbling into my skin. Room by room Cooper drew orgasm from me. Each one is stronger than the last.

He carries me from the kitchen counter to the long hallway, posting me up on the wall, fucking into me with long thrusts. I moan out loudly the sound carrying through the halls. Cooper smirks, biting his lip as he hears my echoed pants bouncing off the walls.

''That's my girl,'' Cooper rumbled out, pressing his fingers into my cheeks, forcing me to glue my eyes on him. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to begin lifting my hips away from him. I couldn't take anymore, and he knew it. The pressure eased as his girth slowly withdrew from the depths of my sensitive walls. He pushes me into the wall further, deepening his thrusts.

I mewled involuntarily to his sudden way to keep me still. ''I don't think I can-'' I managed to blurt out, despite the trembling rushing through my entire body as his strong hands held me firmly in place.

''Of course, you can, sweetheart.'' He cooed through a strained groan. The stretch of his length was just right, so satisfying that made me want to writhe and squirm on top of him, to lose myself in the rawness of the moment. The friction of our bodies, the sound of our combined breaths, the intoxicating scent of cigarettes and expensive perfume hanging heavy in the air.

''Cooper,'' I cried out from the immense fullness of his length, unable to contain the bliss as every nerve in my body was set on fire. One of his hands traced a path up the curve of my side, his touch sending electric tingles through my skin, each movement leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

He exits my heat, earning a whine from me. He moves us to lie on the sofa. He guided me to sit on his lap, lining his length up again. He kisses up my spine. He lifted one hand from my hip, a tender touch that trailed the expanse of my body until it reached my face and cupped my cheek to tilt my head downwards, coaxing me to meet his gaze.

Cooper leaned close, his breath warm against my ear, "Show me what a good cowgirl you can be." He murmured, the boom of his voice low and primal. As soon as he spoke those words, my hips jerked into action. I leaned back against his chest, grinding down on him, rising and falling on his cock like a bitch in heat.

''That's right, sweetheart,'' Cooper strained,  breathless mumbling reverberated through the warm cabin. He slipped a hand from my hips and with ease, he directed his attention to the most sensitive bud of nerves.

His touch met the tender flesh, I gasped at the sensation, the smooth pad of his finger gliding over the bundle of my clit. Cooper groaned from behind, ''You just keep riding me like that," He helped put motion into my movement. I was a mess, sobs escaped as the pleasure ripped through me.

I surrendered myself completely to him once more, needing nothing but him. Always him. Mustering up all the strength in my legs, I bounced on him even harder than before. My walls tightened around Coooper's length, and my climax finally burst. The waves crash causing me to see stars.

With each clench, I felt him twitch from inside. I lean back as he says, "Stay inside, Cooper." He sucked in a breath, biting into the skin of my shoulder. His thrusts are relentless as he pursues his release. All it took was a few more thrusts, and his body was convulsing beneath me, his movements seeming almost otherworldly while he emptied himself inside my cunt.

He lurched forward, dragging me close to his bare chest. He slowly rolled us over, his cock slipped free. I sighed heavily, but satiated and nestled into him. "Home sweet fucking home." Cooper leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. ''I say we broke in every fuckin inch of this place, sweetheart."

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Safe In Your Dreams

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: angst, major character death, fluff

Summary: You don't know what you have until it's not there anymore.

Square Filled: drowning in their sorrows for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“Come on, if we hurry, we might make it before the trailers are over,” you giggle.

“Are you sure we should be doing this? I have money.”

“And give it to those corporate assholes? You know barely any of the money goes to the theaters. They all go to the production company that makes the movies. I’ve done this once or twice. They don’t care if you sneak in. All they care about are their popcorn and food sales. That’s why they’re priced so high. That’s how they make their money.”

Spencer looks unsure about sneaking into a theater, and you yank open the back door with a smile.

“We’re gonna get caught.”

“Sure, with that attitude. Just tilt your chin up and pretend like you know where you’re going. Works every time.” Still, the unsure look doesn’t leave Spencer’s face. “If it really means that much to you, we can do it the normal way and go through the front.”

Spencer might be part of the FBI but who doesn't indulge in a little rebellious act every once in a while? Spencer takes your hand with a smile and steps toward you.

“Lead the way.”

“I knew you were a bit of a bad boy,” you joke and lead him inside the theater.

You lead Spencer inside the movie theater and away from anyone who might kick you out. There is a movie showing you’ve been wanting to see and happened to drag your boyfriend along with you for the ride. There is popcorn in your bag that you popped yourself so you don’t have to buy the theater’s popcorn.

You two walk into the theater you want and head to the very back so as not to bother anyone else. It’s a cheesy horror movie that has you laughing rather than screaming. Spencer isn’t a huge fan of horror but loves movies like these because it’s something you love to do.

Another thing you love to do with Spencer that he also enjoys is playing min-golf. You two clearly don’t know what you’re doing but it doesn’t matter because you’re having fun.

“Spencer, I think you’re doing it wrong,” you giggle.

He holds the golf club at an angle and hits the ball but it goes nowhere near the hole. It bounces off several walls and goes back to where he started.

“I suck at this game,” he smiles.

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

You walk to the front and set your ball down. You look at the hole on the other end of the course and bring your club back only to hit it super hard. The ball not only goes flying, it flies right into the set instead of on the grass. This course is a pirate’s theme so there are wooden pirates everywhere, and the ball nearly takes off one of their heads.

The couple behind you stares at you in judgment for acting like children. You two are giggling like school girls, but the couple doesn’t think it’s funny.

“Maybe you should play the right way,” the woman says.

“Maybe you should mind your fucking business,” you snap.

The woman is shocked you talked to her that way, and you turn to Spencer with a giggle. She storms off to presumably get security which means you and Spencer have to go before you get in trouble.

“It’s not good for an FBI agents to be caught with petty vandalism.”

“Then we better not get caught!”

Mini golf might not be the best date idea since you and Spencer can’t play for shit, but the kind of dates you love taking Spencer on are beach dates. The perfect time of day to go is when the sun is setting since the clouds are bright pink, orange, and purple, and the sun makes the water shimmer magically.

“Are you ready?” you grin at Spencer.

“As ready as you can be.”

“Don’t push me this time.”

The water crashes on the shore, and you and Spencer run from the water. You two look like little kids who don’t want to get wet but you don’t care. Once the water recedes back into the ocean, you and Spencer walk closer to water. The waves crash onto the shore again, and tyou and Spencer take off running away from it. The water splashes on the back of your ankles, and you squeal at how cold it is. The East Coast waters are a lot warmer than the West Coast, but it’s still winter.

Spencer scoops you up into his arms and walks closer to the water that has receded.

“Don’t drop me,” you giggle and hold onto him.

When the water crashes onto the shore, Spencer attempts to run from it but ends up slipping and falling. He turns so that you land on him instead of the ground, but the water washes over both of you. You scream playfully from how cold the water is and Spencer shivers from the temperature. You lean down and kiss him just as another wave washes upon you.

Though, the best date you’ve ever been on with Spencer is when he took you to a rooftop restaurant. He had to work late because of the BAU but managed to get a reservation a the restaurant since he was friends with the chef. Since it was past closing time, there was no one else on the roof but you two, and it overlooked the city which only added to how romantic it was.

“Damn, you can see everything up here,” you say. “It’s very beautiful.”

Spencer stares at you as you admire the city below. “Yeah, it is.”

Soft music is flowing through the speakers, and Spencer gets up and extends his hand to you. The chef has your orders so while you wait, Spencer wants to fill the time with dancing. You look away from the city and blush at his hand. When you grab his hand, he pulls you into him so that your head is resting on his cheat. You can hear his heartbeat underneath your ear which releases an abundance of endorphins in your head.

Your hand is so small compared to his, so he envelopes yours completely. Everything else in your life goes away because the only thing you can focus on is Spencer and this moment. You’re so in love with him that it’s overwhelming and consuming. You’ve never felt this way about another person before.

You’re not sure where you’d be without him in your life.

A few weeks after that rooftop date, you and Spencer are in the park near your shared apartment. It’s nearing midnight so there aren’t any kids playing around. It’s just you and Spencer which is all that you want. You two are swinging lightly on the swings, and you look up at the stars that twinkle for you.

“Do you still read the book I made for you?” he suddenly asks.

You look at him and slightly frown.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too painful, I guess. It reminds me of you and I get really sad,” you sigh.

“I see,” he nods.

“I hope you’re not mad.”

“Mad at a cute little thing like you? Never.” He stops swinging and looks at you seriously. “I do have to go, though.”

“No, please stay,” you whimper.

“I can’t darling. I promise I’ll be back soon.”

He gets off the swing and approaches you from the front. He pulls you close and kisses your head. You close your eyes to savor this moment but when you open them, you’re in your bedroom. The room is dull in color and the curtains are drawn closed to prevent light from coming through.

The alarm clock reads seven AM. You should be at work. You should be with your team. Instead, you roll to the empty spot in bed and bring Spencer’s pillow closer to you. You stain the sheet with your tears as you force yourself to go to sleep.

Your dreams are the only place you get to see Spencer now.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[mi-rae07]

Jung Wooyoung : As Good As You Were (Part 1/4)

Pairing : Jung Woo-young (Ateez) and named character (Shin Naeun)

_____________________

Synopsis : Naeun saved wooyoung's family years ago by agreeing to hold up their failing company, in return for wooyoung's hand in marriage. She wanted a stable life, a loving husband, kids, and her work at the company as CEO. While wooyoung wanted to travel the world, fall in love with an artist somewhere and continue his career in photography. The corporate life was not for him. Until Naeun married him, shackling him into a life he had always hated, and so began wooyoung's hatred for his own wife. And three years later, it still continues.

But will it stay this way forever? Or will Naeun's love for wooyoung make him change?

___________________

Naeun entered her house after having had a terrible day at work, feeling like she could fall on the floor right this second and go to sleep. She lazily took off her shoes, walking towards the living room as she almost flinched at the sight of wooyoung sitting on the couch with a blank face. Naeun frowned, turning on the lights as she asked

Naeun : why aren't you asleep yet, young-ah?

Wooyoung didn't even bother looking at his wife as he said in a low tone

Wooyoung : couldn't.

Naeun sat next to wooyoung on the couch, wooyoung immediately feeling annoyed and uncomfortable, which naeun noticed. It hurt her, as it always had for the past 3 years, but she could never blame wooyoung, not when she loved him with all her heart. This marriage of theirs was forged, forged for the sake of lifting wooyoung's family's company from it's ruins. And naeun had enough and more money and connections to make that possible. Hence why wooyoung's father offered naeun his son's hand in marriage, and she accepted it despite knowing how much wooyoung hated her. She didn't know why he hated her, but he always had.

Naeun : do you need help?

Wooyoung : no, just let me be.

Naeun looked away, wishing wooyoung would ask her to sleep with him someday in hopes to get rid of his insomnia. Knowing wooyoung's hate towards her, naeun had always kept her distance from wooyoung in order to not make him uncomfortable, and hence they had different rooms. Except wooyoung didn't know naeun would sneak into his room at night just to stare at him sleeping.

Naeun : I…I heard magnolia tea helps with insomnia-

Wooyoung : I don’t want your tea.

Naeun : well you don't have to have…mine. I can order it from some place outside or ask someone else to make it for you.

Wooyoung : at 2am?

Naeun : it doesn't matter to me if it's for you, wooyoung.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, looking away as he said

Wooyoung : stop with all the façade, naeun-shi. I do not really care.

Naeun : it's not…never mind.

Wooyoung leaned against the sofa, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. Naeun looked at the man she could basically die for, wishing she could have what every other woman seemed to get from their partners, love, reassurance, or even just smiles.

Naeun : can you give me a hug?

Wooyoung opened his eyes at the absurd request, looking at naeun with a sharp gaze.

Naeun : n-no?

Wooyoung : what the hell are you-

Naeun : no I uh-it's fine, doesn't matter.

Naeun stood up from her place, picking her bag up as she whispered

Naeun : call me if you need anything, good night.

Naeun turned around and left, climbing up the stairs knowing wooyoung wouldn't say anything back to her. Every night for 3 years she had wished him goodnight and he would only look at her with an annoyed gaze, looking as if he wished she would disappear. And so she was used to it now, as she was to everything else.

Naeun plopped down on her bed with a shaky breath, not even bothering to change her clothes as she stared up at the ceiling. She ran her hands through the sheet around her, feeling it empty as it always had been for her. There was no one who had ever held her close, showered her with love or even told her some words of appreciation. She had been alone her entire life.

Naeun closed her eyes as she felt a tear escape from the corner of her eyes, scrunching the sheet with her hand as she tried going to sleep.

_________________________

Naeun walked down the stairs next morning, fixing her suit properly. She walked into the kitchen and noticed wooyoung cooking, knowing he was only cooking for himself as he always was. And so naeun opened the fridge, pulling out a cold salad as she picked up the spoon and started eating it quickly.

Wooyoung turned around, eyeing the cold salad with disappointed eyes as he asked

Wooyoung : what the fuck is that?

Naeun looked up at wooyoung, feeling a smile spread on her lips at his question. Wooyoung rarely ever asked her questions, she felt happy when he would so much as talk to her without her somehow forcing him to.

Naeun : cold salad!

Wooyoung didn't understand why naeun was feeling so cheerful about it.

Wooyoung : how the hell do you have that and be happy with it?

Naeun : I don't have food to enjoy it, I have food just so I can have energy and not die. It has no other value to me than that.

Wooyoung stared at naeun, not finding it normal for someone to not eat anything they actually liked despite being this rich.

Naeun : that's why I don't have a favorite food, it's all just bland to me.

Wooyoung stared at naeun as she smiled, going back to eating her food. Wooyoung sighed, turning around to his pancakes as he flipped them over. Shin naeun was more different than he thought she was.

__________________________

Naeun sighed as she leaned against the chair in her office, picking up her phone as she called up wooyoung. She always would, every single day, to make sure he was fine. Sometimes he picked up, sometimes he didn't. She wished he would today, her work was even more tiring this afternoon.

Wooyoung : what is it?

Naeun felt a smile spread on her lips at his voice as she asked her usual question

Naeun : did you have your lunch, woo?

Wooyoung : no.

Naeun : wooyoung-ah, it's 2pm, go have something to eat. It's unhealthy-

Wooyoung : I'll have it when I want to. Are you done?

Naeun : don't you…wanna know if I ate?

Wooyoung : what difference does that make to me?

Naeun sighed, tapping her heels under the table as she said

Naeun : okay then. Have a good day at work! I'll see you back at home.

Wooyoung cut the call without saying anything more, making naeun let out a breath as she kept the phone away. She wished someone cared. Just as she was about to go back to work, the door opened, revealing her mother-in-law. Naeun's eyes widened as she stood up, bowing.

Naeun : eomma, hello. I didn't realize you'd be visiting today.

Wooyoung's mother chuckled and entered the room, closing the door behind her as she said

Mrs jung : aigoo, you're my daughter, you don't have to be so formal. Sit back down, I've brought you your favorite.

Naeun : kimchi rice?

Mrs jung : indeed.

She placed the packet on the desk before sitting opposite naeun, opening the packet for her with a smile.

Mrs jung : was that wooyoung on the phone?

Naeun : it was.

Mrs jung : let me guess, you called him first again.

Naeun smiled, mumbling a thank you as she started eating the rice. She didn't have a favorite food and found all food mostly bland, but since she noticed eating her food made wooyoung's mother happy, naeun ate it obediently.

Mrs jung : when are you going to tell him what you feel, naeun-ah.

Naeun : he probably already knows, eomma.

Mrs jung : then why isn't he saying anything?

Naeun : because he has nothing to say. Your son doesn't really love me, eomma, it's already known. He's just doing all this because he has to.

Mrs jung : you deserve so much better.

Naeun : I don't want anything better, I love your son. Whether he loves me or not, it doesn't matter to me.

Wooyoung's mother smiled and was about to say something when she paused, coughing hard. Naeun looked up from her food, eyeing her mother-in-law worriedly.

Naeun : eomma? Are you-

Naeun cut herself off as she saw mrs jung's eyes slowly closing, making naeun stand up as she rushed to her mother-in-law's side.

Naeun : oh no no, no don't close your eyes.

But it was too late, she had already gone unconscious.

_________________________

Wooyoung rushed into the hospital, panting as he stopped right in front of the emergency room. Wooyoung was about to push the door open when he felt someone hold his arm, pulling him back.

Wooyoung : let me go!

Naeun : no, you can't enter right now, wooyoung. Please, wait for a while.

Wooyoung breathed heavily, glaring at naeun before asking in a harsh tone

Wooyoung : did you do something to her?

Naeun looked at wooyoung with hurt eyes, taking her hand away from wooyoung's as she said

Naeun : wooyoung. How could I ever.

Wooyoung : how would I know, hmm? You married me when I didn't want to, you forced us together. How would I know the other things you must be capable of?

Naeun : stop.

Wooyoung : she was with you last, wasn't she?

Naeun : wooyoung! I've only ever cared for you and loved you even when I was at my worst. For you to think that I would ever do something to harm your own mother!

Wooyoung : I do not trust you, shin naeun.

Naeun : then don't!

Wooyoung stared at naeun as she looked away, clenching her hands as she said

Naeun : it's not like you've ever trusted me in the first place. You've never loved me, never cared for me, never so much as talked to me. Every single time I try to, you look at me with those eyes of yours, the one that makes me feel like shit. I'm trying, wooyoung, I'm fucking trying even when I can't anymore.

Wooyoung : and that's my fault? You wouldn't have had to try so hard if you didn't fucking marry me!

Naeun : I didn't have a choice, wooyoung! Your company-

Wooyoung : I do not fucking care about that company, let it burn to hell for all I care!

Naeun : I-

Wooyoung : god just stop talking for fuck's sake. I'm tired of your bullshit, naeun, fucking done and tired. At this point I wish I would've just gone bankrupt years ago.

Naeun flinched at that, wondering whether she was that bad. So bad to the point it was better going bankrupt than being with her.

She looked up as she heard the door opening, a few doctors stepping out as wooyoung rushed to them, asking questions. As soon as naeun heard the fact that her mother-in-law was okay, she turned around, walking out of the hospital without saying anything more.

She shut the car door behind her, putting her hands on the steering wheel as she banged her head against it with a small sob.

Why was it so hard for someone to love her? Why was she the only one who kept trying?

___________________________

Wooyoung looked up as he heard his mother groan, quickly holding her hand in his as he whispered

Wooyoung : eomma?

Mrs jung : son.

Wooyoung : are you alright? Should I call the doctor-

Mrs jung : no, no I'm fine. Where's naeun?

Wooyoung : I don't know.

Mrs jung : wooyoung, she's your wife.

Wooyoung : she left, eomma. I didn't have time to find her out while you were lying here.

Mrs jung : did you tell her something?

Wooyoung : no.

Mrs jung : don't lie to me.

Wooyoung sighed as he said

Wooyoung : fine, I did. I asked her whether she did something to you, whether that was the reason you were here. Among…many other things.

Wooyoung's mother let out a disappointed scoff, taking her hand away from wooyoung's as she said

Mrs jung : do you ever not feel ashamed, wooyoung? Not once? For how you're treating that poor woman?

Wooyoung : poor woman? Eomma, she forced me to marry her, do you not remember? I wanted to travel the world, continue my career as a photographer. Instead she married me, shackled me to that stupid company that I wanted to escape from and ruined my dreams. You want me to treat her as a princess for all that she has done?

Mrs jung : she married you to save our family name-

Wooyoung : I didn't want that, eomma. I told her I didn't need it, and yet she went along with it anyway.

Mrs jung : that was your father's choice, wooyoung, not hers. He asked her to marry you in return for her resources.

Wooyoung : she could've declined that offer, she had a choice too. Instead she was selfish and took the wrong one.

Mrs jung : I will never win with you, my son. Only you can tell yourself what's right and what's not. I've tried, for years I've tried to tell you to value your wife and love her while you can. One day, you'll lose her and you'll regret everything. And then you'll come to me, crying and begging for the forgiveness that is not mine to give. And when that day comes, I'll know I've lost not only my daughter, but also my son.

______________________________

Wooyoung walked into the living room hours later after having made sure his mother was taken care of at the hospital, realizing that naeun was lying fast asleep on one of the sofas, her figure looking uncomfortable and her work clothes still not changed. Her face was red, she had cried. And after all that, she was still waiting for him?

"One day, you'll lose her and you'll regret everything. And then you'll come to me, crying and begging for the forgiveness that is not mine to give"

Wooyoung walked closer to her, kneeling on the floor as he stared at her. He could still never wrap his head around as to why naeun had agreed to help someone like him, her family had no ties of connection to his, and he didn't even know naeun until the day she offered to help them. Why then…why did she help them then?

Naeun : wooyoung?

Wooyoung flinched as he realized naeun was now awake, her slowly sitting up on the sofa with sleepy red eyes. Wooyoung opened his mouth and was about to say something when she quickly said

Naeun : I'm sorry.

Wooyoung : what?

Naeun : for what I said today afternoon, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said things like that to you when your mom was lying in the hospital. Your eyes they're…they're beautiful. And when you look at me, no matter how your eyes are or-or whatever I still love it. I didn't mean what I said, so please don't stop looking at me. I'm so sorry.

Wooyoung felt his heart drop at how naeun sounded, a wife was begging her husband to so much as look at her? All naeun said today afternoon was true, all of this was wooyoung's fault. It was him who hadn't loved her, trusted her or cared for her even when she'd given her entire life to him. It was him who should be apologizing, instead she was doing it.

Wooyoung : naeun, you don't have to be sorry.

Naeun looked visibly taken aback.

Wooyoung : none of this is your fault, I shouldn't have talked to you like that.

Naeun : um, what?

Wooyoung : what you said was true, I haven't been a husband to you at all, let alone a good one. While you've done your duties the best as you can in return for nothing. You should never have to apologize to me, naeun.

Naeun : I didn't do those things out of the duty for you, wooyoung, I did it because of love. Because I love you.

Wooyoung felt the breath leave his body, his eyes wide. He could utter nothing, she had never told him she loved him like this, although he almost always knew.

Naeun : I have always loved you, since the second I married you. I offered that…that help out of the love for you. And I agreed to marry you for the same reason. And I thought maybe after we married and spent some time together you'd love me too but I suppose I wasn't good enough for that-

Wooyoung : how could you love someone like me? When I've given you nothing-

Naeun : if you love someone because of what they give you then that isn't really love, wooyoung. What I have for you is immaterial, you don't have to give me anything for me to love you. Ever, this isn't a business deal.

Wooyoung pressed his lips together, his eyes lowering not knowing what to say. Naeun sighed, patting wooyoung's back as she said

Naeun : it's okay, you don't really have to say anything to me, young-ah. I know that you feel nothing of that towards me, and I am fine with that. As long as I can love you, I'm okay with you not loving me the same.

Naeun stood up as wooyoung watched his wife walk away to her room, her figure slouched from how tired she was and the bad position she had been sleeping in. wooyoung let out a shaky breath, falling back against the sofa as he shut his eyes.

She deserved much better, maybe he should just become better? Maybe he should just give her a chance?

_____________________________

[palepinklilies]

the injury of finally knowing you

Note: Initially posted on ao3 but with a different title (this is my draft title btw); Trying my hand at posting my pieces here! I hope u guys read my stuff nd like em ^__^

Summary: Marriage is a vow… for better or for worse, for richer or poor, in sickness and in health… What’s to happen when vows are… wiped… erased… Or The one where Gojo Satoru fails to remember his darling wife at the right time.

wc: 10.2k

Chapter 1: Of lines and intersections (ch.2)

The last memory you have of him as he is, is a sore topic. Frankly, you blamed —is still blaming — yourself for the accident that befallen the sole person you love the most. Your husband, Satoru Gojo got into a terrible car crash that put him into a coma for half a year now, barely showing signs of regaining consciousness. 

The night prior might be considered as your worse fight in the eight years that you’ve been together with Satoru. He always used to say that fights shouldn’t be slept in through the night, but not all things we want go as planned; because that night, you both had said words that couldn’t be taken back. Specifically, Satoru opened Pandora’s box and used it against you.

The cause of the fight wasn’t anything too destructive. Yet, it created a deep-seated wound between your relationship. It’s as simple as the talk of kids. 

It’s not a sensitive topic in yours and Satoru’s marriage because you’ve already had a long conversation around wanting and having children of your own. For a while, both of you were on the same page: ‘no kids until we’ve established what we want to happen with our careers.’

Somehow, somewhere along the line, he wanted it differently. For quite some time, he’s been hinting making a family with you. It could be as simple as pulling you by the baby section in a department store, or showing you funny — adorable and cute — baby videos from the internet. At first it was endearing and warm to see him think about children so lovingly, especially with the prospect of one being half him and half you. But unlike him, you’ve yet to reach the dream younger you had always reached for. 

Maybe it’s his leverage of having been brought up as a trust fund baby — someone with a golden spoon. While you had to work your way — with grit and passion, just to reach where you are now. 

He’s Satoru Gojo, a genius business scion turned mogul. He’s already well respected, recognized and established for his prowess in handling many corporations and conglomerates under his family’s control. 

Well you on the other hand… You’re still in law school. Against his insistence, you refused to use his money to attend law school after your pre-law undergrad. Which is why you had to apply for work to be able to afford it. One of the reasons for this is your pride. As foolish as it was, pride was your drive, not only because you didn’t want to succeed behind the shadow of his surname and money but also because you wanted to prove to his family that you’re worthy of being his wife. 

Okay, but who is Satoru Gojo if not persuasive? Eventually he convinced you to accept his offer, albeit with your condition that the fees will be split in half and that it’s the only thing he will finance in your pursuit of a career as a lawyer. So when he threw those god-forsaken words of insult, it hit all your insecurities and broke you.

“I don’t understand why we can’t! I try to give you everything I can and yet this simple thing, you refuse to give to me!” His voice booms across the living room. Hearing those words only made you more heated. 

“It’s not as simple Satoru! We… agreed. We agreed that we will establish our careers before we try for kids. Why are you turning back on that now?!” The pitch of your voice is starting to match his’ and the conversation was just escalating and getting more heated. The air feels heavy and your brain has triggered fight or fight and right now, fight seems to be the default choice. 

“You wouldn’t understand me because you’re already at the peak of yours! — because your career is only moving up and forward. But what about me? What about my dreams?” Exasperated, you just sit down the couch, your head in your hands. Tears are also brimming your eyes and your chest feels tight and heavy. 

Striking the iron while it’s hot, he resigns, “You know what, maybe my mom was right. I shouldn’t have married a selfish, poor girl like you.” 

As if time stops for you; your voice gets stuck in your throat and the tears threatening to spill, had spilled. You didn’t know what or how to respond to that. Is that what he really thought of you? 

For a few seconds, silence had finally taken over. The air felt suffocating. Leaving is the only thought you have above everything that’s been speedrunning your mind.

You wordlessly get up and brushed past him, only then does he see you tear-streaked face and your bloodshot eyes. 

Feeling braised, he immediately realized the gravity of what he said. He quickly catches up with you as you scramble to pack a small overnight bag. 

Everything feels heavy — feels tight, and all you can focus on is getting essentials: 2 pairs of undies and whatever clothing within your reach and your essential cosmetic products. Satoru watches you in chaos. 

Before you enter the bathroom for your toothbrush, he wraps his arms around your torso, as if to restrain you. His head hung low atop your shoulder and you feel his ragged breathing. “Don’t leave. Please. I didn’t mean any of it. You can slap me, punch me or kick me but don’t leave, please.” A sob chokes him as he says the last word. 

You’re also sobbing at this point, snot faced and all, barely able to say a word without hiccuping in between. It’s starting to physically hurt being skin to skin with him right now, so you break free from him. “Th-that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I… I just need time for myself.” You say as you step inside the bathroom. He just stands there silently crying, like you. 

Before you cross the threshold to your shared penthouse he speaks, “I love you. Be safe.” More tears escape your eyes. He sounded so soft and defeated, and you know it’s nothing but sincere. Without looking back, you wordlessly shut the door until you hear the ping of the lock. 

You stood in front of the door for what seems like a lifetime, crying and contemplating if you should actually leave knowing that once you do, something in your marriage will shift. Against all odds, you swallow the block in your throat and start walking away from your home, from your love, from your husband. 

You ended up in a decent inn away from the heart of the city. Checking-in in a hotel was an initial thought, but with what happened hours prior, you couldn’t bear to spend more than you have to. It’s not pride — well maybe it is, however no one has the right to scorn you for choosing not to touch any amount in the shared bank accounts Satoru arranged after marriage. 

Regardless, the salary you get as a part-time para-legal in a small law firm was enough to guarantee you the luxury of being away from anyone at the moment. You’re guaranteed the luxury of solitude, quiet and contemplation. 

The life’s mundanity became an afterthought…ergo commitments left at work and in law school. You’d cross the bridge when you get there: you’d face the consequences of going AWOL once you’re mentally and emotionally fit to be back.

Three days passed and you still haven’t gone back to his penthouse. You also shut off your phone, disconnecting from everyone and anyone who can contact you. At one point during day 2, you felt homesick. You almost went back, keyword being almost.

The quiet and solitude gave you the opportunity to rest, sleep and tune everything out. You wouldn’t know how to face your husband anyway. Everything still hurts to the point that it feels numb. But then a thought crossed your mind: home. It was a fleeting thought, a snap decision if you will, but that same hour you packed up and waited for check-out time. You were going home. 

An hour after check-out and you’re on a train back to your shared penthouse, which at this moment, is a gamble. Satoru’s spontaneous yet predictable (for you, that is). There’s a 50-50 chance that he’s home waiting for you while there’s also a chance that he’s at the office. There’s no moment for you to ponder on it, you just act.

Arriving, the only soul you’re able to meet are the trusted cleaners who comes and goes on schedule. You honestly forgot about their schedule, which is on a Friday. They meet you with curt greetings and smiles, which you return. You just hope that none of them have been talked by your husband into tipping your arrival at the unit.

Packing a small hand-carry luggage was quicker than you expected it to be. You take in a deep breath and think of ways how you can leave (without suspicion). Which is a difficult feat considering that one: leaving directly and walking out without a word would rouse so much suspicion. The word of the mouth isn’t so reliable and you wouldn’t want to leave and these people would make the false assumptions and tell on you; two: Satoru had probably gave the cleaners an order to inform him of your arrival and when you’d leave the penthouse. 

Of both options, one thing is for certain, Gojo Satoru will follow you and will scour the whole of Japan just to find you. 

You decide on a quick shower before leaving, which only took less than 15 minutes. You’re trying to minimize the time when Gojo could potentially come home if someone had snitched of your presence in the penthouse. Surprisingly, your exit went smoothly, even in the building’s concierge. 

On the far side of the city, in the heart of the central business district, Gojo Satoru gets notified of your arrival in your apartment building. Quickly he tells his assistant to cancel today’s remaining meetings as he rushed towards the elevators. You came home. You came back. Satoru knows that this might be the last time he’ll see you. He knows he’s hurt you deeply. He knows the gravity of his words when he used the biggest insecurity you have in this marriage, hell, since the start of your relationship even.

On the monitor pad of his Jaguar, he had dialed your number 5 times in a row, only to be sent to voicemail. In all honesty, he’s praying to every god up there that you’re napping or doing other things that keeps you preoccupied enough to neglect your cellphone. 

And right now as he’s currently speeding beyond the city’s limits, he’s left you yet another voicemail: “[name], hey, I’m still on my way back. I’m sorry for everything I said. I know I shouldn’t say it through voicemail but I want you to know that I am. I’m really sorry and I can’t ever justify the things I said. Wait for me at home, please. I love y-”

He wasn’t able to finish the last words when he felt a large collision against the left side of his vehicle. At that moment, time stood still for Satoru Gojo. One moment he was speeding forward with one goal in mind and in a split second he’s receiving a blunt force that made the car skid across the lightly trafficked road. 

Nothing in his field of vision registered in his brain, it was all a blurry haze. Soon after the car skids to a halt, the last thing he sees is your contact name on the monitor pad before losing consciousness.

On the flip side, you’re seeing blurry hazes of Tokyo fading into greens as you’re seated on a train ride back to Sendai, your home — first home. Exhaustion is clearly seeping out from your skin albeit the lack of physical activity and work. Your mind is so muddled and fogged and it’s not helping that your brain is rejecting any other emotion aside from hurt. 

Clarity and peace of mind is what you’re expecting from this short trip back home. In the back of your mind, a part of you is excited to return to your parents’ house, where you grew up and learned how to love and be loved. 

After the train ride, the first thing you do is visit the cemetery. It’s been a year since you last visited and paid your respects. You brushed off a few dried leaves from the grave, and poured water over. “Hi mama, dad. Sorry it took me so long to see you again.” You couldn’t modulate your voice louder than a whisper with the tears that had started to streak down your cheeks. And there at your parents’ grave did you pour all the tears that you thought you had cried. 

All the feelings of hurt, anger, pain, betrayal and most of all guilt came crashing down on you as sob your eyes out. It was only then that you felt you were safe to be vulnerable. Even without their physical presence, your mother and father had always been a source of comfort. 

You kept whispering ‘sorry’s and you don’t even comprehend to whom and for what are you asking for forgiveness and reconciliation. Everything still feels heavy and all you want yo do is curl up and cry yourself dry. “Daddy I-i m-miss y-you… So m-much.” How you wished for your dad to be there. To be there and give you a tight hug and kisses on top of your head. 

Catching your breath, you tried to calm down so you can vent to the empty air. Sniffling you start speaking softly, “Uh… I-i had a terrible argument with Toru daddy.” Verbalizing it only made you tear up again and a lump rise to your throat. Maybe this was what you needed: to be able to freely speak your mind without any external opinion that wouldn’t even help console your feelings.

“And it’s because I… it’s because I don’t want a baby yet…” your eyes shut tight and tears fell with it. “But I do want to be a mom so much… so so much especially if he’s going to be the dad… but I want to be a lawyer to the same extent.”

What stage of grief are you in right now? They say that going through the five stages of grief is non-linear. You could be in the first one: anger, then after a few hours you could have skipped to the third: bargaining. Some would even switch from one stage back to the other. Perhaps you’re in a limbo stage of feeling everything all at once? Is that even possible? 

After crying in silence for what felt like an eternity, you stand up and dust your palms from the jeans you’re wearing. “M’sorry for not getting you guys flowers and forgetting to light some incense… I’ll see you at home…” You give a light touch to your parents’ names engraved on the stone.

The last time you’ve been to the house where you grew up in was the day of your father’s funeral. Entering the threshold once again after many years gave you a feeling of nostalgia. 

You take in the dusty surrounding. All furnitures have been covered by drawsheets and the living room carpet had been rolled off to the side. Everything was almost the way that it was as you’ve last seen it. 

“Mom, dad I’m home.” Only silence greets you, it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue that no one is there to greet you a “welcome home.” But still, you feel better being here. In a sense you know that your dad’s presence is here with you and that’s enough.

You decided to sleep in your parents’ room for the night so you left the luggage by the door and looked for cleaning supplies to tidy and clean the room up. In retrospect, you should’ve brought spare bed sheets and pillowcases, but you decided to simply run them in a nearby laundromat. 

In the living room, you decided to look through photo albums for entertainment.

You’ve lived your life with your dad being the only parent you’ve ever known. Your mom died with the complications of giving birth to you with a weak heart. And your dad tried his best to immortalize your mom through pictures that they took during the whole pregnancy. Here you find the photo album you made of the first year you started college, the same year you met Satoru. 

Coincidentally, snapshots of your relationship weren’t really put here on purpose — well for the first half of it at least. 

Before you left for university your dad gave you one of his film cameras and told you to make and keep memories of college because it’s one to give the most notable memories of your lifetime. You think he was exaggerating then, but it made sense as you grew older.

Flipping the page, you see the first picture you took with Satoru and his group of friends. It was your first year as a university student, taking up literature, and he was in his second year. The only reason your paths had crossed that year was because you wanted to meet new people and make friends… so you attended a party without fully knowing how city kids define parties.

Initially, you attended the freshmen mixer within university grounds and it was fun! You met a sophomore guy who was one of the student council organizers for the networking event. His name was Suguru Geto. He had an aura that was enough for you to trust him… just a little bit though. Throughout the mixer event, you barely interacted with people your age. In your mind, you know it’s because of the fact that you were from the country side… who knows who or what city kids want as a friend right? 

Admittedly, you did enjoy the mixer even if you were just seated at the corner. This went unnoticed to the senior members of the student council, hence, Geto approached you with a light taps on your shoulder. He simply gives a curt smile upon your surprised expression. “Hey, you doin’ good here? I’ve noticed you haven’t been going around talking to people.”

Embarrassing. You then reason out that no one wants to approach you or if you initiate, they usually cut conversations after finding out that you’re new in the metropolitan. “It’s fine though, I’m actually enjoying even if it doesn’t look like it. I just wish I can meet one potential friend.”

Now, Geto isn’t one to take pity in people. He’s got a quite awful attitude underneath his cool and calm demeanor. But somehow, he thinks you need a springboard. It’s out of his character to take strays in, but he does. 

“Every year, after the freshman mixer, my friends and I throw a welcome party for students returning for the semester and for those new as well. If you’re interested, you can come. Just approach me after so I can write the address down.” He quickly bids you goodbye after that. You couldn’t even say a curt ‘thanks’ for his offer. Contemplating if you should go to that party is what plagues your mind as you decided to walk around in case you stumble upon someone who would appreciate talking to you.

So you did approach Geto for the address once the mixer finished… and you ended up in a… house… packed with young adults chugging alcohol, smoking and grinding against each other. You have half a mind to turn back and just enjoy the rest of the night in your small apartment, but you also wanted to experience the liberties of being a college student, namely the drinking and getting wasted privileges.

The loud bass reverberates against the floorboards and the walls of the entryway as you enter. Here you realize that you’re underdressed for the occasion. While other ladies wore micro-mini skirts, tube tops, little black dresses, and what nots, you were still wearing a university-dress code-appropriate outfit from the mixer earlier. You didn’t bother changing your cream skirt that goes just half an inch above your knees, a simple black halter top and a knitted cardigan over it. 

Though you feel awkward and misplaced, you figure that you could find where they get drinks. You suspect that they’re in the kitchen, so off you go. Surprisingly, Geto is there too with a number of people laughing and bickering with each other once you stood by the kitchen entryway. He immediately took notice of you. 

“Hey! Freshie girl you actually came! For one second I thought you wouldn’t.” All eyes went on you the moment he acknowledged your presence. It was agitating to be under their gazes, scrutinizing you, and perhaps the raven-haired boy took notice.

He motions for you to come closer to the kitchen island, “C’mon, what type of drink do you prefer? We have beers, cocktail punches… or are you a hard liquor type of girl?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your response. “I’ll take the beer, please.” He takes a green bottle from one of the red ice boxes and pops the cap open for you. “Here you go, one bottle.” 

You’ve only drank occasionally. Like during family festivities or birthdays, and those were limited to sips of cheap champagne and traditional sake. “I’ve told you my name but I haven’t caught yours, how do you want us to call you?” he asks before you took a swig of the bottle. You apologize and tell him your name, “Hey guys! This freshie girl right here is  [name]! Be nice to her.” A series of ‘hey’s and curt waves were thrown your way and you slightly bowed your head slightly as encouragement of their greetings. “Well, this is a big party! I hope you meet the potential friends you were expecting from this afternoon.” After that you were left alone as one of the ladies in the group notified everyone of a ‘beer pong’ at the back area of the house, and they left.

The condensation of the beer bottle had transferred to your palm so you looked for paper towels and after that you went ahead back to the crowd and started walking around like a lost puppy. You expected something like this and it felt surreal to experience your first college party. Could be better but not bad for a first time right? 

Surprisingly, the beer was palatable at least, but you start to think that maybe the offer of the cocktail punch could’ve been better. You passed by Geto’s group in hopes of being free from the cramped living room and he sends a small wave and a curt smile your way. You can’t help but silently herald him for being so polite, when his friends (in your assumption) are snobbish. 

Beside Geto Suguru was his best friend, Gojo Satoru, and the raven-haired’s greetings to you didn’t come unnoticed to him. Suguru wasn’t the type to be that friendly, so naturally, it piqued his interest. 

“Who’s that? Didn’t know you were into prude freshmen now?” He scoffs. The raven-haired tossed the ping pong ball, landing inside the far right cup, “I’m not. The girl looks like a lost puppy, felt bad for her that’s all.” Satoru just hums and takes his turn to toss the ball, he misses, and Geto knows it’s on purpose so he just scoffs. “Well, I’ll take a walk around then.”

In a less dense corner of the backyard, you tried angling the film camera so that you’d be in frame. You find that taking pictures of yourself like this is more difficult than if you’d use your phone. But maybe that’s the point of it all. You can hear your father say at the back of your mind. 

“Phone cameras are becoming obsolete now huh?” You look to your side to see who’s come to intrude your bubble and what stands before you must be the prettiest person you’ve seen in your lifetime. Recovering from your surprise, you put the camera down. “Umm, I don’t think so?” He chuckles, “I’m messing with you. I’m Gojo Satoru by the way.” He offers you a hand and you shook it, also telling him your name. 

He offers to snap a picture of you, which you don’t accept because you feel shy. You discover that this man doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when he lightly grabs your wrist and takes the camera from your grasp. He starts pointing the camera at you, and you stand there in confusion, “well c’mon, strike a pose?”

And you do strike an awkward pose. Maybe this weird but beautiful guy can be your first friend? Or maybe he’s just looking for someone to hook-up with? That’s a common thing at parties… right?

Soon enough after Satoru had broken the ice between you and him, you find yourself back with Geto and his group, where you discover that he and Satoru are best friends. You may be naïve and new to these things but you weren’t stupid. The people in their circle definitely didn’t want you there. As you spent each passing minute in their presence, you piece that together as most of them choose to ignore you apart from the two men who took you under their wing. 

It feels overwhelming having to do too much socializing for one day so you try to bid them goodbyes. Since no one acknowledged, you start to walk away, but someone grabs a hold of your arm. 

“Leaving so soon? You haven’t even used the whole film roll.” He takes it upon himself to open your small shoulder bag and took the camera and raised it up, “Hey guys! say ‘cheese’!” He says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and you look up the camera with a contorted smile with flushed cheeks. “Well then, see you around campus.”

Expectations always differ from reality because it wasn’t part of yours to keep stumbling across the silver-haired man. You could be in the classics section of the library and he’d coincidentally be there too, or by the university quad where you’d often write your essays and prose, and other unsuspecting places where you’d least expect him to be. At one point you suspected it was intentional but he just brushed it off that you were simply being so observant. 

For the many months that you’ve spent time with him, you enjoyed his presence and completely, laughed at his jokes — saw him as Satoru and not Gojo Satoru, the scion of a multi-billion business empire. 

But you knew to keep things platonic. At the back of your mind, you were certain that he��d never see you more than a friend he met in university. You were almost certain that the moment he gets his degree, you’d never cross paths and all will be part of your college memories. But really, not all expectations become the reality. 

A huge chunk of the student body knew that Gojo was a notorious playboy. This is a false accusation and merely an assumption. Yes, he did like to sleep around but not as much as they say. If anything, Geto’s more of the playboy between them, who’s engaging in different set-ups with different girls almost every week! And he wasn’t able to shield you from the potential bad (false) things you’d hear around. But you weren’t just a notch in his belt. 

He was able to show you a side of him only people he’s extremely close to can see and experience. You caught his interest in that party and never left his mind since. It feels foolish to orchestrate every single time you think you come across him in campus “coincidentally,” but he succeeded.

He used his charms — more like pulled off some strings, to get your schedule and he had everything memorized just so he can get a chance to meet you. Suguru had even called him a stalker for it and maybe he almost became one until you simply expected him to be where you are. Eventually, he got you — even if it took so much work and convincing for you to believe the sincerity of his feelings. 

You’ve always considered him as a friend. A friend who you have feelings for, more like. Your subconscious would always tell you that if he did make a move on you, he’d leave you hanging and bruised. It was a simple push and pull: Satoru would make moves that seem to blur the lines of friendship and you would try your best to keep it platonic and not read into it. You’d always think he’d break your heart eventually, be it as a friend or be it as a lover.

So when you woke up in his bed naked after a long night of drinking and partying, you knew for sure that was the end so you left without a goodbye. Not a single bit of what memories you can recall from the night before were laced with regret. 

When he rested his forehead against yours and kissed you with his soft lips, you didn’t pull away. You wanted to, but you didn’t. When he started touching — caressing you under your dress, you didn’t want him to stop. When he whispered sweet nothings as he plowed through your sopping gummy walls, you didn’t ask him to stop. How could you, when at that very moment it felt as if you’re the only people on this earth.

The boundaries you tried to keep for the past months of your friendship had been crossed the moment you let him kiss and undress you. It was a night of passion you couldn’t forget and regret. With a heavy heart, you walked away and left half your heart with him but with pride and dignity intact. You can’t ever be just one of his conquests if you’re the first to leave.

When Satoru woke up to an empty bed that morning, he was confused. It agitated him to see you nowhere in his suite and it didn’t help that you blocked him from everywhere he could reach you. 

For the following days after that he’d leave class five minutes early so that he can catch you as you leave yours; Or, he’d try to catch you in the places on campus that you’d frequent during your vacant hours but to no avail, no one could ever catch a person who’s avoiding you like the plague. But still he was relentless.

Everyday he’d try to find you in the vast campus of the university. He tried to think how you would so he can anticipate where you’d probably go — was a hit or miss situation. But he was able to catch you in a back staircase made to be an emergency exit in the same building as most of your classes. 

The thought was like an epiphany for him; he was staring at the narrow line of floor to ceiling windows by the back of the buildings when it occurred to him that you initially stayed there in your first days of university. 

Even if he’s the captain of the basketball team, he was quick to leave practice saying some shitty excuse of an emergency, to which his best-friend just rolled his eyes at. He knew exactly why. But he didn’t pry nor try to tell on him. And so Gojo Satoru ran across the campus and skipped steps until he reached the 4th floor landing of the staircase. 

You were mindlessly listening to a posted lecture on your student portal. You’ve been having sleepless nights trying to finish all the writing and literary analyses that was required of you. Eyes drooping and almost falling asleep, you were startled by another person’s presence within the landing. 

It was the single person on campus who you’ve been trying to avoid for the past weeks. It’s the only person who’s taking up a huge space in your mind when you aren’t distracted by your courseworks or classes.

Catching his breath, “y’know- this is a clear breach of building safety codes-” pants “you’re an illegal obstruction to this exit [name].” He stands before you all sweaty and still in his jersey and you couldn’t speak, dumbfounded as you figure out how he managed figure out your hiding place. You were almost successful in avoiding him completely but he just had to chase and look for you. 

“W-what are you doing here??” He drops his duffel bag at the base of the next flight of stairs and sits beside you. “Why have you been avoiding me? You even had me blocked everywhere!” Always the straightforward one, he’d always speak his mind.

This was a confrontation you have been dreading to face — the reason why you had to change where you’d frequent these past weeks. Coming to terms with sleeping with a friend is one thing but having to unpack sleeping with a friend, letting him be your first when you know you have feelings for him is a whole other different conundrum. 

You quickly closed your laptop and fumbled with placing your notebook inside your bag. But before you could even take a leave, he grabbed your laptop and hugged it against his side — one that was away from you. “Give it back Gojo-san.” You can see him frown and pout at what you said. 

So it’s just Gojo now? Not Satoru? How cold. How cruel. You’re such a heartless woman. How could you have it in you to immediately leave seeing him? Did you hate him that much? Why were you being so indifferent when you used to smile and speak with him warmly? 

“No, not when I know you’d leave once I do. Not when you haven’t answered my question.” 

You bit your bottom lip, why is he making this so difficult? You still try to reach for your laptop so you can leave but he just keeps it out of your reach, until you just give up.

“Why does it matter? Can’t I simply be busy with my own life?” You say as calm as you could while avoiding his gaze. 

“Of course you can. I just want to understand why. Didn’t… did… anything from that night mean anything to you?”

And there it is. You hoped to avoid this, truly. But since it fell on your lap out of nowhere, might as well face it right? “Did it mean anything to you?” The way you returned the question took him aback. Your voice was suddenly laced with indifference and he couldn’t place where that should go. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t have initiated that if I didn’t want it to happen.” He tried to hold your hand but you refused his advances. “How can I trust your words Gojo?” 

He’s reeling. He knows where this is going. At this moment he admits that he approached things out of order. He wasn’t able to shield you from the rumors surrounding him and his “dating” history. He shouldn’t have given in to his emotions and took advantage of your drunken vulnerability. “Is that what you think of me? Is that how you see me?” are the only things that come out his mouth. You can’t help but feel guilty when he said that.

It’s true. You believed that there’s some truth to what people say about him and, that, along with your naïveté is enough to make you an easy target for him. You let out a deep sigh. 

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s forget things happened alright? We’re still friends anyway.” Lies. You knew damn well you can’t stay friends with him anymore. 

“No. I don’t want us to be friends anymore.” And there it is. A man of his caliber that has an equally large ego wouldn’t take it lightly — the way you left that morning without him having to put a word in. 

But it takes you by surprise when he goes down a step and squats in front of you so you’d meet eye to eye. “I want you to tell me how you really feel. I want you to tell me why you think I saw you just as a body count.”

“You’re so frustrating Goj-” “Satoru. Call me by my name.” That shut you up. Everything is confusing and frustrating and all you want to do is leave his overbearing presence and cry your frustrations out of his sight.

“Why are you doing this? I’ve already slept with you! Isn’t it like rule number 1 to forget and move on to the next!” He could feel your exasperation the moment you finally looked at him with teary eyes and he only gently stares right back at you with his blue ones. 

“If this is just an ego trip because I left without a word then you can just tell people whatever you want that’s in your favor.” By now tears have started to fall and yet your eye contact remains. He gently thumbs the tears away, “Fuck. You’re killing me sweets. It’s not like that… I’m sorry… don’t cry.” 

It’s weird. It’s unusual. It’s confusing. It’s making your heart beat rapidly and makes your chest feel like it’s going to burst. And the next words that come out his mouth was just the catalyst for your emotions. 

“Listen, to me you’re not just a body count. I wouldn’t go out my way to memorize your schedule down to the last second. If you were just someone I wanted to fuck, I’d have done that at the party.” 

His thumbs caresses the apples of your cheeks and a warm smile grazes his lips, “I did all that because I like you. I took interest in you, for you… I’m sorry for doing things out of order. You have to tell me now if everything I did matters so I know when to back-off.”

The proximity of your faces and the way he holds you like you’re fragile glass makes your heart beat faster than it is. You take off all your inhibitions, all the weight holding you down and connect both your foreheads. It’s a risk but you’ll take it. “I… I like you so much Gojo Satoru.” It doesn’t take him much effort to mesh your lips together in a soft, chaste kiss. 

After a few seconds he breaks away and you completely feel his lips turning into a smirk against yours, “So, the status between us now is girlfriend and boyfriend huh?” 

The memory is fond, as if it happened yesterday and not years ago. From there your relationship wasn’t always sunshines and rainbows but you made it work. You both held on to each other. Love is also sacrifice as much as it’s to be received. You realize that you’d go through all of that again as long as you get to stay with the only man you’ll ever love intensely.

With a newfound sense of rationality, you realize that whatever happens, you’d come back to Satoru. You need to talk things with him in a more peaceful and stable environment. You realize that the only way to fix this is to hit the train the first thing tomorrow morning and go home to your husband.

Tokyo mornings will always be hectic as the crowd bustles to arrive at their offices, schools or whatever they had to do that day. Even if you took the earliest shinkansen that you could catch, the Tokyo crowd will always be there. 

As you ping the elevators down to the lobby, your palms started to sweat and your heart, hammering against your rib cage. But upon entering your shared penthouse, it’s unnervingly quiet and still. “I’m home.” — no answer. 

Leaving the luggage by the door, you immediately patter into your home gym. Considering it’s as early as 9 AM, your husband is probably preoccupied with his workout. With an expectant smile on your face, you walk inside to see no one, not a single trace of movement. Not a single trace of Satoru. 

If you were nervous on the elevator ride up, you’re feeling something similar yet different in your gut. Rushing back to your bags, you rummaged for your phone. Cursing out loud that you left it off for days, you quickly turn it on.

Moments later and your phone is flooded with many missed calls, messages and voicemails from Satoru. 

Lover ♡ 78 missed calls

Lover ♡: baby, I’m off to work. I love you. Call me when you see this. (Tuesday 7:12 AM)

Lover ♡: ugh this meeting is such a bore. I’m so packed with board meetings this week sweets. Hope to see you at home. Miss you. Love u <3 (Wednesday 9:43 AM)

What you weren’t prepared for was 5 missed calls from his father’s secretary with messages requesting you to call back urgently, and Suguru Geto leaving 13 missed calls and a message that made your hands tremble and the phone to fall onto the marble floors.

Geto Suguru: [name], i don’t know where you are but please call me as soon as you see this. Satoru’s been rushed to the hospital. (Friday 12:34 PM)

Your knees follow as well, hitting the hard floors as you silently weep alone. You were in shock. How? What? Why? were the only things running your mind. “It’s not… true?” you try to make yourself believe as you run up to the second floor of the suite, to your bedroom. Your cheeky husband’s just running a prank on you and even got Suguru and his dad’s assistant on board. 

“Toru? Baby?” You say as you see the bed still pristinely made, just as the cleaners would’ve left it last Friday. “Satoru, this is a very bad joke. Come out, I’m not mad I promise.” Tears keep streaming down your cheeks as you make yourself believe in denial. Sooner, you’d call his best friend to ask where he is.

Suguru didn’t need to ring the doorbell for you to open the door for him. He’d already asked you to text him the passcode. It was kinda foresight on his part that you’d be a crying, confused mess so he took the initiative. 

And just as expected, he arrives to see you hiccuping and sobbing alone on the living room floor. He approaches you slowly, “Hey, [name]. I’m here.” 

In his head, he thinks that this situation is royally fucked up. You’re an absolute mess and he’s also a mess. Everyone’s a fucking mess with Satoru lying almost lifeless in a hospital bed and with you who’s yet to find out the state your husband is in.

Quickly wiping you tears and composing yourself, you try your best to greet Suguru, albeit in between sobs. “O-oh, G-geto-san! I-uh didn’t notice you e-enter.” Seeing your state, he decides that you’d need a primer for the events that happened in your absence.

“Have you eaten? I can whip up a quick breakfast for you.” He says as he places his hands on your shoulders and ushers you towards the breakfast counter. 

“I’m fine… I-I’m n-not really h-hungry,” you try to steady your breath and words. The man before you is unrelenting though, he’s already rummaging through the fridge and has had water boiling in the kettle.

“Y’know, I’m usually never this enthusiastic about breakfast but I’m starving!” He turns around with eggs and a few tomatoes in his hands, “would you be a peach and make us warm tea? I already started the kettle.” His warm grin and presence grounds you for a moment and wordlessly follow his request. The raven-haired man huffs a breath of relief seeing you open some of the drawers for tea bags and sweeteners. 

A few moments later, as he tosses the eggs around the pan, you speak again. “Geto-san… Satoru… is he– um, he’s just working on weekends again isn’t he?” Your voice starts to shake as you steep both teas.

Perhaps there’s really no way he can tell his friend, his best friend’s wife, that her husband’s currently comatose for rushing home to catch her. The finishes off the eggs with a dash of salt and turned off the range.

“There’s no soft way I can break this to you [name]…” Only then did you have the courage to look into his eyes. “Satoru’s currently in a coma. He got into a terrible car accident.”

He’s gauging your reaction. He’s purposely omitted the fact that his best friend ran multiple red lights and sped beyond limits because he caught word of you coming home. It would break you, and blame your self as the reason he’s in a vegetative state. “No… N-no you’re kidding… this is just some silly prank he got you in.” You chuckle without a trace of humor. 

The man in front of you wordlessly plates the eggs and stale bread. “C’mon, eat up. I’ll take you to him.”

Suguru was patient enough to help you clean up yourself as he helped you to the bathroom and even got you a fresh set of clothes on the bed. But the gravity of the truth only weighs on you as you sit in the passenger seat and the familiar city streets and the hospital comes into view.

While the elevator lifts you up, your palms start to sweat; as if mirroring the events this morning but with more melancholy than ever. The sterile scent of the hospital is making your stomach sick and all you want to do is throw up.

You never liked being inside the hospital. It serves as a reminder of sadness, grief and death. And right now as Suguru leads you toward the VIP ward, your hands start to tremble and your pace starts to slow down.

Before the raven-haired man opens the door, you quickly grab his wrist, “Geto-san, I-I can’t. I’ll come back when he’s better.” You turn to leave and he is quick to grab your arms to stop you. 

“Hey, I know this is harder for you, more than anyone else, I’m the only one who understands that. But please, for Satoru,” he says with a squeeze to your arms. With tears brimming, you nod, and he let’s one hand go to slide the door open. 

When Suguru thought that this was a royally fucked up situation, he never meant it to snowball into this royally fucked up situation.

The moment after he slid the door open and you entered the room, he’s met by Satoru’s mother. And upon seeing your presence behind him, the woman immediately reached for you to slap you square in the face “You have some gall to show up here!! You witch!! How dare you! How dare you come see my son when you’re the reason he’s here.” 

It all happened so fast that Suguru couldn’t stop the older woman from her rage and protect you from her misplaced anger. But still, he comes between you and Mrs. Gojo, “Auntie, please… not in front of Satoru… not like this… please.”

By that, the older woman’s cold, hatred-filled gaze had befallen Geto. “And you! I’m disappointed! You’re his best friend, how could you bring the very woman that’s the cause of my son’s suffering!”

“I apologize for not informing you beforehand, but she’s his wife. I’m certain that Satoru would want his wife to be here if he were awake.” 

Trying to make yourself smaller, you just stood there shaking and silently crying, not registering how the confrontation is going down. What did she mean that it’s all your fault? You were the cause of all this? What did you do.

You tried to peek a glance out of Suguru’s broad shoulders, only managing to see the foot end of Satoru’s bed and hearing the beeping of various monitors. 

Satoru’s in a coma. Your husband, your lover, is in a partial deathbed because of… you. Bile and guilt rises up, so you did what any coward would’ve done: you ran out.

Hearing the door slide open, Geto quickly turns to look at you only to see you take off. He immediately calls your name and runs off to follow you, his pace increasing as he tries to catch you, and he does.

Before you were able to enter the elevator, a hand grabs your arm which you try to shrug off. “Geto-s-san let go.” The man doesn’t, he wraps you in his arms instead; and there you cry even harder.

Geto feels… sad for you. He couldn’t ever imagine the pain you’re in at this moment as you keep saying ‘I’m sorry’s over and over again, in between your sobs. The best he could do was offer you a hug and pats on your back as you cried hard.

Suguru was kind enough to lead you to the hospital’s roof top garden to take a seat. He just let you cry all your tears, only offering pats on your back and a shoulder to cry on. Sooner the sobs and hiccups die down. Geto stood to get something to drink from the vending machine. 

It seems mundane to sit in silence with the cold lemon beverage in your hand. Except, nothing about this is normal. This is a hospital, your husband is here, unconscious and barely living, and it’s supposedly all your fault. 

By now, no more tears are left to be cried, you’re just staring blankly as if a void has materialized in front of you. “Geto-san, what did she mean by that?”

The man swallows dryly, thinking of ways to ease the information to you. “Hmm… you mean Satoru’s mom?” He tries to play the nonchalant one but your lack of any reaction nor reply tells him that he should just lay everything out in the open.

“Investigations during the day of the crash points to you and him having a conflict… The police said that the circumstantial evidences lead them to believe that he was driving beyond city speed limits distracted.” There’s no reaction from you so he continues.

“The footage on the black box of his car showed that he was talking to someone in haste… That he was trying to call someone repeatedly… It all pointed to you when the call registry log they had retrieved showed 28 missed calls to your number.”

Your nails start to fidget along the rim of the unopened can. So it’s like that. Have you not shut off your phone then you wouldn’t be here in this shithole. Have you just stopped being selfish and texted him of your plans and whereabouts then none of these things would have happened. 

A hand on your shoulder is enough to snap you out from your thought. Turning to Geto, you give him a sad smile, “I’m sorry… I know I’ve been saying that for the past hour… but she’s right…”

The canned drink is taken from you and Geto opens it. “You don’t have to believe that. None of this is your fault. Hell, you weren’t even the one driving that goddamn truck. It was all… just… bad timing.” Geto tries consoling you. It’s true. It’s called an accident for a reason. No one wanted it to happen in the first place. He gets up and you just look at the hand he’s offering. 

“So come, let’s go see Satoru,” he says with a gentle smile. The way you looked down at the drink and sipped on it is so melancholic. Shaking your head, “His mom is probably still there… I should just head home… and come another day…”

The older man just clicks his tongue. “Y’know that shouldn’t stop you from seeing him? You’re literally his wife. Plus, I have a feeling she left the hospital already. When have my hunches ever been wrong?” You resign with a sigh, stood up, and threw away the half empty can. 

Actually, as Geto got you a drink, he already texted Satoru’s father of what had happened. He hoped that it would be enough to take wife off the hospital premises so that you could see your husband.

To yours and Geto’s dismay, Mrs. Gojo didn’t leave just yet. However, she wasn’t alone. Her husband is also in the room when they got there. Seemingly, this quelled the older woman’s anger that she held for you. “Auntie, sir” Geto says and you join him as he offers them a bow. 

You don’t look any of them in the eye. Well, it’s rather difficult and you do have shame. After all, this was mostly your doing that their son is in that state. What shocked you is Seishiro Gojo approaching you; who gave you a brief hug.

“Welcome home [name]. It’s a relief to see you back.” The older man’s voice is stern yet there’s softness underneath. He is the first to welcome you back ever since you stormed out of your home earlier this week, and gosh did it feel so comforting. 

Among all the members of the Gojo clan, apart from Satoru, he treated you the nicest. You’d even say that he welcomed you as a daughter and not just an outsider to the family, even though that only happened after Satoru fought neck and neck with his whole family the day he proposed to you. 

You didn’t know what to say to him so you expressed your gratitude and kept your head low once again. This earned a snide remark from his wife, “Tsk, there’s no point in this farce Shiro.”

“Enough of that nonsense, she is family as much as anyone else in the Gojo family, and we are not doing this in front of Satoru.” It ends at that. Though you know for a fact that Mrs. Gojo will never let it go, ever. Because that’s just the type of woman she is.

After all the not-so-pleasant pleasantries, you finally got to see Satoru as a whole. It pains you to see him hooked to multiple tubes that’s probably there to help him stay alive. He looks paler than he usually is. There’s multiple minor cuts on his cheek, his brows and his chin. His forehead covered by gauze, which you’re assuming he’s suffered a fatal blow to his head. 

The sight made you tear up again. Slowly, you walk towards his bed and with shaky hands, you reach for him. His hand feels warm and you think that’s a good sign. “Hi Satoru, I’m home,” you whisper and a single tear streaks down your cheek.

It takes you a long moment to absorb the feeling of being near him again. At the end of the day, he’s your person as much as you’re his’. 

“I’m home… so…” Your eyelids shut close as you try to anchor yourself in this reality. “Wake up baby… please…” you whisper desperately, clutching his free hand. 

Geto suggested that you stay here for the night as Satoru’s watcher, to which Mr. Gojo had agreed with. His mom was adamant and quick to leave a snide remark but couldn’t really go against the final word of her husband. 

Soon the older couple left. Geto stayed for a while to answer some of your questions and got you take out before going back to the penthouse to get you an exchange of clothes.

As you sat on a stool beside your husband’s sleeping form, you couldn’t help but remember the last time you saw him. He asked, no… he pleaded for you to stay. That’s what probably hurts you the most; he practically begged you to release your anger and pain by hurt him physically so you don’t need to leave. You’d never do it, but now you regret leaving. Fuck. Sleeping in the guest bedroom would’ve given you the solitude you sought that night!

“Satoru… I’m sorry. I’m so… so… sorry I left.” The tears didn’t come as you tried to hold it in. You don’t deserve to cry, not with your husband’s current status. 

Geto returns with a gym bag full of your clothes. He’s met by your hunched sleeping form, hand still clutching Satoru’s. He leaves a note on the bedside table and drapes a thin blanket on your shoulders. He hopes that you can ride the wave and see it through. You’re strong, he’s sure.

Days passed. Weeks passed. 

Unable to commit to a full time at the law firm, you turned in your resignation letter and hoped they can understand the situation you are in. Law school semester continued and you try to juggle it along with looking after Satoru.

It’s been a month since the accident and you’re barely functioning outside the hospital. Partly, the reason for resigning was because you wanted to lessen the time you spent away from Satoru. He can wake up at any moment and you need to be there when he does.

Anyone who knows of your situation would tell you that it’s difficult to balance classes and taking care of your sick husband. It is. But you’d endure this for another year if it means that there is always a chance for him to wake up.

Besides, you plan on finishing this last semester so you can focus more on him. It’s almost mid-sem so it’s just a few more weeks before it’s over. 

Everyday you talk to Satoru about your day. Sometimes you narrate a case that was assigned as a reading material and tell him the process on how you dissect it clause by clause, paragraph by paragraph. It’s futile though. He’s unresponsive. But people always say they can hear us speak to them. It’s never too wrong to try.

Geto drops by weekly to check on both of you. He had suggested you write down your day on a notebook so that when he wakes up, he’d still get filled in on the things he’d missed. His mother often comes as well. You know because flowers are constantly changed and replenished. Albeit, you don’t see her as often. You think she comes in the day when you’re in class.

Some nights are just harder than the others, you’d often wake up by your phone’s alarm, nose dived into your books and laptop after you passed out from studying all night or breaking down as you try to get your readings done.

Day to day life since you came back has been on auto-pilot mode. It’s a cycle of rinse and repeat. You wake up, check on Satoru, attend class, go back, check on Satoru again, study… it just circles back. So it is not a surprise that you passed out on the way to one of the lecture hall your class was held in. 

White popcorn ceilings were the first to register in your line of vision as you opened your eyes. You assume that you’re in the university’s infirmary. You lay there for a few more minutes before the cream curtains are slightly drawn.

“Oh you’re awake! I’m Nurse Minato, you’ve been brought here after you passed out in the hallway… do you remember that?” You simply nod.

She does some physical tests on you to see if you’re still coherent and asks you some questions on your lifestyle, which you all answered truthfully and concisely… except for your monthly cycle.

“Alright, how about your cycle? Notice anything unusual?” She asks, eyes planted on the clipboard and scribbling down things. You remain silent, forehead scrunched down. Things were too hectic for you that you never really noticed if you had it the past 2 and a half months. 

“Um… I’ve been too stressed out lately so I haven’t really noticed. Do you have my bag? I have a tracking app.” The nurse pulls out a caddy from under your bed and hands you your bookbag. 

Opening the app quickly, you see that your cycle prediction show that your period’s been delayed for around 73 days. Now it’s not always accurate, but 73 days is extreme.

“Uh… it says here that I’ve been delayed for 73 days.” With that she stops scribbling and slowly looks up to meet your eyes. She says nothing and gets up to grab something from the cabinet fixtures within the room. 

“Are you sexually active?”

Then it dawns on you. It is highly possible. The last time you had sex with your husband was when he returned from an overseas business trip to France. That was 2 weeks prior to your heated argument. 

“Not at the moment… but I…had last contact with my husband a few months back.” She simply hums and hands you a pregnancy test. “Restroom is at the back. Come back when you’re done okay?”

You stare at the box as if it’s done you wrong. The possibility of pregnancy is actually high considering that night, Satoru asked you to hit it raw until you agreed. You laugh humorlessly. What great timing! The one time you have sex without the condom and he’s able to plant one in you?

Setting a timer, you follow the box instructions and collect your pee sample. Each passing second was agitating and had you shifting your weight from one foot to another, arms hugging your torso. What then if it reads two pink lines? 

The timer blares and echoes in the confined space of the restroom. The irony of it all is that the baby you and Satoru had argued awfully about will be here in a few months. Fuck.

[crashimminent]

Hello! Might I request transmasc Anya headcanons if you do those things? Anything is fine, I just want my daily dose of transgender. Yum!

YESSSS YES YES YES ANON YOUR BRAIN

I will be referring to Anya by He/Him pronouns on this post- if this isn’t what you had in mind, please correct me!

The big question is always “is he on hormones?” and honestly? No, I don’t think so.

T can be a lot! Gel can feel gross, shots can be scary and painful, patches may slip, etc etc etc.

Not to mention costly. He’s already struggling with nursing school, damn it. A prescription is just another hassle.

Top surgery is definitely on the plans up there. He’s still anxious about the idea, but knows he won’t really regret it.

Until then, his binder will do. He takes extra precaution to follow the safety rules, especially while in space.

Pony Express hired him, at the very least. Even if they’re a corporate who’s likely deeply transphobic at their core, they want money, damn it!

It’s sort of illegal to ask about that anyways. So it’s fine.

He prefers to wear bigger, baggier clothes. Nurse scrubs tend to be unisex, so it’s not like his clothes options are limited…

But sweaters and turtlenecks seem to be big favorites.

He likes his long hair too. It’s easy to tie back into a ponytail. Frames his face nicely.

The socks and sandals were deliberate though. That was a specific euphoria producing thing. People groan and call him an old man.

It’s just a nice idea to think he’d get there. To grow old as himself.

It’s not really poorly received though. The crew has other worries than the personal lives of the others.

Jimmy himself isn’t really… transphobic. Just sort of… anti-Anya. He makes lots of remarks to make Anya feel self conscious or dysphoric.

Mainly about his body. A lot about his body. It’s hard to determine whether he’s trying to help Anya “pass”, or if he just wants to jab at insecurities.

Curly… is trying! He doesn’t quiiite get it, but he’s accepted Anya as “one of the boys”, and tries to engage in almost frat style humor.

And you know what? If there’s a different name he prefers, the name “Anya” is getting nigh erased from the ship. Curly sure likes his paperwork to be accurate, it it’ll be accurate!

Swansea doesn’t care. Really, why would he? He’s not thrilled to be on a ship full of guys, but it doesn’t change anything.

( He does chat up Anya though, compares him to his own sons every now and then. He’s an oldtimer, but that’s no excuse to be a bigot. )

Daisuke takes this as an invitation. Whenever Swansea isn’t working him like a dog, he’s down in medbay, talking about girls and sports and video games and whatever he can think of that Anya might have an interest in.

Like, Anya’s a guy, right? He’s GOT to be interested in girls. What do you MEAN that’s not how it works? Daisuke knows everything there is to know about the ladies, and he’s gotta tell the guy!

He seems to forget Anya used to have hands on experience.

It’s… a bit of a relief that the restrooms on the ship aren’t separated by gender.

The crew tries to give him space, even if he doesn’t entirely mind that much. They don’t go in the showers if they know he’s there.

Swansea once came in while he was showering. They didn’t really say anything.

What’s he meant to care? They’re in different stalls, and…

Well. Swansea has a bigger rack than him. If anyone’s staring, it’s Anya. (Which of course, he didn’t- he’s got priorities.)

It’s still a little awkward navigating the social environment as a trans guy- a lot of effort is put into making him fit in when he really just wants to be treated normally.

But it’s nice to be seen and heard about one thing.

[lxnababy]

TOUJOURS

COMMITMENT LOST CHAPTER TWO: TOUJOURS

part one

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

wc: 6.2k

Ariana is sad.

Well, that's a given. There is always a melancholy cloud that seems to follow behind her since she was a child, shrinking some years and puffing up others. It's a common occurrence for her to spend a day or two a month holed up in her room, surrounded by giant blankets and overstuffed pillows, reading a romance novel with tears streaming down her face.

By the end of the book, when the main characters get a happy sappy ever after, she shuts the book and lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling until the hours turn into a whole night. She calls it her version of Rest and Relaxation, but she knows it is probably a psychological problem she needs to evaluate much deeper.

But recently, the cloud of melancholy has grown so much it envelops her. She trudges to work, trudges to classes, hands in assignments late, and stares numbly out her old window to the beautiful view of the city. It doesn't seem to have the same spark as it did before; like she finally sees what every depressed, corporate New Yorker sees.

Today, on a particularly cold and rainy Sunday, she is on her old couch, curled up with a blanket as she cries. What she is crying for, she doesn't know.

She could be mourning the loss of Hannah, who hasn't returned any of her text messages since the event over a week ago. She could be upset by the unexpected absence of Harry—after all, she thought men like him enjoyed a good chase. She could be homesick, despite not traveling back to France for almost two years.

She can't figure out what has her so down until she finally understands. Everything. Everything has her upset and overwhelmed.

Knowing she has to wake up each morning with her heart full of unrequited love, aching heavily in her chest and weighing her down. Knowing she cares too deeply for the man across from her on the subway who seems to live there, his arms crossed as he tries (and fails) to get comfortable for a fitful bout of sleep. Knowing she has never felt the same amount of love she gives to others. No one ever thinks about how her day must have been as they lay awake at night, no one picks up a magazine off the stand at a convenience store simply because it reminds them of her.

But complaining about being too caring doesn't feel right. So she doesn't tell Niall, despite his prodding at her upset resting face at brunch the morning before.

"Ari," he pokes her with his fork. "You know you can tell me anything. I won't tell Hannah or Harry or anyone. It can just sit in my brain like a hen sitting on an egg."

Ariana remembers she shakes her head and laughs, then. "Your brain works in mysterious ways, Ni," she deflects his previous comment.

She could've told Niall her woes; in fact, she's unsure why she didn't. He wouldn't have judged her, she knew that. She's spent a fair amount of nights crying in Hannah and Niall's arms after getting ghosted by a man she swore was different—or the time her family canceled her flight home, explaining they needed the money to focus on the kids. The kids were the children her parents had together after she moved across the country.

Nevertheless, it has come to her attention that she is too emotional. From now on, she dedicates one woeful day to just herself, and the other six are complete with cheery smiles and bright eyes.

A loud, unwelcome knock on her apartment door, though, disrupts her misery.

It is sharp and short, though it repeats itself when she doesn't get up promptly. She curses to herself, blinking tears from her eyes and scrubbing her red cheeks as she makes her way to the front door.

Whipping it open blindly, she is met with sleek, black boots. Her head snaps up in confusion, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees who is at her front door, her hair slightly drooping and wet from the rain, white dress shirt sticking to a tattoo-clad figure.

"Sorry for no notice. Just figured I haven't seen you in a while and you weren't at BAR last night."

BAR, conveniently named, happens to be the club she keeps bumping into him at. BAR is the place she rightfully avoids now, knowing Hannah is probably occupying a table.

"So you... came to my house?" Ariana squints up at him, noticing his eyes already searching hers. His brows begin to furrow as she guesses he realizes she's been crying. "Well, I'm alive. Thanks for the wellness check, Harry." She figures a harsh bite of humor will hopefully stop Harry from whatever pity-filled question he would ask in regards to her crying. She leans against her door frame, suddenly aware of how little she is wearing.

Her sleep shorts consisted of women's boxers—a heather gray cotton fabric that could barely be classified as shorts, and her hoodie had the neckline cut off, exposing her braless shoulder. Her hair is woven into a thick braid that falls down her back, her bare face beginning to swell from the hours of drowning in her misery.

"Barely, it looks like," he cracks a smile. "Mind if I come in? I brought party favors," he holds up a bottle of red wine she hadn't noticed he was holding until now, the glass clinking against his heavy rings.

Ariana tilts her head, intrigued. "Why?"

Harry rocks back and forth on his feet. "Because a pretty girl like you shouldn't be upset on God's rest day. It's supposed to be a day of recharging," he explains, scratching the back of his head. It appears Harry has a very dry sense of humor; the kind where she can't tell if he is making a joke or being dead serious.

Ariana knows she shouldn't invite him in. She knows their priorities are different, knows she will read into every word he says and fully believe it. And Harry, well, is a flirt. A massive, beautiful flirt who probably has used that line on many women before her, and will on many women after her.

But she steps aside. "Only because red wine's my favorite," she justifies.

A half hour later, she is sitting across from him at her shitty dinner table, pouring both of them a third glass of wine while babbling about nothing of importance. When did you move to New York? Do you like it here?

"Why'd you come here? I'm sure you have better things to be doing on a Sunday," Ariana crosses her arms, challenging him. Her vision starts to blur and there seem to be two Harry's if she squints just enough, but the buzz of the wine seems to calm her emotions perfectly. Perfectly enough to begin questioning the odd, mysterious man in front of her.

Harry only matches her stature, leaning back in the rickety wooden chair. "Why were you crying? I'm sure you have better things to be doing on a Sunday," he provokes.

Ariana's fingers tighten on her wine glass. Her breath catches in her throat.

"Parce que, Harry, I think I've won the lottery of shittiest luck." She answers vaguely. "And I think I'm prettiest after I cry. It's my way of relaxing,"

Harry can't help the smile that floats over his face. He wouldn't have even noticed the change of expression if it wasn't for the ache his muscles felt; he doesn't smile genuinely often. It is an odd reaction to such a miserable confession, but it is her confession. She told him something that wasn't common knowledge. That is, after all, what he was trying to get her to do all night—tell him something she wants to say, not pleasantries or boring, overused questions.

"I will say you look beautiful bare-faced. Brings out your eyes," he compliments. "How many more wine do we have?" He stutters through the question after downing the last of his glass and shakily putting it down on the table.

"Many?" Ariana begins to laugh at his horrid grammar.

Harry simply grumbles, waving off his mistake with incoherent mumblings. "I think I have a rosé somewhere—"

"The piss of wines," Harry interrupts boldly, staring at her with a deadpan look.

Ariana gasps dramatically at his statement. "How dare you! It's pink!" She narrows her eyes. "Rosé is joyful. Do you hate joy, Harry?"

Harry scoffs. "Yes, I'm the Big Bad Wolf. I hate joy and also rosé. And this fucking chair—I mean, give my tailbone a break." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, making Ariana giggle softly.

Maybe it is the fact Harry seems to have bought a forty-proof bottle of wine, or the fact she hasn't eaten all day, or the fact she just downed her third glass in a half hour, or the fact they finished the bottle, but Ariana is drunk.

"Well, let's move to the couch, Mr. Big Bad Wolf." She hops up, skipping over to tug on his arm annoyingly so he'd follow her to the overstuffed, very soft couch she bought from a thrift store two years ago.

-

Somehow, she ends up in his arms. His bicep is hooked over her neck loosely, her chin pressed against the muscle and her head resting in his armpit as she lays in one direction and he lays perpendicular to her, trapping her against him. It's not like she wasn't expecting it—their conversations felt like extended foreplay with how much sexual tension sizzled between them—but she was delightfully surprised at how gentle and slow he was being. How caring he is, for talking to her without trying to use her.

She looks up at him, craning her neck to see his bloodshot eyes. "Wanna know a secret?" Ariana asks, her smile disappearing and the playful tone falling off her words beginning to slow.

"Toujours," [Always] Harry replies.

"I've never been in a relationship. But they seem fun, I think I'd have fun in a relationship." Ariana speaks the last bit to herself, furrowing her brow at the indication she might be oversharing with a man she had promised not to get involved with. It slips out before her brain can stop the message, but it sounds pathetic to be telling a man who she just met how lonely she is.

Harry, with the hand that was tucked behind his head as he lounges on the couch, brings it up to brush the stray, feathery bangs of her chestnut hair away from her face delicately. "That's funny," he says after a minute.

Ariana scoffs, sitting up and turning to face him. "Why? Am I not meant for one?" She sounds hurt like the wine had stripped all of her comebacks and left her defenseless against Harry's wrath.

Harry shakes his head, the bottle of rosé he swore he wouldn't drink sitting tucked under his other armpit, almost empty. "You're meant for one. I'm pretty sure any guy in the entirety of New York would kill for a chance with you. I just think it's funny you want one so badly," he explains, never getting up from his lounging spot even if she was now towering over him.

Ariana squints, disregarding his compliments. "What do you have against relationships, Harry? It's cuddling and talking and sharing families and getting a cat—"

"If you think that's what a relationship is, I hate to break your bubble, but it's ninety percent arguing and ten percent crying." He interrupts. "I'm just not a relationship person. I can't handle... being dependent and constantly worrying about them and getting attached." He looks away from her, his hands squeezing the neck of the bottle as they fall into silence for a few moments. "But if you want a relationship, Ari, I'll help you find the best relationship out there."

She climbs closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder now and melting her body into his side. "We're very different people, Harry," she sighs into his neck, the sound reverberating off the walls of Harry's brain as he holds onto her tighter. "Why have a heart if you won't use it?" The question is vague. She wants to say, humans are supposed to love, but that sounds corny. She wants to convince Harry that relationships should hurt and that sitting in the numb feeling of loneliness created by none other than yourself is much worse than a few tears and rocky weeks with someone you love.

Harry looks down at her—she knows he wants her to meet his gaze, but she can't. She's hurt, hurt someone could feel this way about something so magical. "I think you know that answer," his voice is low like they were sharing a secret.

Her breath hitches. Harry Styles is scared.

She finally looks up at him. "We don't have to use our hearts, then. I'm willing to settle," his hand slides to her hips, the tension in the room filling her ears with fluid and making everything hard to hear. She chews on her lip; she wants to taste his, even if she knows nothing will ever come of it. And she knows he wants that too, with the predatory looks he's been giving her all night, the soft touches that turned into pure electricity.

Harry squeezes the plushy part of the skin sitting over her hip bone. "You're too sweet for this, Ariana,"

"No, I'm not, and you can't hurt me, Harry. We're so different, and I want this. Especially because you're..." she trails off, her eyes flicking to his lips as their heads draw closer together. She doesn't feel herself moving, she simply is. Or is Harry getting closer? She can't tell, but she doesn't care.

He smirks. "Finish the sentence," she shakes her head stubbornly. "Finish the sentence or I'll make you finish the sentence."

Ariana's heart drops and her cheeks flush, heat filling her belly as the leg thrown over his tightened against his. "Especially because you're a sculpture that should be in the Louvre. You're so handsome it almost hurts to look at you, and that's not my type. I like ugly guys," she cracks a joke, trying to ease the rocky ocean water settling between her thighs.

Harry pushed her gently onto her back as he opened her legs to climb inside. "Ariana, you're a putain d'ange [fucking angel]. You're just so you, I've never met anyone like you." He is mumbling, and she knows the sentence isn't meant for her, even though it is addressed to her. He is speaking quietly, eyes roaming her body like one would drink in a beautiful piece of art.

She reaches her head up to kiss him; she's never wanted something so bad. Her mouth feels chapped, her body on fire and the only cure is Harry's soft, wine-sodden lips on hers. But he moves back ever so slightly. "Let me show you?"

It comes out as a question, and Harry isn't sure why he said it. Let me show you the good parts of a relationship, is his full sentence. Let me show you what those other boys can't.

Ariana nods eagerly, though pauses. "I don't want to... do everything," she frowns, bracing herself for an explosion. It usually came from one-night stands who realized they wouldn't get lucky. "I'm sorry," she adds quickly.

Harry frowns. "Don't apologize. I could go home right now and still be over the fucking moon." His hand drops from her hip, a smile cracking onto her face almost like he is reassuring her it's okay to speak up for what she wants. He backs up a bit, thinking Ariana is a bit overwhelmed by how close they are.

But she just puts his hand back, shaking her head. "I wanna do some things," she shows him a teasing grin. "With you, specifically. Obviously,"

Harry laughs, cutting himself off by dipping down to kiss her. Their lips move feverishly, their mouths tasting of wine. It is sloppy and quick, forcing Ariana to arch her back into him, her hips involuntarily rutting against his.

After a few minutes of heavy, hot kissing, she figures something out: Harry isn't going to make the first move. He took her wariness as a sign and stayed in her comfort zone. His hands are on her hips, cemented in place, his lips never straying far from hers. So she squeezes her leg around him tighter, half-heartedly grinding against him. No real pleasure comes from that action; it is more of a way to initiate Harry, but he understands.

He grips her hip hard, forcing her against the couch as he starts to grind against the sweet spot in between her thighs. She gasps at the action, her hands going straight to his hair and tugging on the curls as he drops his mouth open and backs up slightly to look at her. When they glimpse at each other, they both unravel the slightest bit more.

His eyes are bloodshot and pleading, hers submissive and filled with want. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyebrows furrowed. He has to look away; it is like looking at the sun. She is so, so beautiful.

"Please let me taste you,"

His voice is raspy and broken, his lips wet with their saliva as he rutted against her for the minimal release it gives the tension tight in his belly.

Ariana nods. "I've never—no one's ever," she stumbles over her words.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. "You fucked pussies, Ari. Let me show you," the phrase fell from his lips again, almost unwarranted. Let me show you real pleasure. Let me show you how you're supposed to be treated.

Ariana starts to giggle, the sound bouncing around his ribs. "I know. It's a little embarrassing to admit—" She cuts herself off with a high-pitched gasp once she feels his fingers pluck at the hem of her shorts, his eyes trained on hers.

"Is this okay?" He is itching to rip them off, itching to see her tiny cotton boxers in tatters on the floor, a reminder for her once he left of how good he made her feel. How responsive she is. How he notices every goosebump on her skin, every hitch in her breath.

She nods.

When he pulls her boxers down, her hand flies to the one resting on her hip. She laces their fingers together, nervous about how literally naked she is in front of him. He simply let her take his hand, not phased by her nerves.

"Si beau," [So beautiful] he mutters, eyes trained on the apex of her thighs, mouth watering. "You're so beautiful, Ariana." He then raises his eyes to hers, like he wants her to believe it.

She turns red. He simply repeats the sentence.

And then he dives between her thighs, ravishing her. Her head is thrown back, her fingers squeezing his. She tries to lock her legs around his head, the nudging of his tongue becoming overwhelming, but Harry simply pushes them back open with his elbows, eyes closed as he eats her out like he is starving.

She is whining and gasping, a coil in her belly appearing. "Harry, I can't—no one else has ever made me—please, H, ne t'arrête pas." [don't stop] She is babbling, her eyes shutting hard as he digs into her deeper.

When she releases, she swears she touched a star. Her eyes roll back, her fingers grip his hair so tight she is afraid she is hurting him, her legs tensing. He just moans into her, lapping all of her up until she is shaking from oversensitivity and pushing him away.

Only then does he climb up her body, kissing her with her release on his tongue, much gentler than he was before. Only then does he rub circles on her outer thigh, shushing her with soothing French nonsense.

"See? Now you'll never go back to those boys. You've graduated from my masterclass, mademoiselle." [missy] He teases, pushing her hair from her face.

Ariana rolls her eyes, pushing herself to sit up. "I think my legs are jelly," she frowns, trying to lean over and grab her boxers, but failing.

Harry retrieves them for her, even sliding them up her legs and over her stomach. "You really are beautiful, Ari. I didn't just say that in the heat of the moment,"

Her stomach flips. But you don't want a relationship, she reminds herself. You're just a flirt. But flirt or not, she can't get enough of him.

"Well, I really do think you should be in the Louvre," she smiles when he leans down to give her another kiss.

—

Ariana nudges at her eggs, stealthily checking her phone. 10:18 AM. She has an hour and twelve minutes until her class starts, but she knows Hannah will drink up her time greedily.

"—But Kian kept telling me my hair looked brown, and it was pissing me off! Like, as the best-rated hair stylist in the upper west side, he should know not to insult an ashy blonde like that." Hannah rants, throwing her arms up in annoyance as her barely touched avocado toast sits diagonal to her cappuccino.

They decided to talk things out.

Well, Ariana decided to. After Harry left last night (only after Ariana made him promise to get an Uber and collect his car the next morning), she decided to text Hannah. She knows Harry won't be long-term, she knows it will end up in flames, so she needs something constant. Even if the constant is Hannah's complaining and Ariana's internal eye rolls.

Now they are back to normal. "I don't think he was trying to be rude, though," Ariana counters, her mind wandering as she refutes Hannah's statement.

Maybe she should lie, and say her class starts early. Maybe she should cuss Hannah out in French again—it seemed to work the first time. Or maybe, the most likely option, she should sit in silence, trying to parcel out her relationships with dissatisfaction lingering in her mind. Dissatisfaction that she clings onto Hannah, or pretends to be loose and spontaneous with Harry.

Just be malleable, she reminds herself. People like being close to their reflections.

—

The texting started Monday afternoon.

Then fell into Tuesday, which led into Wednesday.

Then, they upgraded to calls.

"I think I'm free tonight. Just come over," Ariana surprises herself with how lenient she is being, inviting Harry over on a weeknight.

"I'll bring pizza. I'm ravenous after fixing cars all day," she can hear his douchey smile.

Ariana gulps. "Sounds good,"

"À bientôt," [See you soon]

Turns out, it was soon.

She is in ratty jeans and a hoodie from painting in her bedroom, her hair tied back messily and her face freshly washed when she answers the door. A smile climbs onto her lips as she invites Harry inside, his sneakers squeaking against the old wooden floor as he steps in.

"It's fucking freezing in here," are his first words to her.

"I have fuzzy blankets," she offers, though turns into his chest when he decides to surprise her with a one-handed greeting hug, the other hovering over her back while balancing a box of pizza.

She returns it with a delighted grin stretched across her cheeks, her head tilted up to meet his eyes. They sparkle like even his irises are excited to see her.

Following her to the living room, he opens the box on the coffee table and leans back on the overstuffed sofa, kicking off his shoes and running a hand through his curls tiredly. "How was your day, amour?" He asks, his head falling back into a beige throw pillow.

Ariana perches herself beside him, leaning over to grab a slice of pizza. Olive—somehow he chose the perfect topping for her without asking or discussing this beforehand. He just seems to know.

"Alright. I'm pretty behind on a few essays, but I hit writer's block." She shrugs, pushing a stray piece of hair that fell from the loose ponytail behind her ear. "Fix any cars today?" She has a teasing lilt in her voice.

Harry smiles. "I did. Can I read one of your papers?" He peers at her laptop, which is haphazardly thrown onto one of the cushions. "Is it gonna be, like, a manifesto of your dark fantasies? Do you write erotica? Holy fuck, is it with a centaur and a mermaid? You freak!" He gasps, speaking so quickly there is no point in Ariana interjecting.

She simply rolls her eyes, smacking his shoulder playfully. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Her eyes crinkle in laughter as he nods excessively. "No, it's pretty boring. I don't think you want to read my review of the Titanic. The book, obviously,"

Harry scoffs. "On the contrary. If the writer's this hot, I'd read anything,"

She rolls her eyes once more but picks up her laptop. He moves closer to her, their thighs pressed together. She ignores the fluttering in her belly and his breath on her neck as she types in her password. He is so close, he must know what he's doing. He is touching her, and any touch from Harry lights her up like Central Park during Christmas time.

Then, horror strikes.

Pulled up on her screen in large font is the introduction to a dating profile website.

"Oh my God, Ari! You're on Tinder? You little minx!" Harry gasps dramatically, prying the laptop from her hands before she can snatch it away.

Her cheeks turn red, her hands reaching for the computer in an attempt to snap it shut before he digs deeper. It's not like she has filled anything out yet—she is admittedly horrible at all things related to finding photos of herself or hyping herself up. "I was just thinking of joining. I know dating apps are mostly for hookups, and—"

"—and you have me for that," Harry interrupts, finishing her sentence. "So you actually wanna find a date, yeah? I can help," he looks over at her, smirking knowingly. He knows he has her flustered and a puddle at his feet, but he can't help it. He loves watching the pretty blush bloom over her face and her eyes widen in surprise at his bluntness.

They were opposites, which Harry knew. But if anything, it made him more attracted to her. He wanted to see how far she'd let him push her, the side of her she never let anyone see. He scratched at the surface, but he needed more. He was thirsty.

She nods pliantly. "C'mere. Are your photos linked to your computer? I wanna choose them for you," he rests the laptop on his thighs, letting Ariana tuck herself into his side, eyes trained on the screen curiously.

He clicks upload pictures and expands the screen, perusing through her camera roll. Most photos are of cats she found littering the streets or excerpts from books she found endearing or heart-wrenching. There are a few drunken selfies of her and Hannah and some photos she forced Niall to take for her as well. "Why not that one?" She frowns, and Harry stops scrolling.

It is a picture of her and Hannah grinning widely outside the club they were waiting to get into, Ariana's mini dress high up her thighs, her head resting on Hannah's shoulder with one foot on the brick wall behind her.

"Is that the night I met you?" He asks, noticing the same black dress with a pink bow, the same stick-straight hairstyle with smokey eyeliner. She nods absently, looking up at him for his approval. "You're so pretty. This can be, like, the fourth picture, though. You don't want Hannah in a lot of them 'cause you guys look like sisters and guys have weird fetishes about sisters."

Ariana narrows her eyes. "Ew, Harry! Maybe this is a mistake," she groans, slumping into his body. She is exhausted from her day, the pizza sitting untouched in her hand beginning to wilt downwards.

"Well, obviously no guy on a dating app is good enough for you, but it's good practice. Plus, you're gonna get a million likes because you're probably the hottest person on this app and I'm gonna get jealous as fuck." Harry says honestly, not even looking up from the laptop at his brazen, confident comment.

She blushes hard. "Jealous?" She asks, furrowing her brow. Jealousy would infer they have any sort of romantic relationship, and it's clear Harry doesn't want that.

"You're a catch, Ari. You know that, right?" He finally rips his gaze away from the screen just to stare at her with the same intensity. She almost wishes he was still distracted, because she is sure if her face burns any redder she'll be in danger of catching on fire. "If I didn't think marriage was hellfire I'd propose."

Yeah, she thinks, her heart beating rapidly at his confession, this is going to sting.

She nods slowly. He returns back to perusing her albums, and they sit in comfortable silence as he does so, highlighting a few pictures, and sneaking a few bites of her slice of pizza.

Until he immediately freezes, and Ariana looks away from her phone she picks up just a moment before responding to Niall and Hannah. She peeks at the screen, immediately burying her face in Harry's shoulder when she sees what is pulled up.

It is a photo she took a month prior, natural light streaming through her bedroom windows in the crest of the morning sun. In the top corner, her lips are parted to show just a fraction of her teeth, and her back is arched.

The main focus of the photo, however, is her deep red, puffy mesh panties. The hem bunches lettuce-style, and the mesh is just see-through enough to see her milky skin in a rose-tinted haze. The white cotton tank she is wearing just barely covers her breasts, with the straps falling down her shoulders, her nipples peeking through the thin, almost transparent material. Her legs are bent at the knees, slightly parted to show a wet patch forming at the apex of her thighs.

"I forgot I took that," is all she managed to say when the silence became awkward.

"Are you real?" He answers, turning to look at her. "Because I swear I had a dream that looked exactly like you. I mean, you're fucking perfect. And you're so sweet and your heart is so fucking pure, you actually can't be real. It wouldn't be fair,"

He's gushing, words tumbling from his lips before his brain processes them. "And you kiss like an angel, I haven't been able to stop thinking about your lips. And your tattoos are just—"

Ariana lurches forward, capturing his babbling mouth in hers. Immediately, he pushes the computer away and brings her into his lap, his hands tugging at her belt loops before sliding up her sweatshirt to warm her back.

When she pulls away, she is out of breath. The kiss is short and wild, but Harry doesn't seem to mind.

"Is that how I'm supposed to kiss my Tinder date?" She asks through fluttered eyelids and a lip bite. For once, she left him speechless with red cheeks and wide, blinking eyes. She feels so accomplished, her chest puffing in pride as she cements her words with the hem of her sweatshirt hiking up her belly to show a fraction of tanned skin.

He frowns. "No. That type is just for me," he finally responds.

She laughs, light and airy. She isn't familiar with this Ariana; the Ariana that moves without worry and kisses with no forewarning. The Ariana whose skirts are too short and lipstick too bold. This is the Ariana Harry draws out of her—maybe it is smart to be friends with benefits. That way, she wouldn't lose him to a fight or a tear-filled breakup. That way, they'd stay happy and platonic (or, as platonic as you could get with that mouth of his).

This Ariana also spoke up. "That was my friendly kiss," she teases.

Harry blows out a long breath. "I can't even imagine the Tinder date kiss then." He blinks away the shock from his eyes before grabbing her hips and flipping her so her back is against his chest. She sinks into his arms, pulling the computer into her lap as they look at more photos.

It feels a bit backward, sitting in one man's arms while creating a dating profile to meet other men, but she doesn't care. She will enjoy her time with Harry now, in case she won't feel this way ever again.

"Why'd you leave France?"

The question is out of the blue. Ariana just finished filling out her nationality and hometown, and Harry seems to be intrigued.

She shrugs, though won't look back to meet his gaze. "Better opportunities in America," she says simply, and doesn't elaborate.

"But you were so young," he presses for more detail, his hands squeezing her hips in a silent urge to meet his eyes. She won't.

"My parents kinda shipped me away through a school program. And then I stopped coming home for summers and started living with Hannah once my mom got pregnant. The move was slow, I don't know for sure when I started calling New York home." Ariana says vaguely.

It falls silent for another few beats, but more words are piling up on Ariana's tongue, and Harry's smooth fingers rubbing against the bare skin of her hip are coaxing them out of her.

"Well, actually I do know," her voice wavers. "I wanted to go to France for Christmas break, but my parents told me they couldn't afford my ticket home. Or my schooling. Or my boarding. They said they had two new children and needed to supply their real kids with money. With my money," she feels tears prick her eyes, but pushes them down.

When she is certain none would fall, she turns to face Harry, once more abandoning their quest to make a dating profile.

"I kinda knew then I wasn't welcome anymore. They told me I could come home, but I'd have to stay in a hotel because they refurbished my room with nursery stuff. I decided not to go home, and they mailed the rest of my belongings a week later. I didn't have any money, so Hannah spotted me for a bit.

"And that's why I'm still friends with her, even though she treats me shitty and is not at all the same girl that held my hand in middle school." She finishes. She knows she doesn't have to explain anything to Harry and their relationship consists of light-hearted conversation and casual make-out sessions, but she wants to.

She hasn't ever admitted Hannah has changed before, or really that her family replaced her with two chaotic younger siblings she has only met a handful of times. But he makes her feel seen and heard, even if he never speaks—so she allows herself to slip up just this once.

Harry wraps his arms around her, slowly at first, until he engulfs her in his lean arms, muscles flexing around her body. "You're the coolest girl ever," he hums into her ear. She decided that was the best compliment Harry could dish out, and simply thanked him quietly as she let him hold her. "And Hannah doesn't deserve to be friends with such a cool girl." He pulls back, his hands sliding to her thighs.

It is just then that her eyes flicker to his lips and his gaze glosses over that Harry's phone rings.

It is loud and piercing, startling Ariana off him. It is probably good not to be so close to Harry anyway—the familiar sandalwood scent of his cologne begins to have Ariana's belly fluttering at the mere thought of it.

"Niall, I'm with Ariana. I don't think she wants her house smelling like weed—no, there's pizza here! I'm not abandoning pizza to sit in the snow with you—fuck you, weirdo," Harry pulls the phone away from his ear to turn to Ariana. "Can Niall come over? He says he's not bringing a joint but I don't believe him,"

Ariana's laugh bubbles gleefully from her throat, a nod surfacing. "He can smoke here, I don't care," she then adds.

~

"Can we all share a blanket? I wanna feel like the grandparents in that Willy Wonka movie," Niall asks, tugging the blanket that was wrapped around Ariana's body undone.

She is lounging between her (new) two favorite people as they pass a joint over her head, taking hits and laughing at dumb comments the other made. "We're not all gonna fit," Ariana points out as both the boys struggle to pull each end of the forest green throw over their bodies.

"Just sit closer to me. I don't bite," Harry teases, eyes glinting mischievously.

Ariana scoffs. "I can't sit closer to you, I'll be on your lap." She points out, and Harry hums knowingly.

"If the shoe fits..." he winces for her slap before it comes.

The bickering is interrupted by Niall, who is now reaching for Ariana's phone that sitting on the coffee table under a layer of pizza grease. He is cursing, trying to guess her password. "Niall! What are you doing?" Her tone is almost motherly, causing Harry to snort from behind her.

"Why are you getting messages for Nahir saying 'I want to taste you'? Oh my God, Ryan said he wants your babies!"

"Harry!" She feels like she is chastising children. "Did you hack my dating profile?"

Harry frowns, the air of playfulness gone and replaced with annoyance. "I thought I chose good guys. Why are they so creepy? I'm sorry, Ari, I told you you're too good for dating apps." He snatches the phone from Niall, scrolling through likes and explicit messages.

Ariana, though, is now red-faced and embarrassed. "Why do guys only think about one thing?" She groans, dropping back onto the sofa. Her hands are folded against her stomach, and she avoids eye contact with either of them. It's a rhetorical question, and she won't be able to listen to not everyone thinks that Ari, you just need to find your person.

Instead, Harry puts his hand on her knee, which is pulled up to her chest. Niall holds her hand in his. "'Cause we're assholes," Niall is focused on the screen, though his thumb is rubbing soothing circles against the top of her hand. "And you're kind of a princess. Or something. Like the badass kind, though, that has a lot of cool hats."

Ariana turns to Harry quizzically, almost as if saying what the fuck is he talking about?

Harry just shrugs. Who knows? His eyes reply.

"Thanks, Niall. You know how I feel about a good fedora,"

part one

[kalliyen]

Brewing Romance

Pairing: Diluc x GN!Reader

Featuring: Diluc, Kaeya, Jean

Genre: Fluffff, Barista AU, Modern AU, College AU

Summary: barista au….un lang lol also diluc falls in love at first sight….yeah

Reader’s Pronouns: they/them

Warning: diluc is so down bad, kinda ooc mb…(not really) HES SO FINE WOOF WOOF slight kaebedo implied lawlwlwlwlw

Disclaimer: ⚠️ ONLY A WORK OF FICTION!

i. a change of pace

Diluc Ragnvindr wishes for a change of pace. Something different from his boring dull life as a college student who works part time at a nearby café.

It’s not like he needs the money or anything, his family is quite wealthy, but he decided to work for the experience. Also because his friend, Jean, forced him.

Not really forced him no, more like begged him to help her around the shop because they were very understaffed, and Diluc being the kind stoic soul he is, took pity in his friend and decided to accept her offer.

Unluckily for him, he didn’t know that his brother, Kaeya, also works at the café, if he asked Kaeya why, all he’d respond is with “To scout cute chicks!” But he knows Kaeya was just really ogling the blonde kid with bags in his eyes that sits in the back of the café, he noticed that Kaeya would always volunteer to give the man his order…..

ii. new face ?

It’s like as if the Anemo Archon himself heard his pleas for a new face, because a few days later he’s greeted with someone new.

Not like he recognizes every single costumer that comes and goes, but you stood out to him because damn….you were breathtaking.

When you walked up to the cashier he internally panicked, immediately putting Kaeya in his spot and disturbing his brother from ogling that blonde kid again.

“Hey?!! Bro what the hell was that for?!?!” Kaeya exclaims “Spot me. You take their order and I’ll make it. Alright?” Diluc states

Not getting another word in, and not wanting to question Diluc about his red face for now, he begrudgingly takes your order, still kind of looking at the blonde kid at the back (these brothers are so down bad what the hell 🔥🔥)

Diluc makes your order, still as red as his hair, because you ordered his favorite drink, and Jean noticed that he was making it with a smile on his face. ‘I guess he’s finally gone crazy.’ She thinks to herself.

Diluc hands you your order, looking down a bit, because he swear if he sees your beautiful presence again he might actually just combust.

You notice a ‘help wanted’ poster near the door and decide to ask him about it.

“Hey are you guys still looking for help? Cause I’d love to work part time here, if that’s alright.” You state. And Diluc’s brain actually stumbles into himself, he responds to you with “O-of course! We’d be happy to accept your h-help..You can ask the manager for the application form and she can schedule an interview with you” He finishes, and points to where Jean was.

“Thank you so much! Uhm….Diluc?” You read on his name tag. Taken aback, Diluc replies “O-of course! No problem. Happy to help.”

Kaeya was watching the whole scene from the cashier with a stupid smile on his face, god damn his brother was in for it hard.

iii. ARE YOU UP FOR THE CHALLENGE????? *vine boom*

On the day of your interview with Jean, you decided to dress up nicely and give it all you’ve got, like this is some big corporate job or something.

But hey, to you this was a big interview because god fucking damn did you need some spare cash, you don’t think you can live on processed food for another week even if you had to.

Jean doesn’t beat around the bush and immediately tells you that your hired, saying that you could start tomorrow.

Diluc over hears your interview and smiles to himself, he can finally work with someone he wants too!

iv. cupid works in mysterious ways

Even if you did work together, Diluc unfortunately does not have the same shift as you do. He works the lunch hours from 11 am to 3 pm, while you work from 8 am to 12 noon, which only alots one hour with you everyday, but he tried to make the best of those 60 minutes with you.

Though he was very nervous to approach you at first, he was the one tasked to help you work the coffee machine, and how the workflow goes.

Admittedly, he gets distracted by you sometimes, he just can’t help himself. The way your hair is kept neatly so it doesn’t get it your face, the way the apron hugs you form, making you seem more beautiful than you already were.

It’s not like you were stupid or anything, you weren’t oblivious to the obvious ogling Diluc does whenever he works with you. It brings a wave of heat to your cheeks, because to have such attractive man have eyes for you? You’d almost believe that you were the mc of a fan fiction or something.

Jean obviously noticed the tension you two would emit whenever you worked together, and how Diluc hesitated to greet you goodbye when your shift was over. So she arranged a new schedule for him, to be on the same work shift as you.

They weren’t as understaffed as before, having a good handful of employees that recently applied. Mostly because they wanted to check out the two hot brothers that worked at front. But hey, whatever keeps the business going am I right?

Before Diluc leaves by the end of his shift, double checking if he’s cleaned the machine thoroughly, Jean calls him into her office, Diluc obliges, not thinking much of it.

“Is there a particular reason you called me here Jean?” Diluc asks, while closing the door of her office. “Don’t worry Diluc, it isn’t anything dire. Just a slight change in your work hours.” She says while fixing the papers on her desk.

At this, Diluc’s ears perk up, “My shift? Change? What for?” To be closer with you, he hopes.

“I’ve decided for you to have the same shift as y/n, I sense that you have no opposition to this? Seeing as you enjoy your time on the job whenever they are present.” Jean states like it was to be expected. “Of course, I don’t have any oppositions. You are the manager after all.”

v. latte (he)art

To say you were surprised to see Diluc at work that early the next day was an understatement. You were ecstatic. “Diluc? what are you doing at work so early?” You ask, a smile threatening to form on your lips, trying your hardest to hold yourself back at the sight of him.

“Jean decided to change my shift, so I could work the morning hours, since that’s our busiest time.” And to spend more time with you, Diluc wants to say, but decides against it.

“Really? That’s great!” You start with a smile on your face. “Oh and uhm, I actually really needed your help with something. You know the latte art? Yeah I’m learning to do that now but it’s really hard, Kaeya tried to teach me but he completely gave up, I swear he just works here to ogle that blonde kid at the back”

“Of course I’d help you y/n, it’d be my pleasure.” Diluc says with a smile on his face. He looked very pretty when he smiled, you thought.

You and Diluc spent a few hours and countless cups of coffee, trying to get you to create an actually presentable output. But you just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.

Profusely apologizing over and over again, But Diluc didn’t seem to mind, having been patient with you this whole time. He decided it was best for you both to have a slight break from the latter art.

But then you felt something warm on your hands, a cup of coffee and Diluc’s warm fingers, seeming to engulf your own.

You looked down at the cup of coffee, and then up at him, noticing that the cup held a cute heart in it, which made your own heart soar with happiness.

“Let’s take a break yeah? We can learn once you’ve collected yourself. Just enjoy this cup I’ve made for you for now.” Diluc hands you the cup, while leaving a loving yet hesitant kiss to your forehead.

———————

gbye i didn’t know how to end this……anyways enjoy 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪