#AI Job Matching | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mang0d0ll · 14 days ago

Text

Bob's Lonely Hearts Club

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ includes: fluff, fem main character, negative self-talk, morale boosting, fem mc becomes bobs hype man, implied sex, mentions of alcohol and drinking, bob gets kinda tipsy, hangman is kind of a douchebag but whats new

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ a/n: this is my first full fic on tumblr!! YYYAAAAAYYYY im so excited that its here! this idea has been collecting dust in my brain and my notes app literally since tgm came out in 2022, but im just so proud of myself for actually writing this and putting it out in the world. enjoy <333333

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR FED INTO AI

Bob wouldn't really classify himself as a loner.

Sure he was quiet, preferring to take a back seat to the rambunctious chatter and lighthearted bickering the rest of his teammates were always up to, but they always included him in the conversation. Hangman particularly enjoyed ribbing him with jokes about his mouse-like demeanour, until Bob would throw some smack talk of his own, making the group erupt with laughter.

But tonight was different. It was Valentine's, and Bob was - by all accounts - a loner.

There were other patrons scattered across the Hard Deck, but nowhere near the regular amount on a typical Friday night.

He hadn't even realised the romantic holiday was coming up. It wasn't until a week prior when Fanboy hollered that he'd scored a date with someone he'd been chatting up on Bumble; his booming voice causing Bob’s pool cue to completely miss the ball.

From then on, it was all he heard from the Daggers. Payback had a dinner planned with his long-term partner, Rooster was going out with a woman he'd been casually seeing, and Coyote nonchalantly declared that he'd have no problem heading into town and picking up a cute chick on the day itself.

Hangman had let it slip that he and Phoenix were going to a drive-in cinema together, but any cheeky remarks from the rest of the team were left unsaid at the heat of Phoenix’s glare.

So there Bob was, sitting at the bar on Valentine's, nursing a drink and musing over everything he could've been doing instead. With the complexities and demands of his job, he'd rarely given much thought to his romantic life. Boy, was he regretting it.

His eyes bore into the random sports match playing on the bar’s TV, his brain only registering the vibrant colours and fast-paced movements.

"Hey, Bob."

A melodious voice broke him out of his daze. Behind the counter stood everyone's favourite, sweet-as-sugar Hard Deck employee. She gave him a small smile as she wiped down glasses and put them aside.

"Fancy seeing you here tonight. Thought you'd have somewhere more important to be."

His head tilted, like a curious puppy, making her giggle.

"Y'know, cause it's Valentine's?"

"Right!" Bob exclaimed. "Yeah, no, no plans. I don't have anywhere else to be, so..." His voice trailed off as her warm smile struck his soul. With sweaty palms, he raised his glass and took a swig of his drink.

"That's a surprise," she said.

"It is?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I thought you'd have a cute date or something."

Bob's eyes widened and he quickly choked out a laugh, "Me? Oh, no, no I'm flattered but I'm not..." A wave of nausea rushed through his body - the words sticking to his throat. "I'm not really the ask-out-women type," he said as he stared into his glass. "Never been good at it."

And maybe it was the alcohol making him feel all fuzzy. Maybe it was the bar's dim lighting setting the mood. Or maybe it was the feeling of being almost alone with the attention of the stunning bartender-slash-waitress he maybe, sort of, definitely, had a crush on.

Something in the situation just made him feel... different. Trusting. Honest.

"I'm not confident like the rest of them," he confessed. "Hangman, Rooster, Coyote, they see someone they like and have no problem approaching them. Even if they didn't, there are plenty of people who come up and offer their numbers all the time. But I can't do that. Can't bring myself to talk to anybody like that. I'm not suave or charming like they are. Not cool or confident. I don't stand out in a crowd or attract any eyes from across the room. I'm just the guy in the background no one gives two cents about. Boring ol' Bob."

A silence hung between them, the static sports commentator voice floating through the air.

A tsunami of emotions whirled through him. On one hand, a weight had been lifted off him- a cathartic thrum in his chest at finally voicing the thoughts that'd tormented him for years. On the other hand, the admission of his feelings only made them more real and ever apparent to him. A dark cloud over his head, doomed to follow him.

"Excuse me?" she spat.

His head snapped up to find her eyes ablaze.

"Do you really think that?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out. Thankfully for him, she didn't give him time to reply.

"Bob, you’re an amazing person. You're kind, and sweet, and thoughtful. You're always there for others, helping them even when they don’t ask for it. You carry your friends out when they're too drunk to walk. You listen to them rant about their work and lives. And when you're here during closing you insist on helping us clean up; stacking the chairs and storing crates in the back. You’re this guardian angel looking out for everyone around you.

So what if you're not like Rooster or Hangman? Why would you wanna be anyone else anyways? You're an amazing person all on your own and you show it everyday."

Bob felt an overwhelming heat engulf his body. It was as though he'd stood at the entrance of an active volcano for a decade.

“You really think that?” he squeaked out.

“Yes! And if girls don't see that then screw them. Anyone with a functioning brain cell would be lucky to go out with you.”

Bob smiled shyly, "Well, I'm flattered-"

"I mean, you're literally a dream!" She continued, hands frantically wiping glasses and setting them down with a low thud. "Not only are you kindhearted but you're a dream to look at. It's honestly criminal how fit you are with your glasses making you look so cute, and kissable, and..."

Her voice trailed off as their eyes locked and she registered Bob's tomato-red face. Bob's heart pounded in his ears.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Bob wouldn't really classify himself as brave.

Sure he'd had a rare, unexpected surge of bravery when he joined the military - shocking everyone that knew him - but everything that came after was simply part of the job. Each day of suffering through grueling training to become a WSO had nothing to do with his bravery, but rather his tenacity and determination to show everyone what he could accomplish. What he was made of.

Buf in this moment, a rare moment in his life, Bob chose to be brave.

"What time do you get off from work?" he asked.

"Soon. In about an hour."

"And... do you have any plans after?"

"I was just gonna go home," she blushed, a smile painting across her face. "But you're most welcome to come with me."

"So Bob, how was your Valentine's?"

The Dagger Squad's chatter quieted down at Hangman's sudden question. The sounds of the Hard Deck filling the silence between them.

"It was good," Bob replied, leaning against a pillar and doing his best to act casual.

"Really? Get up to anything fun?"

"Stop it," Phoenix chided.

"What? I'm just asking," Hangman laughed, gliding about the pool table and lining up his shot as if he wasn't interrogating his teammate. "Wanna know if Baby-on-Board spent the night alone like I said he would."

The crack of his cue against the ball came as a comical sound effect to the shock everyone was smacked in the face with. Phoenix shook her head in disbelief and mouthed a 'sorry' to her WSO, which he waved off with an understanding smile.

"Well Hangman, since you're so desperate to know, I came here on Valentine's. And while I did start out alone, I ended up going home with someone."

Everyone's heads whipped towards him.

"No shit. Seriously?" Hangman chuckled. "Who is she? Who had the honour of being our Bobby's companion. Is she even real?"

It was at this time that she walked over to them, empty tray in hand. The woman who'd occupied Bob's head 24/7 ever since the night they shared together a week prior. The woman he'd confided in and poured his heart out to. The woman who held him and kissed his doubts away all night long. Her lips soft against his smooth skin, the heat of her body melded against his.

She moved with grace as she motioned for the team's empty glasses and bottles, everyone giving her polite smiles as she passed. Bob allowed his eyes to trail after her before turning his attention back to Hangman.

"I can assure you she is very real. She's an amazing woman, full of kindness and love. Adorable to boot. Honestly, I'm over the freaking moon that she even wants my company."

Their eyes met as she got closer to Bob, still pretending to be completely unaffected by the conversation at hand. Picking up the last empty bottle, she began to walk pass Bob to get back to the kitchen.

"And I'm most definitely taking her home with me tonight," Bob declared. Just as she passed, Bob raised his hand and let it fall with a swift smack! to her behind.

Jumping back in shock with a loud yelp, she turned to Bob, ready to tell him off, only to be met with his cheeky smirk and smitten eyes.

She huffed and glared at him, though there was no real heat behind her eyes. "We're leaving as soon as my shift is over."

"Yes ma'am," Bob smiled.

She scurried away as she failed to suppress the smile growing on her face.

He stared at her retreating figure unashamedly as the rest of the Daggers began whooping and hollering.

"Dude! No way!"

"How'd you pull her? What did you say?"

"My man! Knew you had that dog in ya!"

Their words fell on Bob's deaf ears, his head preoccupied with counting down to when he could finally leave with the woman of his dreams.

565 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 1 year ago

Note

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment.

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers.

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

#yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere robot #yandere android #robot x human #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere imagine #yandere fic

2K notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 4 months ago

Text

Can We Hit It Now, Low-Down And Gritty?

dieter bravo x younger fem!reader

summary: the last thing you need is world-renowed asshole slash actor dieter bravo to yell at you for doing your job. he'll pay for that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pwp, size kink, brat taming, degradation kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), pussy spanking (again?! dilf-docs u horndog WE GET IT), creampie, tbh this is just pure self fullfing filth pls forgive me Lord I have sinned, dieter bravo (yes that's a warning), nicknames (doll), reader is a glorified porn writer, she can also speak spanish but no physical description/nationality is mentioned

word count: 6,324 words

side note: hello someone please take away ai bots from me thank you. won't add anything else, just enjoy this horny mess sponsored by our fluffy disaster king (did enjoy writing their banter though). i need to be on horny jail bc i'm on those days and wrote this in about 24 hours talk about desperate like i'm going to hell wow if you know me irl no you don't

The set was quiet, well, as quiet as it could be: quick footsteps, flickers of lights, turning of pages, sips of freshly bought coffee and instructions yelled to the air.

That is something you can control. Like, even. But this job isn't easy, given not only what but also who you need to handle.

And speaking about the devil, here comes the who: world-renowned asshole and actor, Dieter Bravo, storming into the place with a strenuous walk.

Just what you need: he's coming in your direction with what you recognize is the movie's script in his hands.

"Who wrote this?!" he angrily shouts, glaring at the people on the set.

"I did" you stand still, defiant even. "Is that a problem?"

Dieter scoffs when he hears your response.

"Is that a problem?" he mocks. "Look at this!"

He holds up the script but you don't even bother to look at it: you've read it so many times, you could recite it from memory.

"This crap isn't going to sell" Dieter argues. "People aren't going to be interested in this story"

There's an irritated expression on his face as he looks down on you. Does Dieter think you care? Of course you knew it was bullshit as soon as you finished the first page, but you had to pay bills, and working this shitty jobs would get you closer to the contacts you needed―the only reason you're doing this in the first place.

"Tell me" he stands before you, and he's so close, you can hear his uneven breathing. "Did you really write this garbage?"

What's the point in lying? The only reason why you did is because you wanted to make him mad. Is it childish? Yes. But you have your reasons, the biggest one being that in no way would you allow a celebrity to talk down on you like that. It's one of the worst parts of your job, and not even Dieter and his handsome face would let you take his shit.

"No, I didn't. But I approved it" you cross your arms, revealing the truth. "You know, you're being very dissmisive of people's hard work because you can't stand not being so called perfect. It's called humilty, you could try"

(You don't really care about this people's hard work that much. They did a bad job, but in the end, a job. He should respect them for that, not the result. A bad one, objectively speaking)

Dieter scoffs at your response, obviously not liking the snarky tone.

"Oh, you approved it?" his tone comes out annoyed. "Which means you know it's crap, right?"

You shrug your shoulders, making him visibly frustrated with the conversation.

"This has nothing to do with me wanting to be the spotlight, you idiot" Dieter raises his voice, "did you even stop to think about the viewers?"

Okay, so now you're the villain. Frankly, it's been a bad week, and the last thing you want is this guy thinking he can get away with harrassing and talking down a less payed crew member just because he's rich, famous and hot. Whatever. If he wanted to play with fire, you'll happily be the match.

"Listen, I approved it because I want to go home and be at peace. Don't give me crap about the viewers. Of course I know this is shit! But I don't get paid enough to care. Besides, even if I wanted, I couldn't change it. You're angry at the wrong person; I'm just following orders"

Dieter clenches his fist, clearly struggling to keep his calm.

"So you just do whatever the hell the director says?" he spits in a irritated tone.

"That's about my job"

"You do know that could mean this movie flops, right? Is that how little you care about what you do?"

Dieter stands before you, crossing his arms, the veins on them popping with annoyance.

"You don't know shit about me" you reply while trying not to look at his flexing biceps too much, hoping he doesn't notice. "And I'm sorry to break it to you, but not all of us are big names that can do whatever they please or hold that much power. If it was up to me, I wouldn't hire this stupid director, writer or you, who, by the way, are way past your prime"

It's an unnecesary offense you truly didn't mean, but you hate the way he talks to you as if you were stupid. And maybe the blow felt bigger because you are a fan. Geez. You thought working with him would be a dream, despite his reputation, yet now all the claims are becoming true in the worst way possible. The last thing you need is Dieter finding out you're a fan, and even if it's a coward way out, you'll defend what's left of your dignity however it takes.

Dieter's brown eyes widen in disbelief at your petty comment. Then, they spark with rage, as he looks quite furious.

"Excuse me?! You don't get to talk about me like that" Dieter moves his ringed hands erratically in the air, as to make his point any more clear. "Do you know how hard I've worked for my career? I won't have anyone, less a little brat, tell me I'm past my prime"

You admire his career, that's the worst of it all. But the annoyance has settled deeply in between you both, and you find yourself at loss for words or energy to keep bickering. Besides, behind you, you can hear the order to continue filming in a few.

"Yeah, you don't get to talk to me like that either. I guess we're even" you sigh, tiredly. "Anything else I can help with, Mr. Bravo?"

If you could, you would cover your mouth in horror. You didn't mean to call his name like that, as if you're allured by him. Fuck Dieter. You hope he doesn't read too much into the tone.

But of course his drug-fried brain would notice that, the actor staring at you with a puzzled look when you call his name.

"Oh, now you're calling me Mr. Bravo, eh? Trying to flirt your way out of this? I'm not a dumbass, you know"

The fact that he associates the calling with flirting rather than nerves makes your eyes twitch. He keeps staring at you, heat making it's way to your face. It's like he's trying to find out if what you said was indeed flirting, and given by the smirk he's giving you, it seems Dieter's got the wrong veredict.

"I'm not stupid either, but here you're talking to me like I am"

Great. That came out even more childish than you intended.

You think the color painting your cheeks is noticeable now, as Dieter lets out a small chuckle. He then cuts the distance even more, the irritating smirk still on his face.

"Well, then don't try and play me like I'm an idiot." Dieter pauses for a moment, then continues in a teasing tone when he sees your flushed face. "Oh, you're so red... It's cute"

"Cute?" the sound you let out is a mix of a chuckle and scoff. "Did you just call me cute? Are you too trying to flirt your way out with of this?" you repeat his same words from earlier. He chuckles amused at your behavior, his smirk turning into a cocky smile as he stares down at you.

"Me? flirt my way out? I would never." he then continues to speak in an amused tone. "I call people I find cute, cute...and you are definitely cute"

"Oh, I'm not the only one then, huh? And here I thought I was special" you feign hurt, and even if you're not an actor, you hope it sells. "And here I thought we were playing the same game. Well, I suppose we're done, and you can go back to filming or complaining, whatever suits you. Oh, the director is here: now bother someone else"

"Special? Nah, can't say you are." he says playfully at your attempt to brush him off. Then Dieter glances over in the director's direction but his gaze returns to you. "Oh, I'll deal with him later, you worry about yourself, sweet cheeks"

You know it's part of the banter, but it's no news to anyone who truly knows you the insecurity you've felt after so many projects rejected, ideas scrapped and terrible dating life. The you're not special hangs in the air, suffocating you; it feels like a slap to the face. Not to be a downer or such a mood changer, but it's hard to pretend. Yeah, you couldn't be an actor even if you tried to.

"Yeah I know" you answer, this time not pretending. Your voice may have given you away, so you turn around, hoping he doesn't get to see your face fall. "You're right, I'll take care of myself or whatever you said before. Bye, Mr. Bravo" you rush the words out, embarrased at yourself and how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Really? And I called him again like that? So stupid.

But he notices that your face has changed a bit, picking up the slight change. Dieter feels a slight pang of guilt for what he said, his smirk disappearing from his face. He lets out a sigh when you bid goodbye; he was having fun.

"Hey, wait a minute"

The actor reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving.

"What do you want?" you dryly ask, trying to keep a stoic façade, hoping Dieter doesn't catch the racing heartbeat by touching your wrist. "Go bother someone else"

"What I want..." he pauses for a brief moment, "...is for you to not walk away"

Dieter's grasp on your wrist loosens a bit, but he still keeps a hold on you. "I made a mistake. I was being an ass"

Was he, apologizing? For a moment, it seemed like Dieter was going to admit to what he did, which was unlike him, but his voice sounded genuine.

"D-Dieter!" you squeak his name in surprise, then blushing at the embarrassing sound. "You can't be serious, I mean- I'm the one that's sorry, I was an ass first. I think I deserve that"

It doesn't make sense and yes, you deserve his apology, yet at this point you're braindead and this is nothing but just nervous rambling at his actioms, so out of character from what you've heard and know.

A small chuckle escapes from the actor's mouth when he hears you squeak his name.

"I am serious. I mean it. You did not deserve it" his light grasp on your wrist stays as he slowly runs his thumb over your skin. Dieter stands even closer, making your breath hitch.

"W-what are you doing? You realize we're on set, right?" you laugh nervously, yanking your arm, even if you want him to still hold you.

The actor slowly loosens his grasp on you and lets go of your wrist, but the relief is short-lived as he moves his hand to your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Of course I know we're on set. Why? You think I'm doing something you don't like?"

Mischief glistens in his eyes, and you gulp nervously at the turn of events.

"I don't like it because it's not what I've heard from you" you confess before even stopping to think a proper answer. "You know, they warned us... to not get involved with the cast, and you? This isn't who I thought... heard- I think I'm going insane" you get very nervous, well aware you're doing a very poor job at hiding it. "Y-you have an exhibition kink or something?"

Ah, why. Yes, of course your mouth and brain had teamed up against you, the duo an expert on ruining your life.

See, it was a joke, but it comes out horribly wrong, making you cover your mouth. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I truly didn't mean-"

Dieter lets out a soft chuckle when you cover your mouth in embarrassment, clearly enjoying this.

"An exhibition kink? That's interesting. I've never been asked that before..."

His hand gently grabs your wrist, slowly moving it away from your mouth.

"Oh, don't cover your mouth. I like the things you say, although some are dumb"

"Wow, you're still hellbent on calling me dumb. I thought we were friends" you breath relieved at the way he took your stupid move, playfully nudging his side, feeling plush skin under his clothes. Fuck. You better leave before you dig this hole deeper. "So, do you or not? Answer the question. The joke may have backfired but my curiosity is still there"

"Dumb, stupid, idiot... you choose. I'm still going to call you that, doll. Can't let you off that easily" Dieter chuckles before answering your question, because of your boldness and the reappearing dark shade over your face. "Alright, I'll answer your question. Are you sure you want to know, though? You have a wild imagination"

"How do you know?" you fake gasp. "Have you read my works?"

It came out in the moment, not something you're used to saying out loud, especially when you're simply an assistant, because honestly, it's embarrassing.

Dieter gives you a small smirk when you fake gasp at his statement. He then continues to look down at you.

"I've heard some things. That some of the scenes you've written are a bit... steamy. If you know what I mean"

There is that same treacherous blush again. How could you get out of this?

"No I don't" and a tricky smile adorns your features, "enlighten me"

Great. The best way out seems to be going down.

"Is that right? You don't know what I mean? Well, you're the hand behind these love scenes, aren't you?"

The small input in this movie, by yours truly. When he received the script, he recoiled at how bad it was, almost calling his agent to call quits on the project. But then he had read the first of many scenes involving a certain type of action, and he decided to stay. Now that he stands before you, knowing it's you who's written them, he finds the discovery amusing and worth entertaining, no matter if he was initially pissed at the fact you were also part of the reasons why he wanted to quit.

A cocky smile appears on the actor's face when you get closer: he likes how, despite the embarrasing events you still find it in you to stand before him, spark behind your eyes full of mischief. It all starts to make sense, he thinks with amusement.

"Love scenes?" you taunt. "You mean the ones were they break furniture and blow off steam with the nasties sounds ever heard to human kind? Nope, doesn't sound like it; no idea what you're talking about" Then you pause, to keep suspense. You lick your lips, making sure to hold his gaze. "Unless..."

Dieter snickers when you describe the scenes; filming hadn't yet get there but he is eager. The actor's gaze is fixed on you as he lets out a low hum.

"Unless what? You can't just pause there, now that got me intrigued"

This isn't real, because he genuinely seems interested in what you'll say next.

"Unless you want to recreate them before filming, since you know, you're so damn interested. Sweeping your big nose in business you shouldn't" you called his nose big not as an offense but rather a compliment: it's literally the prettiest you've ever seen. Hell, it's not only endearment you feel towards it; you've literally wrote a scene where the female lead grinds off it, all while thinking of him. You really hope he's lying about reading your stuff. "Metiche"

Dieter lets out a surprised laugh at your comment about his nose, positive in his mind. He found it amusing that you called it big, which usually would be negative to some, but he didn't really mind. It's also funny in a way, and he finds to be enjoying this more than he should, long forgotten his complains or the movie he's supposed to be shooting as of now.

"Metiche, huh? You have quite the mouth on you"

"Do I?" are you confident, bold or stupid? "You haven't even seen anything yet, Mr. Bravo"

Dieter lets out another chuckle at your confidence. He's definitely entertained by your responses. He tilts his head while giving you a curious expression.

"Is that so? You have something more you'd like to share, doll? I'm open to see whatever you have if I haven't seen it already"

"Or read" I joke, "like I seriously need to check my friends to see who would sell me out. Did you truly read my stuff or you're just fucking with me?"

Dieter lets out another chuckle, finding your joke funny. He then gets a more serious, but still amused, expression on his face.

"I'm not messing with you, I did read some of them, including the ones on this movie. I didn't lie about that, I promise" he pauses for a brief moment, letting out an amused hum. "Y no te preocupes, linda. No estoy jugando contigo"

"If you didn't lie then I suppose you'd know who I had in mind when I wrote that scene of a guy eating a girl's pussy while she sits in his face, grinding on it. I'll give you a clue" you tiptoe, until the hot of your breathe clashes against the cold of his ear's skin, "he's got a big nose"

Dieter lets out a low hum when you drop the clue. "A big nose huh? Sounds familiar"

"It does?" you ask on an overly saccharine tone, fingers carressing the bridge of his nose, softly.

How did we get here?

He leans in a bit to get closer, clearly into your little taunts.

"Yeah, it does. And you just confirmed it too, no need to try to hide it now"

"Woah, don't let the ego win over, Mr. Bravo. A lot of people got big nose, you included" you smirk, removing your fingers from his face, and he would never admit out loud he instantly misses the warmth of your touch. "It's just coincidental you got the part and matched the character's description. You know what they say: all events depicted in this movie are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental" you recite.

He laughs, shyly. "I know a lot of people have big noses, but I do wonder why you chose that trait in particular"

"I wonder too" then your tone drops low, "We should try, you know, to see if it's viable before we get to filming that part... call it exploratory research"

He feels your fingers touching again his nose.

"Exploratory research, you say?" Dieter lets out a soft chuckle. "How about you be a doll and show me some of that research. I'll gladly be the test subject"

You get flustered. This went too far. Why aren't you running away, or banging your head against a wall for some common sense? This is getting ridiculous, but so is the wet spot between your legs.

"Um, I- wow, I- do you really...? No way" you become a rambling mess again, trying to steady yourself, "You want to eat my pussy?"

The words come out brash, making you cringe.

"Is that what you're saying, Mr. Bravo? You can still turn around and pretend you don't know me. Muero de pena"

Hee tilts his head to the side, looking at you with an almost wolf-like look in his eyes. He takes a step closer, so more of his body is against your own, his face closer to yours.

"Don't do that. You don't have to be embarassed, doll" his finger plays with your lower lip. "I'm saying exactly that"

"Please" voice so small it feels like you'll break, "do it"

The actor lets out a hum in response to your small voice.

"Right here...?"

"No!" you jump horrified, getting out of the horny haze for a bit. "Oh, God. Do you want to be blacklisted, Dieter?" squeaky, lowering your gaze to avoid his, resorting to playing with your fingers. "You have a room, right? They gave you one.... just for you, right?"

He nods his head in response.

"Perks of being the lead actor" he beams a bit proud with full-blown ego in display. "I have my own trailer, and it's not that far away"

"It's okay, I like walking anyways" you reply. "As a matter of fact, I like a lot of things"

The actor lets out another soft laugh in response.

"You're cheeky, you know that, baby?"

He starts to lead you towards his trailer, putting his arm around your waist. It feels big and warm, his touch making a current shoot down until it looses in between your legs. If this is what fighting and low paid terrible jobs got you, you'd do it more often.

"Cheeky? Cute? Do you want to kill me?" I laugh as we almost make it there. "Turns out, I kinda like that"

Now, where you testing your luck by keeping on running your mouth? You need to shut it up forever.

The actor chuckles when you ask if he wants to kill you, stopping in his tracks when you mention that you kind of like that. He looks down at you with a soft, yet cocky smile, but his arm still lingers around your waist.

"I've never heard a woman say that before, doll. I'm starting to believe you have some weird things you're into"

I'm a porn writer, but now you stop before saying more shit. His comment makes you flustered, getting shy all of the sudden as if you hadn't just half-admitted part of your kinks.

Whatever, what's out in the open air can't be unsaid. And Dieter seems to be just as into this as you, finally someone to match your freak after all those men whose cowardice made them leave before the fun started. I'm a porn writer, what'd you expect? It would be fun if I was into vainilla stuff.

"Weird things?" you pretend to be offended, "what do you have in mind?"

"Me? You want me to think? My head is still hurting from yesterday's hangover" he jokes, "why don't you be a doll and tell me exactly what you want?"

You smirk devilishly and he's taken back by the change of your demeanor. You were truly a little wolf disguised as a sheep.

"What I want is for you to press your weight onto me as you fuck me raw" you get red as you spill the lewd thoughts out loud, but it's what you write so it's not new. Your eyes dart to the curve of his soft belly, tight against his shirt. You look away, even redder if possible. "For the research, of course! All with purpose, to uh- See if I don't suffocate- the character, I mean!"

Your dirty words darken his brown kit-kat eyes, clearly enjoying the way you talk to him.

"Of course, for the research. Got to make sure the scene is accurate, right?"

He lets out a small hum and moves his hand on your waist, until they dig in your hips.

"Yeah, because we're professionals. Is this your trailer?" you ask, trying to deviate the conversation because your face keeps getting hotter. "This is your last chance to turn your back before this gets weirder. Hell, I might even leave the country"

The actor smiles at your comment about being professionals, finding it amusing.

"It's my trailer, doll. And I'm not turning my back after how this conversation is going. If I wanted, I would've already left. You'd have to try to get rid of me yourself"

Dieter then grabs his door handle and turns it, opening the door to his trailer. Your heart beats faster than humanely possible.

"Please don't look at me like that"

Dieter lets out a soft hum and looks down at you with a cheeky smile.

"Why not? I like to look at you"

He leads you inside the trailer. Once you're both inside, he shuts the door behind him. With lock. Hearing the click makes your heart skip a beat.

"Don't look at me like you'd do all the stupid things I've said"

The actor is clearly amused by your words.

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

He licks his lips with anticipation, bracing himself for what's to come.

"I think you're smart. That you know what's best for you" your fingers go to his curls, and you can feel him shiver at the touch. His hungry expression goes soft for a brief moment, and you think you like that too.

"Mmm... your hands feel nice..."

You smile like the Cheshire cat. "And they feel even better when you put them to good use"

The actor lets out a low chuckle in response to your words and looks down at you with a cocky smile.

"Is that a hint, darling?"

"A hint?" you snort. "That's a whole ass answer in red, bold and capital letters"

The man lets out a loud laugh at your response.

"Damn, you're feisty with that attitude, aren't you, doll?"

"Am I?" your eyes darken, body walking in automatic, closing the distance. His soft body irradiates warmth, the section between his pants feeling hard. "Will you punish me for that?"

The actor lets out a soft hum when he feels your body against his own. Dieter's face slowly gets more lustful.

"Mmm, depends on how bad you are, doll. I could punish you if you misbehave"

"What would you count as misbeheaving, Mr. Bravo? I just want to be a good girl" you whisper, batting eyelashes.

The man smirks at your comment and the way you bat your eyelashes teasingly.

"You'll see. You wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise, doll. Being a good girl will get you a nice reward, though"

"Like" you caress his nose, "helping me on the research part?"

Dieter enjoys your teasing touch on his nose and smirks at your comment.

"Mmm, just like the research part, doll"

"Would you show me?" you ask out in a tone so sweet, he's about to come right there. He didn't think it was possible, even. So he lets out a cocky laugh as he says, tone dropping too:

"Maybe I should if you're so persistent in not believing me"

You roll you eyes. "You really think I'm that easy to convince?"

"That's not a no" Dieter smirks.

You scoff. "It's also not a yes"

His tricky ringed fingers trace until it gets in the middle of your legs, feeling your dripping arousal. He then removes the finger and licks it with his long tongue, the scene as obscene as it is but never removing his gaze from yours.

"You sure? Your words might say one thing, but your body says something else"

You get defensive, despite him cornering your frame against one of the trailers walls.

"What would you know about my body?"

Even if his eyes bear irritation, he lets out an entertained laugh.

"I see you like playing these games. Pissing me off until I shut you up myself"

"I don't care" your tongue drips in snark, and he's equally pissed and turned on.

"You're a bad liar, doll. Can't act even if your life depended on it"

You scoff, as you muster the most annoyed tone you can. "Yeah?"

"I ain't met you that long, but I can tell how your body needs me" his voice sends shivers down your spine. "Still think I'm dumb? That I can't see the way you look at me, lips almost drooling, body shaking, pleading me to touch it?" all words you could say die in your throat. "What's that? Cat got your tongue? I see you're busier getting wet"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about" but there's no confidence in your voice anymore, giving away how turned on you were. Your mind goes numb at the dangerous game you're playing, coming only to your senses when his hard cock grinds against your soaked panties.

"I think you do" Dieter bites his lip, giving your core another hard rub. "I know you'd love to feel my cock around your pretty soaked pussy. Hell, you've been begging for it"

Your mind may be backtracking, but your body definitely wasn't.

"C'mon. Stop playing hard to get, doll" Dieter chuckles, "I know you want this"

He doesn't get a word out of you, but the patch against his jeans growing wetter is enough.

"Answer me" a little moan leaves your lips as he presses himself closer, his lips devouring yours in a rough fashion. "You better talk when I tell you to. Thought you'd behave" his hand easily pulls up your knitted sweater, revealing no bra. "Damn brat. Of course you wanted this: wearin' nothing to the set and writing those scenes getting off to me like some fuckin' creep" you moan at the humiliating words coming out of his filthy mouth as he touches the rosy skin gently before giving your hardened nipple a lick and then a little bite just to hear you whine.

Dieter then grabs you by your thighs, placing you down on top of what appears to be a small kitchen's counter, his growing bulge pressed against your cunt: the hard, the cold meeting hot... it all has you incredibly turned on. You feel the cool of the rings on his hand as it starts to eagerly wander under your skirt, rubbing his middle finger in between your clothed folds.

"That's right, I wore this to have you" you moan against his lips as his fingers find your clit, making slow but steady circles, "because yes, I wrote those scenes thinking of you"

"What a bad bad girl" Dieter chuckles darkly, "wanna hear you take your well deserved punishment. And don't worry, we're far away so you can scream my name as loud as you need to, doll"

He wastes no time in giving you such, pulling down the hem of your panties until they fall down to the trailer's floor. Before him, the best sight ever revealed to men: your sticky mess of a pussy. Dieter grabs onto your thighs, spreading them slowly as he leaves a trail of kisses on the inside, his beard and fluffy hair creating tickles. He then licks the folds of your moisty entrance. When you move, you hear him tut. "Be a good girl, yeah? Stay still" and now his hands hold your thighs, keeping them in place as the rings fig in your skin. His tongue hits your sensitive folds just right, making a series of sounds leave your lips. So addicting, he thinks.

"I-I'll be a good girl" you whine, "just please. Don't stop"

Your toes curl and you begin to see stars. You're surprised he's quite compliant, adding extra pressure with his tongue, slurping on your juices with a sound so obscene, even your dirty horny mind hadn't been capable of picturing. But here he was, Dieter fucking Bravo: the reason you started writing steamy scenes and agreed to do them for this project he was starring in, him always in your mind, now eating your pussy like a starved man inside the walls of his trailer.

Your mind turns into goo and your body into a sensitive mess. Your legs start to shake, clench up and tremble, leaving you a moaning mess. You weren't going to pull away, and Dieter seemed to like that feisty side of yours, yet his hold didn't loose a bit. His index and middle finger leave your red clit and slide into your soaked nub, his thumb now doing the work on it.

"That's right, baby. Tell Dieter how much you love his fingers inside of you, you cock hungry slut"

You come all over his hand, legs tensing up as you tug his messy curls into your now tight-white fists.

"I said talk" he now grabs your hair, pulling your face closer. "Gonna be ungrateful, when I just gave you the best orgasm of your life? Say it, brat"

"Thank you, Mr. Bravo" you pant out, still recovering from the high.

That makes it two discoveries as of now:

You weren't wrong when you wrote those scenes picturing him

Dieter lived up to his reputation, because that is indeed, the best orgasm of your life

You won't stroke his ego, though. And he doesn't need it either, as he's calling you good girl while leaving love bites all over your neck. "Mine" he hisses, and you let yourself believe it for a while.

"We done, sweetheart?" you shake your head. "That's right, research has just began. Bet you want my rock hard dick inside of you now"

You whine, and he leans closer. "Why do I even ask? Gonna give you my cock for you to take like the little whore you are"

You slid your hand into his pair of briefs, giving his cock a few strokes.

"See? such a hungry girl" he seethes. "Who gave you permission, you fucking brat?"

A sting spreads across your bare clit, making you moan. That's not what you had in mind, but it's embarrassing how turned on it's making you. Well, you have some certainly interesting ideas for what to write next.

"Answer me" his tone is demanding, his large palm delivering another harsh slap to your cunt.

"N-no one"

"How do we say, then? Be a good girl and show me your manners"

"P-please!" you mewl, soon feeling his tongue soothing the pain.

"So you do know how to be a good girl" Dieter praises, pressing a light kiss to your puffy folds. "Now, where were we?"

He frees his pulsating member from the confines of the underwear, revealing his throbbing cock, ready to rub it against your folds. A little whine left your lips as he kept rocking his hips back and forth.

"Talking back to me before, where is that girl gone? All I see is a hungry slut, ready to take my cock like the little good girl she is"

Dieter pushes his tip further enough to be at the entrance of your burning hole, and you whine in frustration and need, that attitude he teases you with, long gone. All you want is him to fuck you.

"That's right, beg like the fucking whore you are"

"Just fill me up with your thick cum and fuck me until I won't be able to stand up"

"Dangerous game you playin', doll" but his expression is all hunger and no warning.

"Just fuck me" you spit. "I'm yours. Use me"

That seems to do the trick.

"Good girl" and Dieter fully pushes himself inside of you, he abuses your clit, entering him fully inside of you over and over again, not even giving you time to adjust to his girth; surprinsgly (or not), you liked it rough. His wet kisses become sloppier and rushed, landing on your lips, corners of your mouth, jaw and neck. A string of drool is on his as he pulls them out, rather prefering to hear the sounds you drowned against his lips on full volume. His hands grab you by your hips while his buck back a forth in a rough pace. Surpringsly, Dieter remembers his promise, your body caged by his bigger frame as he fucks you on the counter, feeling the swell of his belly against your lower abdomen. He pushes hard, his heavier weight making your back start to ache against the cold metal, the wall behind you digging painfully on your skin. But doesn't it feel so good?

"So fucking good" he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he stares intensely into your eyes, "so tight"

You grab onto his back as he stretches you out, his pace speeding up. You moan against his ear as your nails dig further into his back with every thrust, saying his name. You come closer to your orgasm as he hits the right spot over and over again.

"Fuck... the way you beg for it, like a needy little slut. It's so fucking hot" Dieter wraps his hand around your throat, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse point. "I'm going to ruin you, doll. Gonna fuck you so hard that you'll forget your own fucking name" his voice is a low, guttural growl, filled with a raw, animalistic desire. "All you'll know is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you"

His words and movements edge you close, sweat dripping and clinging uncomfortably to your skin due to the reduced space.

"I-I'm close again"

"But you better come with me, spoiled little girl. Ain't doin' it alone after all I've done for you" he groans, his thrusts becoming more and more aggressive.

Your walls clench against his soaked dick, his pace suddenly slowing as his cum fills your hole, coating your walls.

"F-fuck"

You try to even your breaths as he rests his head on your shoulder, bodies pressed together.

"So, was I of help?"

You chuckle at his attempt for small talk.

"You did good, Dieter. Mission accomplished"

"Right" he sounds a bit dissapointed, making the corners of your lips raise. "Well, If you ever need a helping hand" he wiggles his brows, "you know were to find me"

"I do" you press a brief kiss to his lips. "As a matter of fact, you can also tell me when you need my helping hand" said hand travels down, feeling his dick hard again. The sight alone makes you drool. "What'd you say, cowboy? Up for analyzing the collected data? We didn't even try with your nose"

"I knew it was mine!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo the bubble #the bubble #pedro pascal characters #pedrito #pedropascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal

257 notes · View notes

nanasrkives · 2 months ago

Text

Navigation : midnight records the starlight EP the jjk EP

"A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE" — Gojo Satoru

a/n : how i love gojo angst, but i think i did a bit too much with the angst now i cant stop crying content : HEAVY ANGST NO COMFORT. no jujutsu au. exes to strangers. failed marriage. bittersweet ending. 5k + words.

Three years after the divorce, your apartment still felt temporary.

It wasn’t small, but it never grew into you. The curtains were beige when you moved in and stayed beige, not because you liked them, but because you never cared enough to replace them. The furniture matched, vaguely. Nothing was uncomfortable. The plates were clean. The sink never filled. You paid your bills on time, and no one ever slept beside you.

It wasn’t a sad life. Not exactly. It was just simple. Predictable. Like living in parentheses.

You still worked in the same neighborhood—same train line, same bento shop across the street that started giving you discounts you never asked for. You saw friends when it was convenient. You spent holidays answering texts instead of writing cards. And eventually, the ache faded into background noise, something you didn’t notice unless you really stopped to listen.

The marriage had ended with less drama than you thought a marriage should. No yelling. No infidelity. Just… unraveling. Two people who had once clung to each other with everything they had, slowly loosening their grip.

You knew Satoru had loved you. That was a fact that you never questioned. And you had loved him back just as much. So much that it scared you. But loving someone isn’t the same as knowing how to stay.

The divorce paperwork had been signed in a small office with laminate floors and a malfunctioning air conditioner. You’d shaken hands with your lawyer, smiled at the clerk, walked out into the sun and waited for it to feel different.

But it never really did.

You told yourself Tokyo had grown too loud. Too fast. Too full of versions of yourself you no longer recognized. The convenience store near your place still carried his favorite energy drink. The sushi place where you’d once celebrated an anniversary now offered takeout, and you’d stood in line with your headphones in, pretending the door hadn’t made your chest tighten.

So when the opportunity came—something peaceful, something out of the city—you took it. A small town near Kyoto. Clean air. Slower days. A job that paid less but asked less too.

You didn’t call it running away. You called it starting over.

The morning of your departure, the train station was crowded. Snow had blanketed the platforms in a layer of hush, muting the city into something that almost ressemblant to a desktop wallpaper. You arrived early. Not because you were worried about missing it, but because leaving deserved space.

You stood under the flickering schedule board, watching orange text scroll across black, your suitcase handle warm in your palm from holding it too tightly.

Kyoto — Local Express, platform 5. Delayed due to weather.

You exhaled. Took a sip of vending machine coffee that tasted vaguely like metal. Adjusted the strap of your bag.

The air smelled like cold and concrete and faint electricity. You closed your eyes for a moment and told yourself, again, that this was good. Necessary. Yours. You didn’t feel ready. But you were leaving anyway.

When the train pulled in, it hissed like something alive. The snow had begun to cling to the windows, softening the edges of the world beyond the glass. As you managed to avoid bumping into people and lost tourists, you stepped into Car 3 with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The air inside was warmer than the platform, but not by much. Dim overhead lights buzzed softly above your head. The heat hadn't fully kicked in, and everything felt hushed—muted by the storm curling against the windows. You walked past the first row of seats, tugging your suitcase behind you, the wheels ticking softly over the gaps in the floor.

12B.

You found it. Aisle seat.

You shifted toward the aisle, ready to lift your suitcase onto the rack before settling in, your mind already drifting toward the hours ahead—how long the delay would be, whether you’d be able to sleep, whether the train would feel as empty inside as you did.

Then you looked up. And the world shrank.

He was sitting in the window seat beside yours, legs stretched out a little too far into your space, earbuds in but not playing anything. A book in his lap. A coat slung over his arm. Hair damp from the snow.

Gojo Satoru. Your one and only ex-husband.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was looking at the window, his reflection more visible in the glass than the scenery outside. His profile was the same—still sharp, still boyish in ways that never fit the depth he carried. You hadn’t seen him in years. Not in person and definitely not this close.

You blinked. Then he turned and your eyes inevitably met.

It was barely a second, but you felt it—the recognition. The flicker of old muscle memory. He froze just slightly, not dramatically, just enough to let you know that he hadn’t expected this either.

However he quickly regained his composure and threw you a half-smile. Soft. Careful. Not forced, not bitter.

“Hey,” he said, as if this were something normal. As if you hadn’t once been everything to each other. Your voice caught in your throat, dry and brittle.“…Assigned seating?” you asked. He lifted his ticket slightly between two fingers, his shrug casual. “Apparently.”

You glanced at your own ticket. 12B. Confirmed. You almost laughed, not because it was funny—but because it seemed like a cosmic joke. After years of living in the same city without crossing paths, after carving your life into a shape that no longer included him, here he was. Gojo Satoru. Assigned to your side on a snowbound train the day you decided to finally leave it all behind.

There were empty seats nearby. You could have asked to move. You could have walked away. But you didn’t. You lifted your suitcase onto the rack, took off your coat and finally sat down.

And now it was the two of you. Next to each other, with nothing but a folding arm rest and three years of silence between you.

The first twenty minutes passed with a kind of awareness that gave goosebumps. You stared out the window, watching the city peel away in soft layers. Buildings gave way to trees. Power lines dipped in and out of view. The snow grew heavier, thickening along the glass until the landscape blurred into smudges of white and grey.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Not until the train passed by a rusted red torii gate on the edge of a small town, half-buried in snow. You remembered it from the dozens of trips you used to take together, escaping Tokyo for the weekend. Cheap inns. Local food. A private laugh between strangers.

“That gate still looks like it’s about to fall over,” Gojo muttered, voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud. You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just out the window, same as you.

You swallowed. “You used to try and convince me it was haunted.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You believed me.”

“You used to say it whispered your name.”

“It did. I stand by that.”

You huffed out a laugh. He didn’t, but you saw the breath catch in his throat. For a second, it was easy to forget the 3 years between you. The divorce. The paperwork. The apartment that stopped feeling like home before either of you had the courage to admit it.

For a second, it felt like being married again. Not the falling apart. The better part.

The train bumped lightly over a set of old tracks. You shifted in your seat, pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. He spoke again, quieter this time. “You still drink that weird jasmine milk tea?”

You turned to look at him fully now. “I haven’t in a while,” you said. “They stopped selling it at the convenience store near my place.” He nodded, like that meant something. It probably did.

You hesitated. “You still forget to eat until noon?”

“I’m improving. I usually make it to ten-thirty now.”

A small silence.

Then—“You were the only person who ever noticed that about me,” he added.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. It was just something said aloud. Something true. You looked down at your hands, then out the window again. Snow. Forest. Empty road running parallel to the train.

“We really thought that was going to be it,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “The whole life.” Gojo didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “We dreamed like everything would fall into place—like love would be enough to hold it all up.” You let out a quiet breath. “I think about that sometimes. How we were so sure.”

He looked over at you, eyes softer than you remembered, older too. “We were sure,” he said. “That was never the problem.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

Outside, the trees blurred in white streaks, their bare branches dusted in snow. The train hummed beneath your feet, a constant low sound that had long faded into the background.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting in silence this time. Five minutes? Fifteen? It didn’t matter. It never had with him. Even before the end, Gojo had been the only person you could be quiet with without feeling like you needed to fill the space. But this silence had weight. Not comfort. History.

When he spoke again, his voice was different, lower, measured. “I almost texted you last year,” he said. You looked at him slowly, your heart skipping for reasons you didn’t want to name. “Why?”

He shrugged, but it didn’t feel careless. “Your birthday. I remembered. I even had the message typed out. Just… never sent it.” Your mouth felt dry. “What were you going to say?”

He gave a soft laugh, bitter around the edges. “Something stupid, probably. ‘Hope you’re doing well.’ Like we hadn’t built a whole life together.” You didn’t answer right away.

You thought about your last birthday. It had rained. You’d spent it alone, not because you didn’t have options, but because it was easier that way. You’d bought yourself dinner, answered a few texts, and gone to bed before midnight. No candles. No cake.

You hadn’t expected him to remember. But somehow, knowing he had—that he’d typed your name again, even just with his thumbs—it hit harder than you wanted it to.

You turned toward the window again, leaning on the arm rest. “I didn’t know what to say to you,” you admitted. “After everything.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Isn’t that the worst part?” he added. “We spent years talking about everything. And when it ended, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

That landed somewhere low in your chest. Right where the love still lived, buried under layers of routine and resignation. You whispered, “We never actually did.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because you were right, you’d never said goodbye, you’d just… stopped.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. It was a posture you hadn’t seen in years, but one you knew. The one he always took when he was thinking too hard—when he wanted to say something that might not land softly.

“I used to think it was timing,” he said, eyes fixed on the table between you. “That if we’d met later—or earlier—maybe it wouldn’t have fallen apart.” You didn’t interrupt. “But it wasn’t timing,” he continued. “It was us. The way we loved each other. We threw everything into it like that would make it last longer. Like if we just gave it more, it wouldn’t collapse.”

You nodded once, slowly. “We loved like it was a solution.”

“And it worked for a while,” he said, voice almost wistful. “God, we were happy.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah. We really were.”

It wasn’t denial. It was memory. You had been happy. Genuinely, stupidly, safely happy. There had been Sunday mornings with pancakes that never turned out right. There had been toothbrushes beside each other in a cup. There had been warmth—the kind that settled under your skin and stayed there, even in silence. The kind you didn’t question, not once.

He’d hold you in the middle of the night like it was second nature, like sleep only counted if you were tangled together. Some nights you didn’t sleep at all. Just stayed tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, loving each other so hard it felt like its own kind of fever.

There had been days when just being near each other felt like proof you were still safe. You were in love. So deeply, so achingly in love. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

He leaned back, his hands running through his hair. It was a movement you recognized instantly. The way he used to touch his face when he was trying to hold everything in. “I think we didn’t know how to stop giving,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I stopped knowing how to ask for space. You stopped knowing how to need me without apologizing.”

You looked at him, and in that moment, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the man who broke your heart. He was just the person you once knew better than yourself. And maybe still did.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted. “You were so much. You were always so much.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was the problem. I never learned how to be without trying to be everything.”

Silence stretched again—but not the kind that asks to be filled. The kind that comes after a wound is finally named. You glanced down at your hands. “I kept thinking, if I could just love you right, it would all settle. That we’d stop spinning.”

He blinked and then looked at you, really looked for the first time since your divorce. “You did love me right,” he said. “We just didn’t know how to live inside it.”

After a moment, he train began to slow, the wheels dragging against the track, almost reluctant, as if the journey itself didn’t want to end. Outside the window, snow had turned everything into a blur of white, the world outside vanishing under the weight of winter.

The silence between you had settled into something familiar, the kind that only grows in the presence of years shared—too many words left unsaid and too many spaces between you to ever be filled.

You were nearing your stop. You could feel it—the finality of it, thick in the air. The train pulled into the station, the sign outside blurring as the train slowed to a stop. Everything seemed slower now, like time was dragging its feet on purpose.

You stood first. He rose with you. He pulled your suitcase from the rack without asking. You didn’t thank him. You didn’t need to.

The doors slid open with a low hiss.

The cold hit first—sharp and clean. You stepped off together, shoes crunching lightly against the snow-dusted platform. The sky above was a pale wash of gray, open and quiet. No announcements. No crowds. Just you, him, and the breath you were both trying to hold in.

You stood next to each other, but neither of you moved. That awful moment—the one that comes just before a final goodbye—stretched between you like a second heartbeat. And then, he asked so quietly you almost didn't hear it, “Do you regret it?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t just a question. It was an invitation. To say no. To say yes. To say anything before this moment slipped away. It was the kind of question you only ask when it means now, and then, and always.

Do you regret it when you look back?

Do you regret it sitting here, knowing this is the last time?

Will you regret it tomorrow, once the door closes?

His Adam’s apple bobbed once, too sharp, like his body was trying to hold something in—something that had nowhere else to go. You didn’t look away. You glanced at him. His jaw was tense.

The sting hit your eyes before you could stop it. That familiar pressure. Heat gathering under your lashes like your body knew this was the last time it would be near his. “No,” you said. “Never.”

Then, before you could ask him the same, he answered anyway—soft, wrecked, true, “Me either, you were everything to me.” It knocked the breath out of you. Not like pain. Like closure. Like love wrapped in grief. You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped into him.

And he didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, like memory. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he held you like he knew exactly how long he had left. It wasn’t a hug meant to comfort. It was a hug meant to end something. Properly.

You held him tight. Long enough to burn it into your skin. Long enough to make sure you’d remember this version of him—not the one you divorced, but the one who once knew your body like it was his own home.

You finally pulled back from the hug, reluctantly, but you didn’t step away. Not yet. Your chest pressed against his just enough to feel how still he was. How hard he was trying to stay steady. The air between you was cold, but the space you occupied together was still warm. Still familiar.

And then—gently, like he’d done it a thousand times before—he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your cheek, hesitant, reverent. He cupped your face with both hands. And you let him.

You closed your eyes as his thumbs brushed softly under them, stroking the skin just beneath, like he was trying to catch the tears before they ever had a chance to fall.

You didn’t cry. But god, you wanted to.

You reached up, almost without thinking, and placed your hands over his. Just held them there. Anchored him to your skin. Your touch wasn’t pleading. It was quiet. Final. Like you were giving him permission to hold you one last time. To remember.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Until he did, his voice was soft. Steady. But behind it, something fragile. “Live a good life for me.” You nodded, lips trembling—not from fear, but from love that had nowhere left to go.

Then, gently and honestly you answered “You too Satoru. I’ll always be glad I got to be married to you.” That was it. That was everything. Eventually, he dropped his hands, and you stepped back. The space between you filled with cold air, and you didn’t try to close it again.

You turned, picked up your suitcase, and walked. Not fast, but forward. And when you reached the end of the platform, just before the stairs, you stopped. Only for a second. You didn’t look back. You just let the tears come, slow and full and quiet.

Not because you wanted him back. Not because it was wrong. But because what you had was real.

And real things are the hardest to leave behind.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @sojumica @buckcherried @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @andysteve1311

132 notes · View notes