#I FINISHED YESTERDAY. FUCK THIS SEMESTER

[gnecroticart]

my dnd party as avatars of entities from TMA :] In order:

Hal: distortion, spiral themed, cursed snail woman, have not confirmed this but was probably inspired by fuckhands mcmike himself

Cassia: the eye, she's a cursed academic, craves knowledge at any cost, need I say more

Siril: the lonely, my BELOVED squishy wizard. they're doing their best. didn't have any friends until the campaign started. would see an evil fogbank and say "don't mind if i do!"

Diilauna: the stranger. deals in FALSEHOODS AND DECEIT. the standing figure is crescent who we THOUGHT was a real person but nooo she was a fake persona put on by a fucking assassin who lied to us for months (i love it but god was that an intense session)

#dnd oc art #dnd ocs #dungeons and dragons #original character #siril duilven (oc) #and then the ones that arent mine: #cassia conary (oc) #hal halitosis (oc) #diilauna/hushmaker (oc) #digital art #2023 art #the magnus archives #i started these in EARLY MARCH. #I FINISHED YESTERDAY. FUCK THIS SEMESTER

[ravencromwell]

For the character ask game, Athos Dane: 7, 10, and 20.

7. A quote of them you remember: "No one suffers as beautifully as you." And before everyone starts laughing at my terrible cliche—it is terribly cliched, I would pair it with "My plaything is dead". The no one suffers as beautifully as you comes just after Athos's interlude with Beloc where Beloc tried, and did real damn good for a teenager, to be defiant, but eventually answered Athos's questions about his name etc. without yet having the Soul Seal on. Contrast this to Athos's "Sing for me, Holland" in ACOL, which Holland refuses to do.

Yes, Beloc is undoubtedly fun, but fundamentally, he knows how this game is going to go. The fact that Holland still has defiance, after seven years, seems to just fucking enthrall Athos. He makes Holland fill the blood goblets partially just to fuck with Kell, but also for that flicker of rage and humiliation Kell notices as being so out of character. Fundamentally, he doesn't know when Holland will give him the last scrap of power, and that's what keeps him coming back.

But any love or fascination or what have you is utterly gone once Holland is no longer a spectacle: my plaything, he says, in his own pov while talking to his sister. He feels "annoyance at his servant's incompetence" The one time he mentions Holland by name, it's to tell Kell how he and Holland are fundamentally flawed when compared to Athos.

Everything this man did for seven fucking years around Holland was either about furthering his goals or getting some kind of reaction, be it in his choice of conversation topics or experiment subjects.

Holland has a line that is so fucking sad to me in that context in ACOL where he says he never screamed if he could help it, out of the quixotic hope if Athos didn't get a reaction, he'd just kill him already. There's something so fucking tragic I don't have words for the fact that Holland's refusal to stop being a person, at least in small ways, and even the ways he tried to provoke Athos, were so much of what made him interesting enough to never let fade into the background as a particularly useful pair of hands. Because as we see with essentially sending Beloc out as canon fodder, and again with the dismissive "my plaything" comment after Holland's dead, once there's no longer potential for interesting power dynamics, he's bored moving on. 

10. Describe the character in one sentence.: "Intelligence has never tempered my desire. It merely ensures I take what I wish without consequence."—Athos Dane, to his hypothetical biographer, poor bastard.

20. A weird headcanon:

He may have learned to read on the coast primarily to sniff out magic, but when he arrives at the castle, he finds he quite enjoys books outside of magic. Vortalis was a military histories fan, which Athos "journey of the battle" absolutely fucking devours for the play by play.

Astrid likes the White London version of Caesar: careful, methodical, only moving when the field was to his advantage.

Athos, though, it's the underdogs. The White London Hannibal bringing his elephants in what everyone called folly; the Lord Caradoc/Caratacus resisting a much larger force. Just _immensely his jam.

And once he got started, he wanted more of anything Holland thought might rouse his interest. I don't think the Danes had any _reason to go to Grey London, but I suspect that by God, if the Mareshes Antari could go, they sent Holland there on the semiregular (I will play with the toys, too!) One of the things Grey had neither Red nor White did was a thriving fiction culture. And if you're one Holland Vosijk, who wants to be able to bring back some escapism for yourself, you'd better be prepared to bring back gifts.

Which leads me to: Athos Dane, sometime Shakespeare fan and more often critic.

1. Huge, huge fucking fan of Iago. Iago knows how to properly manipulate some people. (Except of course, as is the problem with so many people, he got squeamish in the end. If he had killed the messengers from Venice when they found him in the alley, he would never have needed to kill his wife and certainly never have been tortured and executed. But Iago pre–Othello Act Five: _spectacular.

2. Huge Richard III fan—likes all the histories, honestly. But that "winter of our discontent" monologue: gets him _every time. Richard, now there's a man who knows how to embrace being hated. (Though that he cares at all about fool's opinion of him just demonstrates he lacked an Astrid. Without that one person for unconditional affection and non-judgment, he could only embrace it so far.

3. Hamlet completely cracks him up in an awful way. Or rather, the ways in which Holland and Hamlet's desire for revenge mirror one another. "You thought you were Hamlet, coming down that hall and did not understand we were not his foolish uncle!"

4. The rest of it: Romeo and Juliet, the comedies, most of the other tragedies, just _trash. Characters too weak to dominate the way they should or unrealistic ("blood never denies blood what they want" he says of the Capulets etc. smiling beatifically at Astrid.

5. Astrid has the copy of Titus Andronicus. Major Queen Tamora fangirl "We shall serve the Arnesians their royals in pie," Athos says, when Astrid sighs over missing their opportunity with Holland.

Athos is very theatrical, has a multitude of ideas for how to stage the Shakespeare sets with magic when they take Arnes, and is very keen to read other plays.

#am slowly using these as treats for myself as my semester barrels towards finals #my mantra all day yesterday was: “You get to talk Athos's fucked-up Shakespeare thoughts” if you just finish the final history paper #Florence Parpart. Jean Bartik. and Grace Hopper. for anyone interested. talking about how women have been crucial to the luxuries of our #century. all of which is to say: yes am absolutely still doing these and hope you enjoy this even half as much as I did writing it #Athos Dane #Shades of Magic

[backhurtyy]

JUST TOOK THE EASIEST TEST OF MY LIFE AND NOW I ONLY HAVE ONE MORE THING TO TURN IN AND THEN IM DONE. RAAAAHHH!!!

#you don’t understand this class has done nothing but make me feel so stupid all semester #like i did so poorly on the tests. got my first C and my first D on tests in this class. #but this test was literally just like the review quizzes i did nonstop yesterday #like same exact questions #i finished in SIX minutes #i’m on cloud fuckin nine #anyways after i finish my last assignment that’s due tonight you can expect me to be a lot more annoying on here again #i’ve just had a lot going on so i needed to take a break #BUT WERE SO FUCKING BACK!!!!

[dreamertrilogys]

LITERALLY me right now. it’s WARM & SUNNY outside it should genuinely be illegal to keep me trapped in a classroom rn

#i should’ve skipped fuck 😭😭 literally half the class skipped it’s a grade 12 course last period 2nd semester ofc everyone skipped #i’m going out w/ my friends after school tho </3 #GOD we’re not even doing anything. i even went to law today even tho i didn’t want to and i finished our bio lab AND my physics notes from #yesterday #.txt

[roarinsaurus]

i’m going in and out of “actually i’m good, i’m fine” and the most uncontrollable fits ever

i’m trying to study for my stats final tonight. i’m NOT confident in my ability and it’s so hard to prepare.

that’s not even the thing i’m most worried about. i have a whole paper to write after this. i didn’t start on it when i should have and now i have no clue how i’m going to do it when i just want to curl up and cry

#jay chatter #we had to direct my mom away from drinking yesterday and fuck i’m so glad i’m not home because i’d have to fight so hard #it’s fucking tempting. i just want to numb it. #for the life of me i can’t rn tho. i have to dig in and finish the semester #this is the hardest fucking thing i’ve had to do #alcohol

[orcelito]

ive got an exam in a bit over an hour and im cramming for it bc i spent all of yesterday thinking about trigun instead of studying. whatup

#speculation nation #and i didnt go to my fucking classes so i dont know this shit #this is my own fault lol. ugh #i just got vaguely suicidal a few weeks ago in response to school & my brain just COMPLETELY checked out to cope #im fine. but this is probably why ive been focusing on trigun so hard #my brain focusing HARD on the thing that brings me happiness. and focusing the Bare Minimum on what doesnt #which is troublesome when im still in the middle of the semester! lol! #any effort ive put in has been after wrangling my brain Extensively. bleh #work is taking about all of my Negative Experiences effort. i got none to spare for Anything else! #even dishes... no joke i havent done my dishes in like a month and im kinda scared to do them now lol #i did not do them yesterday. i did wash 2 mugs and 1 bowl as i made some grilled cheeses #so it could be worse. but i really just need to go for it #i have a feeling im not gonna be able to until after i finish my everything lol. haha #suicide ment/ #listen i scared myself badly enough that i signed myself up for therapy. that's how you know it's bad #when me. mr Hates Therapy willingly puts myself into therapy. bleugh

[drlavenderpepper]

i've watched/rewatched so many fucking million hour video essays over this past week while writing these stupid fucking lab reports 🥴

#like my youtube screen times are in the tens of hours on some days and all of that is video essays #cause lab reports are all i've been doing this week #and that's not even an exaggeration. i went to see the nutcracker with my mom and grandma on friday and aside from that #the only time i've spent out is for getting groceries or going to a cafe to do the lab reports when i got tired of my room #it's hell. it's abolute hell. i'm halfway through the last one of the 8 that i had to write #i am NOT doing this again i swear to fucking god i'm never leaving all of them to the very end of the semester like this #like yesterday i slept like 3 and a half hours somewhere between 6 am and 10 am cause it was the deadline day and i had to finish two #cause i only asked one of the lab assistants for an extra day. but yeah the most i've slept this week is like a little over 6 hours #it's almost over though FINALLY and i'm so happy i could cry lol

[scholarhect]

hey guys it’s finally getting nice out you know what that means

we regret to inform you that buying stuff from urban outfitters is back

#post tag #bought both shirts + the skirt + the sunglasses yesterday #thrilled to announce that i’ve actually read one of those books in that picture cover to cover #it’s the one i was assigned for class. but. well. at least i’ve read one #i thought having my books out here prominently displayed would shame me into reading them but it hasn’t worked #i was going to read fun home first. i’ve kept it next to my bed all semester and its still there #it’s short! it’s 200 pages and it’s a graphic novel it’s short as fuck #i read the first 2 chapters one night not long after i bought it. & then one more chapter one sunday morning a couple weeks ago #there’s 5 chapters. #actually maybe i should decide to finish it this week. i could do that

[qweenexplosionmurder]

so i passed out two times this week so i had some blood tests done today, and turns out im physically super healthy (thank god), im just having a mental breakdown !! im passing out on the bus stop bc im so fucking stressed !!

#my family and friends are being so kind and patient towards me #but my academic superiors ?? fuck em #told my thesis director yesterday that im having health issues #and today he gave me a hard time bc of some stupid non-issue #im so tired of both my thesis director and co-director #and im barely about to finish my 1st out of 4 semesters from my masters program 😭 #what the hell did i go into #and i swear these guys weren't this fucking insane just a few months ago #idk what the hell happened

[reignbowarbiter]

my mom is such a bitch i hate her so much

#cheese *blush* #the other day i got my portfolio back and it was an A- #btw all my grades this semester were As #and she said wow he (my professor) couldnt have given u an A? #like u never finished and I just got all As on my finals so idk what shes so upset about #and then she keeps bugging me to fix my room which is fine except my room is like #so insanely clean like compared to literally every other teenagers room ive been in it looks like heaven #the only thing thay looks dirty is my clothes on a chair and its like #6 pieces of clothes MAX and theyre all clean #and maybe like 2 hair clips on the floor and plushies that fell off the bed im just frustrated #i know im not dirty and i know im a good kid so why does she always act like i owe her more #btw i finished this semester literally yesterday #and i was in bed for most of the day today because im freaking exhausted from school #btw my english class had the professor fucking leave 3 weeks in and i STILL got an A on my 3 essays #and i was on my phone but i was drawing for the most part #and of course there are other horrors… but its little things like this that drive me crazy #and when my dads home he makes a mess literally everywhere he goes and she gets mad when we tell him and says we have to go easy on him #like why does he get to half ass everything and throw out stuff of ours that isnt trash and act like a total asshole #but when i have a cup in my room i get berated #trust when i get the job im trying for im out because ill be getting payed what my dad is #and for 1 person its more than enough -_-…

[oohlook-thevoid]

I've got a summer internship at a museum and I'm so fucking excited!!!!!

#i got the offer a few weeks ago but only officially sorted everything yesterday #the meantime was me worrying they mixed me uo with someone else coz I rlly can't believe I got this #I'm so fucking excited tho (but still have to finish this semester at uni and do assignments so need to chill) #the void's log

[kawaiijellymonster]

.

#yall friday and yesterday came straight from hell istg I'm losing my shit #first I literally was doing class or class adjacent stuff Friday from 8am to 9pm #i've been helping my friend move out of her dorm bc she got emergency housing bc her roommate is psychotic #i went to hang out w my friends for an hour friday night but they were all high and I don't feel comfortable around weed bc #highschool trauma #so i left after I finished eating some french fries and I finished a convo w a friend #then saturday I went on a spontaneous trip with my friends to get boba and do homework and we asked my roommate to drop something off #bc she didn't have plans for the day and seemed like she was vibing w laying low for the day #but she sent me a super passive agressive text so I was kinda nervous #then my partner sent me a text message bc we had problems earlier in the week and I got more on edge #then I got back to my room and my roommate wasn't there so I watched a show w a different friend #then I texted my partner and shit happened but basically they broke up w me bc my friends are too white and I'm an unengaging texter?? #and then my roommate got back and i was like #are u okay #and shes like #you asking me to do something for u and not inviting me to boba is the most hurtful thing to happen to me all semester #and I didn't invite her to boba bc she seemed tired and nauseous so I thought she wanted to chill #and then she said if I thought she wasn't doing so good why did i go to boba instead of taking care of her and I'm like??? kuz you're 20 yr #old and im not your mother??? #and I'm like ???? what the legitimate fuck #and she was like 'you left on Friday and didn't take care of me when I was high' #and then we was like dude u know I'm uncomfortable around #weed why the fuck would u expect me to take care of you u were with 6 other people and last year someone babied her when she was high #and she was pissed off for legitimate days #then she was all 'you knew i had a project that's overdue and I needed to work on it' #and I'm like I legit tried to help her with it 3 times and she kept blowing me off! #I cannot be responsible for her finishing her project #she spent the entire morning watching tv i spent the whole morning doing 60 pages of anthropology reading #all of this happened in 6 hours and then my period started #tw mental breakdown

[sluttyten]

a means to an end

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Fifteen: Hate Sex w/ Doyoung

Word Count: 4,602

Hating Kim Doyoung was so easy. 

He was good at everything, and he knew it. He was certainly the most skilled vocalist in the program. He was top of the class in every class you’d taken with him. He walked around the place like he was the prince of the university’s music program. And you hated that shit. 

To be fair, Doyoung kind of hated you as well. He thought you were lazy or slacked off just because you didn’t score as highly as him. No, the problem was more that he didn’t understand how hard some people have to work when they weren’t born with natural musical talent. You work hard, but he’s just been blessed by the gods or something unfair like that. 

For example, today you’d been in the music program’s recording studio since early afternoon. You were working incredibly hard on this project. You’d composed and written the music and lyrics, you were playing the instruments yourself, you were singing the song and the background vocals yourself. 

This song was going to be totally and completely yours. 

Even though it was taking what felt like eternity to finish it up. 

You were turning it in for a final project of this fall semester. There were still a few weeks left before the semester’s end, but you just wanted to get as close to finished with this as you could before all of the final projects for your other classes got piled on top of this one. Already you had the instrumental background down, but it was the vocals that were proving the most difficult. 

It was late, shortly after midnight when you sat down on the seat in the recording booth to take a listen to the track. You closed your eyes to really soak it all in, but you’ve had your eyes closed for maybe a minute of the song when you hear a voice interrupt from outside at the producer’s mixing table. 

“Are you sleeping right now?”

Kim Doyoung. 

You frown without opening your eyes. He’s paused your music, entered the recording studio when you had it reserved, and now he’s teasing you?

“At least use the space if you’re going to reserve it,” Doyoung says. 

You open one eye to look at him through the window. “Put my song back on.”

“Is that what that was?” Doyoung looks over at the monitor. “What’s it for?”

“It’s for none of your fucking business.” You stand up, heading back for the microphone. “I am recording, and you’re interrupting.”

You watch through the window as Doyoung leans down over the lyric sheet you’d left out there, one you’d been scribbling edits and corrections on before you came in here. 

He’s dressed like he just rolled out of bed to come into the studio, so maybe you should be teasing him about that. A hoodie and some patterned pants that sure look like fleece sleep pants. The hood is tugged up over his hair, his sleeves pulled down to his fingertips as he reaches for the page, running his finger along the lyrics you wrote. 

“Doyoung!” You call his name loudly over the mic. He only deigns to flick his gaze up towards you before he looks back down. “Just go away! Why are you here?”

“I wanted to sing,” he says, and then, “You’re singing this song? With these notes?”

If he’s about to insult your voice, you’re going to throw hands. Already your blood is beginning to boil; you’re just imagining throwing off the headphones, stalking out the door of the recording booth, and putting your hands on him to physically remove him from the studio. 

“Maybe I should give it a try?” Doyoung says it like he’s not actually asking, and then you realize that he’s not asking. He’s already pressing the button to begin a recording, already walking to the door of the booth, already pressing it open and stepping into your space. 

The first thing you notice is that, yes, Doyoung is wearing pajama pants. The second is that he smells nice. You can’t place the scent, just that it’s relaxing and ridiculously makes you want to lean in for a better whiff. 

“Doyoung, fuck off. You’re not recording my song.” You push his hands away as he reaches for your headphones. 

“Oh, come on. You’re not hitting the notes, are you?” He smiles, smug. 

This time when you touch him, your palms are planted against his shoulders, shoving him back against the wall of the recording booth. Tragically, you trip over your own feet in the process, accidentally throwing yourself right after him. Your chest crashes against his. 

Doyoung groans, but that’s mostly due to the way that your arm digs into his stomach as you push away from him. Your cheek is still pressed against his chest though and it takes you trying to push yourself away from him one more time and failing, for you to realize that somehow your earring got caught on his sweatshirt. 

“I’m stuck!” You whine, curling your fingers against Doyoung’s hoodie. He pushes at you, but you pull yourself closer again, lifting your hands up his chest, trying to get to your earring. “Don’t push. I just need to get untangled.”

Doyoung makes a mildly annoyed noise, and then his hands are brushing against your cheek. “Let me do it. You just keep tugging.” 

You let your hands fall away, but you keep feeling Doyoung’s fingers bumping your cheeks, touching your ear. You grumble, and Doyoung doesn’t seem too pleased either. 

“Just hold still, baby,” Doyoung says, his tone soft yet frustrated. 

He tugs at your ear lobe, and you want to shove at his stomach and make him stop, but that would just make your ear hurt worse. 

Eventually, after what feels like twenty minutes, but in reality is probably only two, you feel the release on your ear. You pull your head back unhindered, and look up at Doyoung. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. “But you can still leave. This is my song, I don’t need you to record it. Get out.”

Doyoung stares down at you. “You know your time was up at midnight, right?” 

That’s not true. Probably. Technically you didn’t book it for the hours after midnight, but that’s only because you didn’t think anyone else would be coming in to use it until at least the first classes of the day started at seven. 

“Did you know you’re insufferable, Doyoung?” 

He grins. “You know, you’ve told me that before. But this is my time now. So technically, I should be the one recording. Or, you can tell me what you’re recording. Maybe I could help.”

You snort. “Help? You’re offering to help me with something?”

Doyoung nods. “Maybe I’m a little too tired. I don’t feel like hating you right now.”

You take several steps back from him, putting a considerable amount of space between you and him. And then you fold your arms across your chest. “This is my song. Entirely mine. I’ve done everything for this song—writing, composing, lyrics and instrumental. I don’t need help.”

Doyoung folds his arms over his chest too, mirroring you. “I think you do need my help. You’re too tense. You need to loosen up or else you’ll hear it in your voice in the recording. I can help with that.”

“And how do you plan on that?” You drop your arms since he’s mocking you for it, but then your arms just feel awkward hanging there. 

The last thing you expect is for Doyoung to step forward, to put his hand on your shoulder, and pull you towards him. For the second time in the last ten minutes, you crash into Doyoung’s chest. But this time he stops you with his lips. 

Your heart stops. 

It’s hardly an exaggeration. 

But admittedly, his kiss does more to relax you than you thought it might. But it also serves to annoy you because you hate Doyoung, why is he kissing you, and why does it feel so nice?

This time when you push him away, Doyoung goes easily. He falls back with his shoulders against the wall of the recording booth. 

“Why would you do that?” You ask. 

“Did it work?” Doyoung asks. 

No, you want to tell him, but you know that you’re already betrayed. You’re blushing, you can’t look at him, and maybe on any other day at any other time that’s not late at night, you could manage to pass both of those things off as just hating him and being annoyed with him. But not tonight. 

Slowly you lift your gaze up from the floor, up Doyoung’s pajama pants clad legs, up the expanse of his soft hoodie, up to his face. 

“I hate you,” you tell him. And you mean it. Probably. But your heart is pounding, your face is warm, and your voice is just barely above a whisper with no bite to it at all. So how true can your words be? Repeating them makes them no truer, but you do it for good measure. “I hate you.”

Doyoung smirks. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

You do, and you hate to admit that. 

You don’t like Kim Doyoung. 

He’s too good at everything, and much too cocky about it. He’s handsome too, always making sure he looks and smells nice, even when he’s early for the early morning class you have together, standing just a few feet down the hall from you while you wait for the professor to arrive and open the door. It just seems like he’s an overachiever, a try-hard, not to mention naturally blessed with talent and looks and (you’re pretty sure) money as well. 

So you don’t like him, but in this moment you want him to kiss you again. 

But you’re not going to throw yourself at him. You’re not going to ask him for it like you know he wants you to. 

Doyoung watches you for a moment, waiting for an answer that you never give. But your patience results in Doyoung speaking next, and you didn’t expect the words out of his mouth. 

“Can I kiss you just once more? Then I’ll leave you to record.”

Your heart stutters. 

The way he’s just worded that, like he wants to kiss you. Like you’re doing him a favor bestowing a kiss on him instead of the original way he framed it to be the opposite. 

You walk closer. “Why do you want to kiss me so bad, huh?”

Doyoung licks his lips, his gaze fixed on yours as you approach, closing the distance from three feet, to one foot, to inches apart. Your toes bump against his. 

“Why are you here, Doyoung?” You ask, because now you don’t believe he came down here just with the intention of recording, not when he’s standing here asking you to kiss him. 

“Do I have to answer that?” He says, and his eyes are on your lips.

“I never thought I’d see the day Kim Doyoung doesn’t have an answer,” you tease, but you don’t have the heart in your voice to tease him more, not when you foolishly want him to kiss you, all of the hate forgotten for just this moment as you crave his kiss, and certainly not when he leans down. 

“I have an answer,” he murmurs in the moment before his lips meet yours. 

You should hate this. Shouldn’t want to even have him in your space let alone touching you and kissing you. But you find yourself leaning into it, kissing him back. Your fingers twist in the front pocket of his hoodie, and his hand is at your shoulder again, sliding toward your neck, his thumb moving in soothing circles. 

The kiss starts out gentle and a little tentative, like he’s worried you might bite him or push him away. Doyoung gives you more than he takes, and soon you’re pushing closer to him, hungrily making your move. Doyoung takes your initiative, sliding a hand around your back, holding you tighter against him as you each sink in deeper to the kiss, the long-fueled hatred transmuting into passion, the well breaking open, sending cascading heat through you. 

When you slide your fingers away from the pocket of his hoodie to instead inch then beneath, Doyoung makes a soft sound into the kiss, but he doesn’t stop. Neither do you. 

Fingertips brush over his bare skin, tucking against the band of his underwear above the waistline of his pajama pants. You can feel him growing hard against you, just a little bit, pressed against your belly. How long has it been for him since he last kissed someone to already be half-hard just from a little kissing?

He first moans softly when you slide your hand down inside his pajama pants, fitting his growing bulge against your palm, still with the layer of his underwear in between. But he rolls his hips forward, rutting against your hand for a moment. 

Maybe it’s his brief loss of control, but something drives Doyoung to spin you around so now you’re the one with your back to the wall. He pulls your hand from inside his pants, and with his fine fingers wrapped around your wrist, he lifts your arm up above your head, pinning it to the wall. 

“Don’t touch me.” Doyoung’s voice is low, and there’s that snippy tone that you’re familiar with. 

“Then don’t kiss me,” you reply. “You’re the one who’s hard just from kissing me. I thought I might as well help you out. Tit for tat, right? You help me, I help you, then we never talk about this again.”

Doyoung’s fingers flex around your wrist, and he stares down at you. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, temptation drawing him back in. His lips just brush against yours this time before he pulls away. 

“If we do this, it doesn’t mean I like you, okay?” His cheeks glow a warm shade of pink. “It’s just late, I’m horny, and it’s gonna help you too right? Loosen you up? For—For the recording, I mean.”

You smile, amused by Doyoung’s blush and his fumbling words. “I still don’t like you either, having sex with you wouldn’t change that. Just a means to an end right now, Kim Doyoung.”

He makes a face, like he’s annoyed, but that doesn’t stop him from immediately leaning down to kiss you again. Nor does it stop you from kissing him too, from pulling your wrist out of Doyoung’s loosened grip so you can slide your hand right back down the front of his pants. This time he doesn’t stop you. 

In fact, this time Doyoung touches you too. He mirrors your move, sliding a hand down the front of the pants you’re wearing. You smile into the kiss as Doyoung hesitates, making a soft sound of confusion and surprise when he finds bare skin beneath his fingers instead of panties. 

When you stroke your hand over the bulge inside his pants, Doyoung starts touching you too. His fingers explore lower until his middle finger reaches your clit. 

You first moan as Doyoung circles his finger against your clit, a surge of need entering your bloodstream. 

After that, you both move pretty quickly. 

Doyoung teases you on his fingers, making you whimper into the kiss as he presses a finger inside you, grinding his palm against your clit. You abandon caution, diving your hand inside his underwear, and Doyoung bites at your lip when you wrap your hand around his bare cock, fisting the now fully hard erection. 

There’s a little pushing, a bit of biting, a lot of teasing each other then. 

It’s no surprise that Kim Doyoung, the man with natural-born talent and good at everything, brings you quickly to orgasm on his fingers. 

He’s smirking when you break the kiss and look up at him, his fingers still stroking against that spot inside of you. Your thighs tremble, your fingers clutch at his hoodie, and your other hand goes still on his cock. 

Doyoung laughs. 

You push at his stomach with a groan. “Don’t laugh. It’s rude.”

“You came so quickly though,” he laughs, “Were you that worked up? Wound so tight that just my fingers were enough to make you cum like that?”

You smack your hand against his belly again. “Shut the fuck up.”

Nothing wipes that cocky, smug grin off Doyoung’s face. Not even when you twist your hand tighter in his hoodie and drag him back down to kiss you. 

You, admittedly, do keep whimpering a little against his lips as he’s still touching your pussy. So the smugness, with an ego as big as Doyoung’s is, makes sense. 

He doesn’t even pull his hand away from you when you draw your hand out of his pants. Doyoung just keeps touching you, seemingly unaffected by you reaching for your pants and pushing them down. You need more. Not just his fingers. Ridiculous and foolish and non-hatred as it may seem, you just need Doyoung’s cock inside you. 

He finally gets the message when you step out of your pants, kicking them aside. You bring a hand up to the back of his neck, and Doyoung draws back out of the kiss only long enough for you to be able to issue your demand.

“Fuck me.”

Doyoung doesn’t need telling twice. 

Eagerly, Doyoung pulls his hands away from you. He doesn’t stop kissing you, in fact, his kisses may just grow more smothering and hungry, both of you kissing each other like it’s all you need. You feel his hands moving as he frees himself from his pants. 

“Shit, shit,” Doyoung groans against your lips. “No condom.”

For a moment your frazzled mind mourns this encounter, surely cut prematurely short, but then you remember. 

“I’m clean, and I’m on birth control. It’s fine.” You crush your mouth to his again. “Just do it.”

Again, he doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Doyoung reaches for your thigh, lifting it up to his hip. You break the kiss to look down, to watch his hand around his cock, fingers slicking through the precum at the tip to spread it down his length, to watch as he taps the tip against your clit, and then at last, as Doyoung pushes inside you. 

You drop your head back against the recording booth’s wall with a moan. Thank God the booth is sound proof, so if anyone is passing by even at this late hour, they won’t hear. 

Doyoung’s lips skim your jaw, just a tiny hint of his teeth as well. He sinks in deeper, his fingers bruising at your thigh, a low sound pulling from his throat. 

You lift a hand to his cheek, pulling Doyoung’s mouth back to yours. The kiss is hot, sharp with teeth nipping at lips and tongues meeting. It’s almost violent, but there’s so much more to it too. He drags your other leg up, hands gripping at both thighs as you wrap them both around his hips while he thrusts in. 

The cardigan sweater you’re wearing is barely holding on to you, slipping from your shoulders as Doyoung’s powerful thrusts slam into you. His pants and underwear slide down his thighs to pool around his knees and ankles. 

Your tailbone aches as Doyoung presses you back against the wall, only to pull your hips forward into him as he draws back, then slam into you against the wall once more. The way he lifts you, thrusting into you, driving you into the wall, forcing moans from you, and his own from himself. 

It shouldn’t be allowed for Doyoung to sound as good moaning as he does at singing. Hearing his voice in your ear, it does things to you that it shouldn’t. 

He pins you back against the wall, grinding into you in a way that has both of you moaning together. Doyoung’s head rests against yours, his lips right at your ear. You can hear his ragged breath, and you wonder if he’s close, if he’s holding himself back. 

“Doyoung,” you gasp his name, pulling your head back to lean your cheek against his. “Whatever you do, just don’t cum inside me.” 

“Then where do you want it?” He moans, and it sounds like a complaint. “On your face? Bet that’s where you let all the guys cum.”

You don’t even think about it. It’s just your body’s natural reaction that you lean back from Doyoung and you slap him across the face. 

You see the pink of your handprint blossom across his cheek, watch him open his mouth and work his jaw for a moment before he turns back to face you. 

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” You tell him. “Call me a whore again and this is done. I’ll leave you with blue balls and you can go cry about it while you jerk yourself off. Asshole.”

Doyoung stares at you. You stare at him. 

You don’t expect an apology and you don’t get one. Not in words anyway. 

Doyoung’s mouth is softer against yours now when he kisses you. He holds you less like he’s trying to crush you, and his movements against you are slower, shallower thrusts which just feel more intimate than his brutal pace from moments ago. It might not be so much of an apology, but it kind of feels like one. 

Perhaps as a continuation of his nonverbal apology, Doyoung brings you to orgasm first. There’s no denying that he really is good at everything he does, working you quickly to the point of no return, tipping you into bliss. 

You like the way it’s obvious as you come down that Doyoung is holding back. He’s broken the kiss to just watch you, his jaw clenched, his body only moving with erratic short thrusts, every part of him wound right, like just a stray brush of your fingers over his shoulder could set him off. Half-contained moans break loose from him, and you like how out of control he looks right now. 

“Aren’t you gonna cum too?” You ask, and you run your hand over his shoulder, up the side of his throat. You curl your fingers behind his neck, drawing your thumb over the sensitive pulse point just beneath his jaw. You feel it jump at your touch. “Why are you holding back?”

When you lift your fingers up to brush over his lips, Doyoung opens his mouth, biting teasingly at your fingertips. 

“Come on, show me how much you hate me. Fuck me, Doyoung. Let me feel it.” 

He closes his eyes when you trace your fingers up over this cheekbone. 

“Fuck me like you really, really hate me.” He shivers when your fingernails tickle down his cheek, and again when you lean in to touch your lips to his ear. “Cum inside me.”

“But you said—“

You cling a little tighter to him as he tries to pull back to look you in the eye. You just keep your head right beside his. “I know what I said. I changed my mind.”

You’re on birth control. You’re fine if he cums inside you, and besides, you’re not ready to give up on this yet. This mild truce while he’s buried inside you. 

Your permission is the last thing Doyoung needed. 

He lets go, picking up that brutal pace again, and you cling to him as he fucks you against the wall. Both of you are moaning, gasps of pleasure and a tiny bit of pain as he bruises your tailbone up against the wall. But Doyoung is loud, and you love it, the way his voice overtakes yours as he finally hits his peak. 

You watch him as he cums. The way his eyes close, face scrunching up while his mouth falls open, and he looks beautiful. He rolls his hips forward, pushing his cock into you the last few times as he spills his cum inside you. 

Another weak orgasm sweeps through you, and you close your eyes to savor it, but it doesn’t last long enough, over before you’re ready. 

“I hate you,” you gasp, your cheek pressed against his, fingers digging into his neck and his shoulder. You hold tightly to Doyoung, not wanting to slip, just wanting to let him hold you here until this lust-filled illusion fades from over both of you. 

“I hate you too,” Doyoung murmurs. There’s no heat behind his words, very little truth. And when he turns his lips to the side, brushing quickly over your cheek, it has you questioning everything. 

Eventually you do pull yourselves apart. Unsticking your sweaty bellies and thighs and hips from each other. Doyoung tucks his cock away quickly, a blush highlighting his cheeks as if now, after all of that, he’s embarrassed for you to see it. You pull your pants back on, disgusted about how you’re probably going to ruin this pair of pants as his cum leaks out. 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell him. “And I’m not done in here, so don’t think you can steal it while I’m gone.”

Doyoung laughs, the sound quiet. He watches you go. 

When you return a few moments later, having peed as a precaution, but also done your very best to clean yourself up so as not to ruin this pair of pants, you find the studio and the booth empty. All signs of Doyoung gone except for the lyric sheet left sitting in front of the monitor with a note scribbled on the paper in his handwriting. 

“I like the song. Moving, meaningful lyrics, a sweet melody. I don’t know what it’s for, but it’s really good.”

Your heart swells with pride, but immediately you remember this is Doyoung. You don’t need his approval. It’s your song; no one else’s opinion truly matters. 

Brushing aside the lyric sheet, you look at the monitor and realize that a recording is in progress still. A long recording. Now that you think about it, you have a vague recollection of Doyoung starting a recording session before he barged into the booth. Did you accidentally just make an audio sex tape with Doyoung?

You scramble for a pair of headphones, slipping them on and hitting play. 

Of course, you immediately hear the sound of you and Doyoung bickering. As you sit there and listen, your heart pounding and your body growing warm, the bickering turns to physical fighting, and then you hear the kiss. You hear quiet words exchanged, and that turns to kissing again, which turns to moans. 

You sit there in shock, listening to the sounds of you and Doyoung having sex, your moans almost harmonizing, as ridiculous as that sounds. 

Even more ridiculous is when you realize that the sound of the two of you moaning together would actually fit perfectly in the background of the second half of your song. Toned down a bit, layered under instruments, almost to the point of being unrecognizable, but they would be absolutely perfect there. 

The two of you sound too good together to delete it. 

You click save on the recording session. 

Damn, Kim Doyoung, you think angrily. This song was meant to be totally and completely yours. 

Yet still, you figure the argument can be made that even the sound of him moaning in the background of your song can be considered yours. You did that to him. 

But you won’t be giving him any credit for it. 

#Doyoung smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct 127 #nct #doyoung #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #nct kinktober

[atxxzist]

broken | c.s (10)

prev // next // series m.list

pairing: choi san x reader

word count: 6.5k

warning: u r gonna have 2 read to find out (nothing traumatizing tho i promise!)

"so, you were playing tags with the kids and fell?"

"yes."

you vividly recall the lies you told your friends--how you got the cut on your knees being one of them amongst others--but they were just happy you made it back safely and didn't get any more hurt than that.

after returning to seoul, your days are back to being nothing short of mundane tasks, hanging with your friends and enduring yunho's constant whines because minji had to go back, and then the mostly lazing around in your room and doing anything to pass time.

but with your eyes stuck to the ceiling and your head hitting the back of your pillow for the majority, your mind can't help but to wander.

wander back to the trip and how sweet and caring san was. his lips that spoke genuine words toward you, and his eyes that showed something much deeper in them. something much more than just physical touches and empty sex; something that could've fooled anyone into thinking he's in love with you.

but by now, you've learned to not keep your head too high because choi san will only give you false hopes, never failing to remind you of what exactly the relationship between you and him really is--if his silence ever since the trip speaks of anything.

no texts, no calls; no renditions of such thing that will give away you were just in his arms a week ago. but you've come to terms with it that it is fine; unsure if the small ache is disappointment (if that's even possible anymore) or just being sad overall.

but again, you've accepted the situation to some degree.

you focus on integrating yourself back into the school mindset where academic achievements were the center of your universe (for the most part), since the semester is around the corner again.

and because the semester is around the corner, mingi and yunho wanted to check out a place; a noodle restaurant recommended by a friend of mingi, eager to go because of all the positive reviews.

"so how do we do this? paper rock scissors and whoever loses have to pay?" mingi quirks, one eyebrows raised and flipping through the menu.

"nah. y/n makes the most money, this is her treat to us," yunho says, to which you react with a scowl.

"says who? i don't even have work during summer."

"what happened to that program you were talking about?" mingi throws in your face, and it's only until then that you remember the 'summer program' you supposedly came back from.

"that was less than a week and we don't get paid much compared to the regular hours," you save yourself, somewhat even proud for having thought of a lie so fast on the spot.

mingi rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"greedy. you are so fucking greedy."

you shrug, unable to help it all.

"well, i'm sorry. i've never had this much money before."

"don't make this dark now."

it's your turn to roll your eyes.

"fine, i'll pay. but nothing over ten dollars."

"stingy too, how unfortunate," mingi mutters, provoking a kick to his ankle from you under the table, lasering a glare in return.

in spite of all the teasing and snarky remarks, because you have a soft spot for him and is silently thankful for all mr. song had done for you, you give in and let him order three bowls of naengmyeon, two of which he's probably not even going to finish.

yunho on the other hand is nice enough to spare your wallet a little, settling on only one that's enough for the evening.

summer feels like it's passing by in a blink of an eye. like it was just yesterday that you, mingi, and yunho were fighting over what to do and where to go. now all of a sudden, you're going to be back on campus soon enough, wallowing in the pit of assignments and exams that will eat away your mental health.

it's an awful vision, because you don't want to let go of this summer.

mingi and yunho are chatting about their library assistant jobs, and you're listening with attentive ears, chopsticks poking at your noodles when a buzz goes off in your bag.

your body reacts first, eyes shooting to your friends who's still lost in the conversation, knowing it can't be them who texted you. and unless yuna is coming home early, there's only one other person who has your number.

🟣: hey 🙂 are you free to call tonight? i want to talk to you abt something. lmk.

y/n: i'm out right now but should be back soon. i'll let you know

🟣: sounds good! talk to you then 💕

it's relieving until it's not. the highs and lows alternating like getting a hit of your favorite drug before the effect wears off and you just feel nothing. numb. all too used to it, aware it's not good for you but unable to stop.

how long will it go on before declaring that something so temporary and unsecured is unfulfilling, no matter how good the high is.

not anytime soon, unfortunately.

you text him with excitement upon the return, the dinner over a lot earlier than you had expected; yunho having talked about some paperworks he still has to finish, and mingi for finishing all three bowls and groaning about the food coma he's going through.

y/n: just got back. call me whenever

you sit with a fluttering kind of excitement, thinking about what could possibly be this important to prompt a call from san this late, but also honestly just ecstatic to hear from him again.

it takes a few minutes before the ring of your phone starts, having answered so fast, there's no way he doesn't know you were sitting in nothingness just waiting for his call.

"hey," he greets from the other side.

"hey," you respond just short of a shy whisper.

"i hope i'm not prolonging sleep for you."

"no, you're good. i'm not even that tired."

you wonder if san really cares whether you're getting sleep or not or if it's just proper courtesy to act like he does when he took a girl out on a week-long trip, only to disregard her completely after like the moments and hours spent with each other means nothing.

"no worries, i'll make this fast," he says, clearing his throat. "wooyoung's throwing another party before school starts, and i called to ask if you want to come with? it's going to be a couple days from now, so you'll have plenty of time to be prepared."

it's quiet as you take the time to think, knowingly aware of the fact that taking up the offer to be seen publicly with san at wooyoung's party has a lot of things at stake.

"no pressure, just thought i'd ask," he adds when the silence only stretches on.

"i'll be there," you say so suddenly, like all the thoughts and logics from before flying out your head just for the one chance to see the boy who made you question so many things within the past few days.

"okay, cool. i'll text you the detail when the time comes."

you don't get anything from san until the day before the actual party.

a simple text from him about picking you up and when it's going to start so you will have the time to compose yourself for the loud and obnoxious setting of what one usually consists of.

you have made sure to double check when you were exiting the dorm building that nobody you know happened to coincidentally see you get into his car--a fight with your friends with only a few weeks left of summer not on your wishlist.

you guys arrive a little past 8 p.m., san proceeding to drag you through the house almost the same way mingi did; brushing past the hoard of drunk people, whatever they're smoking, and the flashy lights that comes in all colors.

you catch a sighting of that old couch that was the best company at both the event you attended prior, pushed against the wall and a lot discolored this time around.

with the amount of parties wooyoung probably throws, you're honestly impressed it's still even intact.

but you're quick to pry away, moving back around only to hit right into san's back at the sudden stop. he turns to you and giggles at the wide look on your face, having noticed your curious eyes that would roam each passing scene.

"we can stay in here, it's a lot less crowded," he says, and you nod in return, doing a once-over of the room and recognizing the kitchen where you first talked to him. a place so bittersweet.

"i'm gonna go get us drinks first. punch or beer?"

"i'll take some punch."

"alright. i'll be back."

you watch him disappear behind the crowd of people and begin looking for a spot to settle in.

there's two guys over at the corner with red solo cups, chatting away and seemingly paying no attention to anyone else. then another pair of girls by the counters also engaged in a conversation.

while it's not your definition of peace and quiet, you'll take it over the rave going on just a couple feet outside.

you prop against the counter closest to the sink and wait until you can see san's figure making its way back in, one cup in each hand and walking to where you are.

"thank you," you utter as he hands you yours, placing his on the empty space and settling in front of you, observing as you take a slight sip.

"they changed the flavor," you comment, licking some remains off your lips.

"yeah, every once in a while," he replies, taking a swig of his cup before putting it down again.

you nod, biting down your bottom lip and thinking of what to say next; another question at the tip of your tongue again.

"do you uh... come to these parties often?"

he was here all of the two times you came and talked about them on more than one occasion. you suppose, it's only a given someone like him would come to a place full of entertainment; each passing person walking with confidence and unfazed by anything.

after all, he is the life of the party.

"once or twice a week. sometimes three."

the numbers leaving him like they're small quantities. but two or three definitely sounds like a lot, especially if you're talking about a party of this size. you wonder just how much resources wooyoung is wasting.

"i see..." you simply mumble, quiet under your breath.

"how's your knee?" he asks, prompting you to take a quick glance at it, the once before red color turning into a lighter pink, and the pain feeling like a much dull one.

"it's healing."

he nods, attention moving to down another sip.

"did your friends ask?"

"they did, but they bought the story i told them."

he chuckles and shakes his head, a smirk creeping up.

"you know, you're a lot more cunning than you let on."

"i must be around you too much," you tease with the subtle jab, cranking the volume of his laughter as he stares at you so charmingly. and charming he is indeed, you have officially lost count of the amount of partygoers that would flock to the kitchen to greet him; talk to him, like he's the brightest flame in the room. a complete people magnet.

you can only deliver small, awkward head exchanges with them while san oozes all the confidence and charisma in the world. you will always be amazed at how someone like san and mingi can just talk to anyone.

the small smile on your face can't be helped, watching him in his natural element, making something inside of you churn with admiration but a painful realization all at once.

his eyes peers across the room, bidding goodbyes to the ones leaving and then hello's to the next person to come in, all while your gaze only hold his as if he has all the answers to your problems--like he's the embodiment of hope.

you're also drawn to him; his brightly lit flame, no different to any others in the room.

"this is y/n." san's voice snaps you out, blinking your lashes to a boy whose hair is bleached in blonde and staring at you with equally amusing eyes, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"she's cute," he comments courtly, parting with a smile and going off to join the two from before at the corner, their introductions audibly out of your range.

"that's chris," san starts again, your attention moving back to him. "he's studying abroad, but just thought i'd let you know of his existence because you're going to see him quite a bit if you're going to start attending more of these."

you only hum in acknowledgement and nod, not stressing too much about having to remember chris or anything, unsure how many more of these parties you'll be showing up to.

little do you know, this party will be the start of all rendezvous between you and san, all of them similar in a way but each with their own variations.

yuna returns two days before classes officially starts.

attempting to roll in her pink suitcase, sunhat, and jumpsuit, she announces her arrival to your figure still stuck on your bed with feet kicking into the air as you randomly jot down your new schedule onto your notebook.

"hey, you're back," you cry out, jumping right out of bed to help her squeeze through the doorway.

"yes i am."

"how was the trip?"

she sighs, throwing her hat off to the end of her bed where it lands perfectly.

"good for the most part. i would've gotten back earlier but the flight from japan to korea got delayed due to some weather issues. then my father lost his ticket and had to repurchase. but overall decent."

you laugh, reaching behind to shut the door.

"good to hear."

yuna almost forgot what she was going to do until she catches the notebook sitting openly on your sheet.

"oh, right!" you watch with an intrigued gaze as she digs through the bag on her shoulder.

"i got you something."

you can't even be surprised by the act. it's just so yuna of her for you to joke about something and her to actually do it.

"you didn't have to. i was just kidding around."

she shakes her head and pulls the item out: a new and shiny notebook covered in yellow with cartoon characters on the front, a lot thicker in appearance and holding much more pages.

"no worries. i wanted to. saw it while in japan and automatically thought of you."

the way your heart pulls together at the act of kindness brings about the biggest smile on your face, you could almost leap in and give her a hug.

"thank you," you say, so soft and tender, the idiot smile still haven't left.

"of course! i wanted to get you something computer-related but i don't know much about those, so i apologize. i saw you writing in your notebook a lot so i figured maybe you like writing."

you chuckle in response, thinking to yourself that for someone who's rarely ever around, she's awfully observant, even picking it out in your favorite color.

"well, i'm glad you didn't because i am traumatized by it. i changed my major a while ago."

"oh?" she perks with some form of fascination. "to writing?"

"yes. creative writing."

"you know, i have an uncle who runs a firm and he's always looking for technical writers for their products, as well as for their website and whatnot. i mean, i don't know if that's exactly creative writing, but if that's something that piques your interest, let me know."

"isn't that like... nepotism?" you're joking for the most part but also with a genuine curioisity about being able to secure a job because of your rich friend. but then again, your current job was only because of san as well.

"i have no idea, but if you're decent, my uncle has no reason to not hire you. food for thought. if you want to wait until graduation, that's fine too. just let me know."

the one day left of summer is spent fulfilling a promise you made to mingi and yunho about catching a movie at the theater. a new, better, theater with adjustable seatings and the outside not littered with graffitis.

it's a little bit more costly, but you all agreed it was worth it.

the walk back to the dorms is pure torture for you, both of the boys unable to stop the teasing about your sudden passion for writing.

for as long as they've known you, that's definitely one they've never heard before, bringing up all the times you'd stick to reading picture books (because to be a good writer is to read a lot according to them) and struggled writing a 500 words essay.

"you guys literally can't expect me to be the same person a year or so ago. my interests can change, and my brain is still developing. mingi, you're a psychology major, you should know that!" you shriek in defense.

"well, yes, but, there's just some changes about you lately. tell us, when did this interest start?"

you roll your eyes, a deep groan leaving.

"do you guys have to know every detail?"

"obviously yes, so we can talk you out of it, miss wannabe nobel prize winner in literature."

"mingi, literally shut the fuck up. you gave one advice and suddenly you're a psycologist."

"hey, it's all working out so far, isn't it?"

yunho laughs at the banter, waiting until he's in the clear to say something.

"we're kidding. well, i'm kidding. anything you write, i'll be happy to read. even if it's just prince charming coming on a horse to save you."

mingi snickers.

"don't give her ideas now."

"i literally hate the both of you."

intro to creative writing. whether it's to prove both of your friends wrong, or to console yourself that you're worthy of yuna's offer, you want to take it seriously; dive into it that's more than just the short entries in your notebook or the vivid imagination in your head.

thankfully, within just an hour into the class, you can say the environment is a lot more friendly and welcoming. a good divide of both males and females and everyone definitely looks a lot more approachable.

the first week of classes is nothing special. instructors usually just taking the time to go over the course schedule and what's to be expected.

the second week is when you start kind of getting into the gist of it. the class tasked with a short literary piece and dissecting the meaning behind it.

it's not anything exciting, but is an overall improvement to your experience so far.

the third week is when you get another text from san. when you're mostly busy and occupied, it's easy to not think of him. but when he reminds you of his existence again, it's hard to think of anything but him--which is the problem.

he tells you of the party that usually happens at the beginning of the semester, and you're starting to think they have one for just any occasion. or maybe wooyoung just needs a reason to keep throwing these parties.

you're hesitant at first, unsure about spending your night at a place full of alcohol, weed, and people who probably doesn't remember their name since that's the last thing that should be on your mind if you want to take your courses more seriously.

but all it takes is another plead from san for you to fold pathetically, arriving at the party with him hand in hand.

it plays out all the same, with him pulling you through the open spaces and greeting the few he knows along the way, big dimples and a handsome smile before excusing himself to go off with you to the kitchen.

it is all the same as well, just a little more crowded this time perhaps, but that doesn't stop him from backing you into a counter as you gawk at him wide-eyed.

he's not shy to deliver a kiss to your jawline, his hands finding way around your hips and resting on them with ease.

only until you whisper something does he pull away, watching how you move your eyes to the strangers also in the room, a rosy pink shade decorating your flustered cheeks.

"t-there's people here."

he has to giggle it off, your adorable nature truly the saving grace because if you already think a kiss is going to faze these people, he thinks you might go into cardiac arrest knowing the shit they actually do at events like this.

"they don't mind, trust me," he assures, his grip tightening around your hips before lounging forward for a deep kiss.

then every party after that is similar in that it starts all the same, with san eventually leading the way to the kitchen and if you guys are lucky and there's no one, he does more than just a kiss.

if not the kitchen, you guys will hang in the hallway or bathroom upstairs, make out and lose a sense of time, and maybe have sex the couple instances you guys were lucky to have found an empty bedroom.

chris is there every time, always in a corner or lurking somewhere in the background, sometimes even watching the door for you and san.

“that’s chris,” san starts again, your attention moving back to him.

“he’s studying abroad, but just thought i’d let you know of his existence because you’re going to see him quite a bit if you’re going to start attending more of these.”

you've come to develop some sort of attachment to chris at these parties, that if san was nowhere in sight, you would turn him--the only other person you knew.

and an almost perfect attendance one after another, you realize mingi just might be right.

“well, yes, but, there’s just some changes about you lately."

perhaps there is something different about you these days; the boy you've been hanging with opening your eyes to the fun you've been missing out on, and maybe you do want to come out of your shell a little bit.

but it doesn't hit you how much of these parties you've been attending until exam week creeps in and the only way to study for them is to go cold turkey for one, maybe even two weeks until you pass all of them.

what really sets reality for you though, is when yuna throws a passing comment about how much later you've been coming home. how she even sometimes make it back before you. that's when you start to think it might be just a bit bad, needing to tone it down before your friends catches on.

still, the most impressive fact is that you haven't run into wooyoung at his own parties, yet. not that you want to test your luck.

"i won't be able to make it," you tell san on the phone, a low wail that leaves him shortly.

"aww, why not?"

"exams are coming up and i uh... i want to stay inside and study."

the stark contrast of your words even amuses you. that no matter what fun and entertainment you've been exposed to, you will always crawl back into the girl that priotizes getting good grades and is rather nerdy, even if you despise the workload with such strong hatred.

"oh, alright." he giggles quietly. "you're still coming to the school carnival, though, right?"

"yes. i'll be there."

"okay. i'll see you then, and have fun studying."

"pfft. have fun at the party, and tell chris i said hi."

the carnival is a fundraising campaign so nothing fancy or anything like that, obviously. it's a much watered down event, but you figure since your friends won't be available due to their jobs, it doesn't hurt to go with san.

it takes place in the quad of your university, string lightings everywhere; on the trees, around the booths and food stalls, and smaller ones on the cement walkway.

the smells of cotton candy, popcorns, and corndogs greet you upon arrival, turning to san for him to suggest the first thing to do.

his voice is quiet under the loud music and laughters of those around, you have to lean in just to hear him.

"want to play a game?"

"sure." you nod.

a balloon dart game in the back intrigues him--three dollars per person, the sign says. the student running the booth motioning with enthusiam as you two inch closer.

san drops the payment for both you and him into the fundraising box, handing you a set of darts consisting of three.

"you go first or i go?" he quirks an eyebrow in amusement.

"you go."

you stand by the side, watching with the utmost alerted eyes when he misses the first throw, grunting out only shortly and containing it for the next missed one, then also the final where he scores absolutely nothing.

"christ," he curses with a whisper, switching with you who can only chuckle in response.

you also miss the first one, then the second, but surprisingly managing to hit one close to the center for the last turn as it pops; the student ringing a bell and telling you to choose from the prizes.

"you know," san brings up on the walk to the lemonade stand after agreeing on it. "you're pretty good."

you smile a little at the compliment from him.

"yeah? mingi and yunho would always say my aim isn't too bad."

"i can see that."

you both come to a stop at the stand, san rummaging his pocket and speaking at once, "two lemonades, please."

you dig through yours at the same time, pulling out the changes just in time.

"let me pay this time."

san shakes his head.

"what kind of gentleman would i be if i let the lady pay on a date?"

you scoff at that.

"and what kind of lady would i be if i let you pay every single time?"

"the perfect one," he says, putting on that handsome smile that's enough to distract you momentarily while he hands over the payment.

"your drink, my lady." he offers with the same smile that you just can't resist.

you huff and puff, pouting as he lets out a giggle and put back your changes.

"let's go find somewhere to sit."

~

"what kind of gentleman would i be if i let the lady pay on a date?"

the word replays in your head. date. is this a date? it could be you're thinking too much into it, but you suppose you've never been on a proper date with san.

it is certainly very different; from the activities to the setting, to even the interactions. everything is much more mellow; soft. and you think you prefer it this way. so maybe it is a date. yeah.

even if it's not, it does make you feel so happy your heart could almost jump out of your chest just because san said it is.

"cute." the voice rings in your ear, knocking all the creative thoughts out of your head.

"huh?"

"the plushie. it's cute."

"oh... yeah." you almost stutter, swallowing the knot in your throat and attempting to straighten your posture just to make it clear you definitely weren't thinking of anything else.

he laughs, able to spot the light pink slowly making its appearance again.

"it kind of looks like you."

you retract at the sudden comparison and have to hold the plushie up just to get another good glance at it.

"i absolutely do not look like a white bunny with big flappy ears."

he laughs again at the denial.

"well, you are cute like one."

you only clear your throat and try to fight off a smile that threatens to blossom at the remark that makes something inside your stomach flutter with butterflies.

"do you want to keep it?" you finally derive the subject after enough blushing.

"oh, i couldn't do that. you earned it yourself."

you curl your lips together for a moment of silence before speaking again in such a hushed volume, the commotion could've drowned it out if san wasn't sitting just a bit too close.

"well... your birthday was a while ago, right?"

the question catches him in a daze, more taken aback than anything that you would even remember it.

"yeah."

"i'm sorry i didn't get you anything or even wished you a happy birthday, i was just..." conflicted; thinking too much if it would be appropriate. you have thought of it; remembered it, of course you did.

"--no, you're fine. it's really not a big deal," he brushes it off along with a short laughter but it just sounds indifferent.

"did you celebrate it?"

he shakes his head slowly. was he supposed to? birthdays are just... birthdays. the day has passed so long ago that you came into the world, he will never understand the excitement and joy people have for the day they grow closer to death each year.

"not really? just kind of stayed home and watched a movie. i did get a text from wooyoung at least."

"oh..."

“just something my family never did much, i guess,” you simplify, and jongho nods along with an understanding hum.

“they’re really not all that,” san chips in, both yours and jongho’s heads snapping his direction. “waste of money and time.”

"then, consider it my gift to you." you strech an arm out, hanging the plushie in the air. "it's not anything... extravagant, but it's from the heart."

you break out into a tight-lipped smile because you're aware it's a bit silly, but when he accepts it with open hands, returning a genuine one of his own, you think it might not be.

"i'll take it."

an hour flying by, small talks after another and walks around the area to check out everything, san wants to play one last game before closing off the night.

a ring toss. you don't know how good you're going to be at this one, but either way, san offers to play for you. unsure of what he means by that, you stay back and watch, not really bothered that you're not playing since san is a sight two times more enjoyable.

before he finally manages to land on a bottle, he must've went through at least twenty rings. but he's so proud when he did, fist in the air and all, it's contagious enough for you to clap.

given the game is much harder than the last one you guys played, the prizes are much bulky; in size and value.

"for you," he says, all of a sudden shoving the giant teddy bear in your face, whose head is probably bigger than yours.

"me?" you repeat.

"yes. i said i'll play for you didn't i?"

he's quick to snatch the bunny that you were holding for him, practically rubbing the nose of the bear into your cheek, you have no other choice but to hug the stuffed animal like a baby.

"san, when you give someone something for their birthday, you don't get something back."

he chuckles.

"i know, but i want to. a gift from the heart."

and despite rolling your eyes at the mimicked phrase, sighing under your breath and bringing up again and again that he can keep the bear, you go to bed so happy.

laying on it awake, the event that took place earlier today playing repeatedly in your head and it makes you feel like a giddy schoolgirl all over again.

thinking about the words he used, the display of affections; all the parties he invited you to, and just how often he's been reaching out.

you know that you shouldn't. shouldn't fill your fragile heart up with hope and get optimistic about a boy who ignored you a month ago, but you can't help it.

can't help but fall for the bare minimums on a handsome smile and coy look; the sudden act of kindness that convinces you maybe love isn't dead, yet.

that something has changed in san and something has changed between you and him.

"will you be able to make it?"

every time your phone rings, your stomach sinks itself in, sometimes lounging across the room or tripping yourself on the way just to pick up his call and tell him yes, you can see him tonight.

sadly, just not this night.

neglecting school works has really caught up and now you're left with a stack of assignments that's due tomorrow or the day after that. it doesn't get any better that your writing class has now really transitioned into the 'creative' aspect and you're to come up with a draft of your own work before the end of the week.

"can't. i have too many assignments, sorry."

"ah... okay."

"but uhm, if i finish early i'll let you know?"

"yeah, sure. text me or something. good luck!"

it's still hard to shake off the disappointment, almost like a fear of missing out since you've went to so many of them, you know you could be enjoying yourself with a pretty boy instead of wallowing in misery.

but one, two, probably close to three hours goes by and you've somehow managed to tackle most of them. the ones due tomorrow at least.

you realize you're most likely not dumb, just lazy. and lazy you are, mind jumping straight into already rewarding yourself, what better way than to go to a party and let loose? you'll worry about your next set of assignments tomorrrow.

you text san like you said you would, waiting five minutes, then ten, then fifteen and there's still no reply.

maybe the music's too loud, maybe he ran into a drunk as hell wooyoung and is helping him, or maybe he's busy chatting with chris or whatever other ten plus people he knows there.

you figure you'll just show up. that's not too desperate, right? he's the one who's been inviting you after all, so why would he not want you there?

you make your way through the crowd willingly, this time with no one to guide you. all alone and pushing past the sweats and awful smell because he might be in the kitchen. he has to be.

maneuvering until you arrive at the entrance of the kitchen, always having been the brightest flame in the room, he's hard to miss because your eyes are drawn to him immediately.

as soon as you recognize that familiar head of black hair, time must've stopped and it must've taken your breath with it.

you've experienced a lot of pain in your life if that isn't evident by now. from your parents abandoning you to your mom telling you straight in the face that she never wanted you. then your aunt and uncle who isn't of much difference, to your first boyfriend who cheated.

your life is a mess.

and you understand in actuality, some of it could be considered much worse, but right now--in this moment, it feels like the pain in front of you is the worst one ever, it dulls everything else in comparison.

this pain knocks your breath away and you could almost faint from how sharp the hit is to your fragile heart.

to see san's hands resting on hips that isn't yours, face snuggled and flushed against another skin the same he would do to you. and if you think it can't get any worse, the short couple of seconds that you actually look away, you catch chris in that same old corner with a drink in his hand.

you briefly lock eye contact with him and he could only pretend to sip his cup while looking away to join the other boys again in a conversation.

that's when you realize; when it all sinks on you, that chris isn't a friend. he's the guy that sticks by san's side when he pulls shit like this, making sure no one walks into the room he's fucking a girl in, and informs him of any relevant information because why would you ever think choi san could have a change of heart just because he spewed a few sweet words and made you feel like the most special girl for two hours.

“this is y/n.” san’s voice snaps you out, blinking your lashes to a boy whose hair is bleached in blonde and staring at you with equally amusing eyes, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“she’s cute,” he comments courtly, parting with a smile and going off to join the two from before at the corner, their introductions audibly out of your range.

to have thought it was a genuine compliment when he probably only looked at you as one of them. and thinking of all the times you couldn't make it and all the parties san attended without you.

the more you connect the dots, the more depressing it gets, and wow... stupid, you are so fucking stupid.

you knew, of course you did; had a feeling and all, not completely oblivious that you weren't the only one. you just didn't think it would hurt so much to actually see it for yourself; really see how easily replaceable you are.

still, you can't stop staring, and you must've stared for too long because she finally notices, eyes fleeting to you and pushing san off slightly before tilting her head and looking at you like she's bored.

as if waiting for you to find something else to entertain yourself with, because who the fuck are you to be an audience to her and the boy before her.

and san must've noticed; confused about the lack of body response and where her gaze is, that he turns his head back to see for himself. but you can't even properly digest the horror in his facial, the only thing you see is that deep, dark, and ugly mark on his neck along with a few lipstick stains in the shade of red close to his jawline and to his lips.

you can't stay here any longer and embarrass yourself like this, feeling a lone tear well at one of your eyes before moving back to the crowd.

"excuse me," you mutter, trying to push your way out of there, the last thing you hear from the kitchen is the marching of heavy footsteps and san's voice as he tries to catch up.

"wait, y/n!"

next // series m.list

taglist: @sorryimananti-romantic @revehosh @cookiechristie @avantalem @atiny68 @sannwa @shibera @mochibabycakes @justineasian @eastleighsblog @baguette-atiny @crimson-mia @yeosxxx @sleepychimm @atz-diary @diorwoo @naiify @becauseiloveyunho @damagelove @softie00 @s-nsanshine @atinytinaa @moonseonghwa @lemontreefantasy @wooyoung4eva @yeosangsbiceps @likexaxdaydream @knucklesdeepmingi @barbielibra @tmtxtf @brown88 @harusoraa @frankenstein852 @yujispinkhair @mermaid17venus @nolxverlikeme @writersun @kkayfan @wooyoungjpg @galaxypox @byunniebaekhyunnie

#i did it somehow #now off to cry bc of finals #ateez angst #ateez x reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #san angst #ateez series #fic: broken

[elliesslvt]

mornings with him I eren yeager

ꕤ hey! this is my first fanfic, so if you have any critiques don’t be shy! i’ve had this in my notes for a while and decided to edit it and finally post it. i hope you guys like it!

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song: earth by mac miller & future & give you the world by steve lacey

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡ description/warnings - 1,000+ words. black fem!reader, petnames, day after sex?, mentions of sexual intercourse,  super fluffy, soft eren, eren’s kinda a nerd, college au, sasha’s your bestie, kinda self-inserted

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when you woke up, eren wasn’t lying next to you. you were still sore from yesterday’s events so you made your way slowly to his bathroom to brush your teeth and take a shower. due to you spending a lot of time at his place, he always had your daily self care things in his apartment. you grabbed your dr.bronners peppermint body wash and lathered it into your african net, then went in with your methods body wash. after you dried off, you put on your eos vanilla cashmere lotion and finished it off with shea butter to seal in the moisture. you stole a pair of his boxers and hoodie from his closet, then quickly put your knotless braids into a ponytail.

“baby where are you?,” you called out as you walked out of his room. “im in the kitchen baby”, eren responded. when you turned the corner, eren was standing there with his damp midlength hair hanging freely; he was shirtless, dressed in gray sweatpants, and he looked good. you could tell he was cooking french toast from the aroma in the air.

“why’d you leave while i was sleeping, loser?”, you commented as you reached your arm to flick his forehead. eren gently pushed you and asked, "to make food, food or cuddles, which one is it?"  “hmph” you said as you turned to sit at the island in the kitchen. “you smell good” eren said as he flipped the french toast over in the pan. 

“thank you and i never said thank you for buying all the stuff i use and keeping it at your place for when i stay over”

“that’s what boyfriends are for baby”

“is your back okay?”, you asked. “oh now you’re worried about my back” he said as he laughed softly. last night when eren was fucking you with you with your ankles on his shoulders, you scratched his back a lot. he was hitting your spots and you needed something to cling onto and his back was your victim. in the moment you didn’t care  about how much your acrylics were scratching his back, all you were focused on were the lewd comments he was whispering in your ear as you came around his dick.

 “shut up i’ll look at it after we eat, okay” you commented. “yes captain”, he said.

“you’re so fucking corny”,  you commented laughing.

eren finished preparing the food then placed a plate before you and beside you. his tall figure moved to take a seat beside you next to you on the island. he grabbed you’re face gently by your jaw to kiss you slowly as he pulled away smiling admiring your beauty.

“what was that for” you said as you pulled away from the kiss. “nothing you’re just beautiful baby, let’s eat though” he said as he poured syrup onto his french toast. 

you were so lucky to find a guy like eren. you thought your best friend sasha was joking when she told you he had a huge crush on you. you seen him in your calculus class many times throughout the semester and always thought he was cute but were too scared to approach him. one day as you were pulling out your ipad and notepad from your fjallraven school bag you noticed his tall figure.

“is it okay if i sit here?”

“um yeah it’s fine”, you said as you tried your best to keep your composure.

he smelled of laundry detergent and blue de chanel and it was really hard to focus on what your professor was saying.

you thanked the heavens that you actually put an effort into what you wore to class. your braids were pulled into a high ponytail that accentuated your features. you wore a grandpa sweater you thrifted with mom jeans and your boston birkenstocks with the fluffiest socks. 

when you sneaked a peek at eren, he was concentrating on what the professor was saying, his apple pencil in hand, scribbling on his ipad. his long hair was tied back in a bun, and he wore black frames which rested on his nose bridge. he was cute, and you knew millions of other girls on campus were fawning over him.

as you packed your belongings to leave because class was over, eren tapped your shoulder to get your attention. you looked over at him and asked, “do you need something” in a soft tone.

“uh no, but i think you’re beautiful, and i really want to get to know you. if you don’t mind, i want to take you out on a date whenever you’re free” he said shyly.

you smiled at him, making your chin dimples appear. “i’d love to here’s my number and text me,” you said as you wrote your number on a piece of paper. 

the rest was history; he continuously took you out on dates and made time for you with his busy school schedule. eren was patient with you even when you tried to push him away, which no boy ever did, and that’s why you loved him. 

you were pulled from your thoughts as eren handed you a rinsed fork so you could eat your food.

“this looks good baby” you said smiling down at your food.

“only the best for the best girl” he said smiling down at you.

you used your hand to shove his face away while laughing.

after you guys ate, you both sat on the couch to watch a movie.“you’ve got to stop stealing my clothes, y/n” he said, taking a look at what you were wearing. “it’s not my fault they're comfortable, and you know you love it when i wear your clothes,"  you said, smiling at him.

you found yourself drifting off to sleep on eren's chest as tangled continued to play in the background. spring semester kicked your ass and you were glad it was finally over so you could sleep more, travel with your friends, and hang out with your boyfriend. you knew eren was already sleeping by the way his chest was slowly rising and falling beneath you. you finally decided to shut your eyes and enjoy your nap with your boyfriend.

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reposts, likes, and comments are appreciated <33

#eren jeager x black reader #eren fluff #fanfic #aot x black reader #black reader #soft eren #attack on titan #black fem reader #college au #college eren

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 4 >> Chapter 5 >> Masterlist

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

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

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

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

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

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

✣ Word Count: ~8.5k

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

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

With every minute that passes, his ire rises higher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rindou groans. “I fucking hate that guy.”

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

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.”

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

See you at 5.

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

--

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

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

“Just looking at you is making me cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I don’t like playing games either.”

“Then, don’t.”

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

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

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

“You have dinner plans with Naoto? Seriously?”

“Yes?”

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

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

“Convenient,” Rindou sneers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

“No!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rindou says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mayuri is the woman from yesterday?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He follows you to the entryway.

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

He wants you to stay.

You break the kiss after only a minute and smile.

“I’ll call you, ok?”

And then, you are gone.

--

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

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

Because you are not fine.

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

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

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

But you are not fine.

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

But you are not fine.

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

But you are not fine.

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing is in his control.

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

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

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

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

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

Lady is the antithesis of Rindou as a dom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Correction: it pushes you over the edge.

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

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

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

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

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

“Rin – Rindou!” you yelp.

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

“Well, hey…um…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not always,” you say darkly.

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

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

“You really watched that?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trying out stuff…” he tests the words.

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

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

“I didn’t like it.”

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

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

“You said we could fuck other people.”

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

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

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

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

“No, Rindou. We are not okay.”

“Well, can we talk about it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It, he admits, hadn’t been fair.

Worse, it may have been patronizing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relief warms your eyes.

“I accept your apology,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A/N: entering my villain era

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

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