#and the one thing my brain let me get out

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve been fired exactly once in my life. In my early twenties I was working at a pizza place. The pizzas were artisanal, thin crust and personal. They’re a huge chain now but when I first started the company was in its infancy. It was the wild west of management, and the core investors would frequently stop by to check on things. One of these people was this round little man with rage issues. A knock off Danny Devito with no charisma at all.

His favorite thing to do was to come in on a Friday or Saturday night. We'd be at our stations: taking orders, making pizza, manning the oven, finishing orders off, running the cash register. He'd shove his way onto the line and start rearranging people. "You, get off orders and work the cash register, you come over and make the pizzas!" With a line of customers snaking out the door he'd throw off all our grooves and rattle us.

Then, inevitably, a mistake would happen.

When it did he'd call the person over and say, "Hey c'mere. You're fired." Just like that. No inflection, just a flat "You're fired." It was absolutely a power kink, and because of his involvement the average turn over was three months. You were a veteran at five months.

One night there was only three of us manning the front. I took an order than went to the cash register to ring them out before I made the pizza. This horrible man watched that then called me into the back. I didn't know if I was about to be fired. But I wasn't. In fact, he had one other move besides firing people. He yelled.

In the back he absolutely lost his mind screaming at me for being on the cash register. I'm talking veins popping, spit flying, red with rage, this man just started bellowing nonsensically about where I should be and how I was just such a failure. It was truly like his brain had shut off, nothing he was saying even made sense. I stood there in the face of this tirade for a minute and then set a record for being the first person to ever cut him short by bursting into tears.

He instantly stopped yelling and it was like Jekyll and Hyde. He was remorseful and consoling, deeply embarrassed by my display of emotion. All my male coworkers just took the abuse but faced with my weeping he about faced and instantly backed off. I went outside to cry and when I came back in he pretended it had never happened.

That was the state of things. The investors knew they desperately needed to keep this man out of the stores, but they couldn't just give him the boot. They needed to move him aside and fill his position with someone. The store manager was this lovely woman who had hired me on the spot at my interview. The entire staff adored her. She was the best fit to get this roided out investor out of the stores for good.

Her replacement was this man called Anthony. He was instantly loathed by the entire staff. Condescending, critical, and lazy he started off his reign by letting go a core lead who "back talked." He spent a whole morning berating the opening crew because the closing crew (who had sold 100 more pizzas than we were even supposed to have on hand) had forgotten to windex the doors. He left the entire crew to close without him while he flirted with a girl who wasn't his pregnant girlfriend. He hired his roommate to replace the lead he fired and even that guy hated his guts.

Our antipathy toward him made him paranoid and resentful and one by one he started finding excuses to fire the whole staff, certain that if he could clean house he'd be able to do the job. My time came, and he sat me down with his boss, my former manager. She cried as he announced I wasn't personable enough and used too many pepperonis.

I looked at her, the woman who had trained me on how many pepperoni to use, but she said nothing. What could she say? He was the boss now and had determined I was going to be let go regardless. Too many in this case was seven. Seven pepperonis on a personal pizza. The correct number was five according to him, which is one pepperoni per slice, and one in the middle.

I sat there for a moment, taking it in. I smiled at my old manager, obviously miserable. I looked back at him and said, "You're a terrible manager, you're doing the worst imaginable job." I outlined some of the things he'd done so she could hear them, then I stood up and left. I made it to the back room before I started crying.

I found out later through a bus boy that he replaced the whole staff with college kids who had such limited availability that the store couldn't run, then quit three months later leaving the whole place in shambles. Most of the old staff returned, but I'd moved onto the sex shop already and was enjoying a job with significantly less risk of being fired on a whim.

However I do have to disclose on job applications if I've ever been fired. I always says yes and list the reason as, "Excessive use of pepperoni." It has never failed to get a laugh from my interviewer.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #funny #story #writing #pizza #fired

[peachdues]

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.

This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.

Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n

[thefantasyden]

Stray Kids reaction to different sub types

Now, the sub types I chose for each member are all different, but I hope you'll enjoy none the less.

Smut warning as always.

Chris:

Puppy Subs

Non Sexually: I think Chris is a great fit for puppy subs! Eager for affection, ready to please.

Chris would be a little confused at first, not really sure how to interact with you until he realises he can, in fact, just treat you like a dog.

He'd be so happy coming home to you, petting your hair, and asking if you've been good today. He almost always bring you home some kind of snack or treat because he always sees things that make him think of you.

He would low-key love the way you cling to him in public and your annoyed grumbles when you started getting sleepy or wanted more attention. CHAN PUPPY SUB LOVER he just thinks they're so cute.

Sexually: he loves the kind of sex that he doesn't have to think for, and a needy puppy in heat caters to that perfectly. Not to mention the breeding kink!

There's nothing that makes him cum quite as hard as rambling to his puppy about how he's gonna breed them as a reward for taking him so well and hearing you whine out your desperate pleas in response.

"Ohhhh my puppy. You want a bone, huh? C'mere."

Minho

Innocent Sub

Non Sexually: Minho would LOVE an innocent and obedient sub. One that never really questions what he's doing because they trust him that much. There's nothing better than being trusted so completely that he can manouver you wherever he wants and give you any task knowing you'll complete it without complaint.

He's on it from the go, testing out your submission by giving you the most random tasks at all times of the day.

Min likes these types even more because he can do anything he wants and people won't think twice because you appear to be so sweet. They don't question when he slots his thigh between yours and spreads your legs with his or when he pulls you down onto his lap out of nowhere, and that thrills him.

Sexually: He loves rewarding you. He doesn't need to have a real reason because he can just make one up. Half the time you can't understand why brushing your teeth or folding your laundry has earned you the opportunity to be spread out on his bed so he can devour you like he was made for it, but you won't complain.

He'll tease you endlessly, too. A good mix of feathery touches that tickle your skin and firm groping that both grounds you and knocks all thought from your brain. Constantly making you tell him that you like what he's doing, because it sounds songood in your slightly confused, dazed voice.

"Uh uh, use your words. Tell me how good I make you feel and then you can cum."

Changbin:

'Alpha' Sub

Non Sexually: This isn't controversial in any way, but Binnie wouldn't love a sub who also commands respect around others. He let's you wear the pants in public, no questions asked because it makes him proud to see how people are slightly scared of you because of your take no shit attitude.

If anyone guessed, they might even think he was the sub in your relationship with the way you boss him around, but he knows the second he asks you to do something you'll be jumping to make it happen. You're actually very obedient and well trained.

Sexually: He can't help but get turned on when you're being all commanding and strong. It's the contrast that does it for him, and he'll have you kneeling in front of him as soon as you're alone, massinging your scalp with a firm grip onnyour hair as you nuzzle at his thigh, dreamy sighs blessing his ears.

You're the kinda sub that he can fuck dumb really easily and he uses that to his advantage. Every. Single. Time. He's God great control so he won't cum until he's make you cum around his cock a few times, and even then he's going multiple rounds. He knows you'll take it every time.

"There's my baby. I know you can take the whole thing. You don't need to think about it, ok?"

Hyunjin:

Princess Sub

Non Sexually: Hyune loves a princess because he loves to dress you up and show you off, but not in the same way one would with a bimbo. Nom Hyunjin likes having the most beautiful, untouchable person in the room wrapped around his fingers.

He would appreciate the way a Princess Sub carries themselves. They know their worth, and they don't settle, so he gets to revel in the fact that you chose him and continue to choose him every day. You've deemed him worthy of your submission, and that's everything to him.

Sexually: His favourite thing is to fuck his Princess fully clothed. Both of you. The neediness of it, the dishevelled appearance you come out with. Something about ruining you really gets him going and once he starts, he can't stop.

He gets off on knowing that you're seen as someone that nobody could live up to, yet you're doing filthy depraved things for the sole purpose of his pleasure, and of course returning the favour tenfold.

"Look at you. God, you're a masterpiece, you know that?"

Han:

Slutty Subs

Non Sexually: he loves the clinginess. The way you always want to be close to him, on him.not only is the physical pressure of your body in his something he finds incredibly soothing and grounding, but he always thrives when he feels wanted and craved in the way you show.

It's hard for him not to blush and feel a little awkward when you insist on longer kisses and sitting on his lap despite the free seat next to him, but he really does adore it. Even when your hands start wandering a little too much.

Sexually: The NEEDINESS. God, having you begging for him any time you're alone drives him wild. He's capable of being calm. Don't get me wrong. But when you rile him up, all bets are off and he's taking you over the nearest surface.

Also, lots of CASUAL sex. Cockwarming during movies, fingering you when he's scrolling through his phone, your warm mouth wrapped around his cock when he's working. It's a strange sort of affection thing between you and the intimacy is the most important part of sex for Sungie, so he kind of loves that it's more about you showing how much you love and need him then just you hunting for an orgasm.

"Ah, fine! You can put it in your mouth, but no moving until I say so."

Felix:

Experienced Subs

Non Sexually: Felix and experienced subs are a matched made in heaven. He's curious about so many things and the fact that you're able to teach him how to do them means you get to turn him into your perfect Dominant, which is really all he's aiming for.

Felix is thrilled at how easily you'll bring up a new kink or a new toy and how quickly he's able to pick up from you, but even more than that, he's thrilled that you'd even bother to guide him.

He takes a special interest to after care if we're being frank. He loves to succeed at pushing you into a place of bliss and then soak up how song and pliant you are, snuggling you into his chest and fawning over you.

Sexually: The way you're able to figure out what he needs and give it to him will never fail to have him fucking you into the mattress. After a while of experimenting and becoming more comfortable with his own dominance he'd find himself craving it and he doesn't really know how to deal with that, so you just sink to your knees beside him when he's playing games and let him run his fingers through your hair and it sends a simultaneous rush of pride and heat straight to his cock.

He likes that you're not afraid to be vocal about what you want and need. He takes note of everything you like and everything that makes you moan a little louder and uses it against you until he's mastered to art of switching you into sub space with very little effort.

"You need me to take care of you, huh? Come on, I know you do. Let me make you feel good."

Seungmin:

Soft Brat Sub

Non Sexually: Hear me out, okay. I think Minnie would adore the playful side of a soft Brat. He loves that you give his attitude right back to him and toe the line of too far without ever crossing it. You're never disrespectful of the authority you chose to give him, but you're ready to call him out when he's wrong and he likes that.

He gets really giggly and happy when you tease him back, always flirting with him and reminding him of the effect he has on you. He almost expects it, and he'll be sad if you suddenly stop.

Sexually: Seungmin likes a little power struggle. He teases you harder when you resist, slowing his thrust until it's just a lazy roll of his hips against yours because he knows you'll break easily. The fact that he gets to 'break' you, but it has very little resistance, is actually nice for him because he doesn't want to feel like he's fighting to earn your respect constantly.

When you finally do give up your faux resistance, he makes sure to reward you. He'll almost always hold your hands while he pounds into you, kissing your nose and telling you how easy you make it for him. He's big on the affection when you fuck.

"That's it. Give in to it. I know it feels good. You can have more if you give up."

Jeongin:

Prey Subs

Non sexually: Our sweet innie is positively beaming when he sees flashes of worry in your eyes. He knows you're not scared of him. You're just eager for him, and it's fun to him. He loves to catch you off guard and startle you by grabbing your hips and pulling you close to him.

You love it too, of course. Innie is big on consent, and he wouldn't be wrapping his pretty hand around the base of your throat when he kisses your cheek unless he was positive you liked it.

He also likes to poke and prod at you just a little. The playful bullying is a big part of your dynamic and a way he shows his affection whilst reminding you of your place.

Sexually: The chase is everything. On special occasions you'll find yourself playing hide and seek through your apartment building, and it's led to you fucking in the gym more than once. He doesn't really understand why hunting you is so hot, but he's thirsty for it.

When he's not hunting you, he's manhandling you. It's not always rough, but he's always caging you in somehow. His body wrapped around yours, his hand pressed firmly in the middle of your back, your thighs pushed up to your chest. He doesn't really think about it much. He just knows he needs to take you, and he can't help but get a little aggressive.

"Baby, when I find you, I promise I'm gonna be fucking you on the nearest flat surface."

#stray kids smut #bang chan smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut #lee know smut #chan smut #i.n smut #han smut #jisung smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader #jeongin x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #hyunjin x reader #changbin x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #chan x reader

[star-hoon]

OBSESSED (p. sunghoon) — PART 2

I’M SO OBSESSED WITH YOUR EX

READ PART 1 HERE — MASTERLIST

pairing: sunghoon x fem reader

includes/warnings (18+): best friend’s ex! au, eventual smut (mdni), praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex (pls don't), ANGST, profanity, arguing, broken friendship (sorta)  (let me know if i missed anything!)

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: after sage catches you and sunghoon at the party, things change between all three of you. hidden emotions are unveiled and everyone does something they regret. the real question is...who?

author's note: omg thank you SO much to every person who read part 1! i'm so glad you guys liked it. this is dedicated to everyone who commented/requested for part 2 <3 you guys r all so sweet *hugs n squeezes*. pls look forward to my future works!

OBSESSED SOUNDTRACK

“SUNGHOON?!” both you and the raven haired boy whipped your heads in direction of his name that didn’t even get the chance to leave his lips.

holy. fuck. it was sage.

the sound of red solo cup hitting the pavement seemed to echo despite the bass of the party still booming from the house with the silence that fell between all three of you.

you were an absolute deer-in-headlights taking her equally shocked and disgusted expression. she's never looked at you like that.

you and sunghoon instantly push off each other; you flattening down your skirt and he combed through his hair, as if that would help both of your situations right now.

you felt as if you had blood all over your hands at a crime scene. what the fuck?! out of all the boys on the damn planet it had to be him?!

sunghoon. sunghoon. you just made out with park sunghoon. SAGE'S park sunghoon. your best friend's ex.

his name and sage's expression replayed in your mind. you were so. screwed.

you could feel your heartbeat in your ears and it felt difficult to breathe. so much so, you barely heard sunghoon be the first to say something.

"s-sage? h-h-hey uh how have you been? shit that must have been awkward for you to have seen that. jake didn't tell me he invited you..."

sage completely ignored sunghoon's remark, tunnel visioning on you.

"you've GOT to be kidding me y/n..." she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, slowly approaching you.

you felt like a child who had just been scolded. you wracked your brain for something to say, but nothing came out. despite how close you two were, sage always intimidated you. she could be stubborn and had a short temper, that thankfully you've learned to tame over the past year. but you knew this was beyond anything you could save yourself from.

"l-look sage i-i'm sorry okay, i can explain-"

"shit- wait you two know each other?!" sunghoon interjected. he had no idea what he just got himself into.

sage broke into laughter, clutching her stomach for dramatic effect. "wow this just got FUN didn't it?! let's play a little game. on the count of three, say how you know the person to your left. and it's okay if a word doesn't come to mind."

the last sentence clearly meant for sunghoon.

her tone of voice was honestly scaring you at this point, and you could sense that both you and her were internally reeling at the words that will be spoken into reality.

best friend. ex. .....

you just stood there frozen and sunghoon turned to you, seeing your mortified expression.

even though you and him just met, he already felt protective over you and with how psychotic his ex was acting...he knew things weren't right. he stepped slightly between you and sage, trying to guard you from her piercing gaze.

but she was one step ahead and moved even more to her left so she was still fully in your line of vision.

"what the fuck is going on sage? just answer the goddamn qu-"

sage cut sunghoon off once again, "3..2..1"

"best friend. ex. ....." you and sage responded in unison.

it was silent for just a moment, as you all stared at one another.

"well glad we got THAT out of the way, hope that answered your question hoonie-" you recoiled at her use of the nickname. she was bluffing and it just made you angry at this point.

"how the fuck was i supposed to know he's sunghoon?! i swear on my life you walked by right as i asked his name-" hot tears started to blur your vision.

people walking by were staring and whispering but you couldn't give less of a shit. she scoffed at what she only believed was an excuse.

"oh give. it. up. y/n! you know what, that's the problem with you. you ALWAYS act so innocent and like you're just the shy girl next door. i know you've always been jealous me. so much so you basically fucked my ex aka the first guy you saw at a party. who would have guessed how much of a slut you are."

tears started to run rampant down your cheeks. you couldn't believe sage would say all of this to you. is that how she really felt?

she walked up and leaned down to whisper something in your ear before walking off, the clicking sound of her heeled boots fading.

you just stood there and covered your face, the tears never stopping. you just couldn't look sunghoon or anyone in the eye after how embarrassed and humiliated you felt.

"hey hey... shhh baby it's okay" sunghoon removing your hands from your face, using his thumbs to gently wipe the ruined mascara from your cheeks. the pet name just rubbed salt in the wound.

he comforted you with soft kisses to your cheeks. he knew you weren't okay, how could you be after all of that? but he didn't quite know else to do or say in this situation.

you shoved him off of you. sage's whispered words ringing in your ears.

"i'm sorry sunghoon, i- i have to go. this was a total mistake-" your hiccuping voice barely getting the words out. you couldn't even look him in the eye and you just wanted to be anywhere else but there.

"wait y/n" he grabbed your wrist before you could run away from him. "look i get it if you never want to see me again after this, but the least i can do is give you a ride home."

your lip quivered as you stared up at him. the way he looked at you was so gentle, a stark contrast to how he looked at sage just a moment ago. it made your heart ache.

usually you would just brush off the offer but you were such a wreck, you knew you were in no state to make it home by yourself.

you just gave him a silent nod and you two walked to sunghoon's car in silence.

the silence persisted throughout the drive, aside from sunghoon asking for your address. sunghoon knew better than to ask questions.

your mind was anything from quiet, sage's whispered words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

"enjoy my sloppy seconds y/n, oh yeah...remember how i told you he said i was the best he's ever had?"

the sound of sunghoon opening his car door being the only thing snapping you out of your daze. he circled the car and opened your door for you.

"it's pretty late so i'll walk you to your door?"

'what a gentlemen' you thought. you felt like you were cinderella and he was your prince. but this was no fairytale.

you walked up the stairs, sunghoon trailing behind you. you stared at the faded blue paint of your apartment and turned around to part ways with sunghoon.

"thanks uh- for the ride. i'm sorry the night turned out like this-"

"i'm sorry about what sage said to you. she was hella out of line calling you those things..." you cringed at the memory. "...but what was the last thing she said to you?" you knew he was referring to what she whispered to you before she walked off.

you could not look him in the eye and tell him.

"she just told me to never text her again" you were sure your performance was convincing.

"y/n, please. tell me what she said. i know sage. i don't know what your guys' friendship's like, but if it's anything like while her and i were dating, she chooses her words wisely. she knows exactly what to say—especially if it's to hurt you."

shit, he read you like a book. you knew sage too. and you knew she would never lie or keep a secret from you—what she said must have been true.

"don't worry, that's what she said to me, promise."

he could tell you were lying, but you've been through enough in one night—he didn't want to cause a fuss.

"okay, just making sure" he huffed out a defeated sigh. "like i said, i get it if you never want to see again. but here's my number. i live only about a 5 minute drive from here so just in case you need anything or if anything with sage comes up, just gimme a call."

you stared down at his phone, contemplating for a few moments, but you eventually comply. a faint smile creeps on sunghoon's lips.

"for what it's worth y/n...i don't think tonight was a mistake. you made that party a hell of a lot more fun..." he chuckled trying to lighten the mood.

you couldn't bring yourself to quite say the same to him, so you just gave him a soft smile.

"thanks again sunghoon, goodnight."

you entered you apartment and made your way to your couch. you laid down and the threw your arm over your face, feeling tears threatening to fall once again.

you just curled up and drifted off to sleep, not even bothering to change your clothes or get ready for bed.

the only thing keeping you from losing your mind was the thought of sleep.

you woke up the next morning (much to your dismay) and barely made it through the day.

you and sage have never fought like this. you both swore to never let something as stupid as a boy get between you two. so many questions swirled in your head.

is that really how sage felt about you all this time?

you get why she's pissed, but is she not even willing to hear you out?

is she willing to let go of your guys' friendship that fast?

you filled your day cleaning your apartment and running way too many errands—being busy always helped you in times of stress. eventually the sun was setting through the blinds covering your bedroom window.

you had no idea how to handle this entire thing. and it was something you certainly didn't want to deal with alone.

you stare down at your phone biting the inside of your lip, your finger hovering over screen.

you knew this could make things that much more complicated, but you needed someone talk to.

calling 'park sunghoon'....

after a few rings, he finally picked up. your heart was beating out of your chest.

"hey, may i ask who's calling?"

"h-hi s-sunghoon, it's y'n"

there was a pause. you were cringing at yourself for stuttering so much, little did you know sunghoon was smiling like an idiot from the other end.

"hey y/n, didn't think you'd actually call...wait did something happen? did sage do anything to you?" concern suddenly lacing his tone.

"no not all. i was just calling to talk, i'm just super stressed about all of this..."

he let out sigh of relief, he thought you could have been hurt.

"aw i'm sorry, yeah that makes sense. did you want to talk in person? i can come over."

"yeah, that'd actually be great, thanks." you heard the sound of him picking up his keys.

"of course, i'll be there 5"

you open your front door after hearing a few soft knocks. you couldn't help but bite your lip at the sight front of you.

sunghoon wore a black hoodie, gray sweatpants, and glasses. a simple outfit but oh was it effective. you had to refrain from jumping on him right then and there.

"h-hey, thanks for coming over. sorry it was so late minute. please come in" you stepping aside and guiding him inside your apartment.

"yeah no problem. no need to apologize y/n, i was the one who offered to talk in person"

you just let out a soft laugh in response, cringing at your over-apologetic tendencies.

sunghoon smiled quietly watched you, finding it absolutely adorable how cute you were trying to be a good host. despite him being the one asking to come over and you two doing not so innocent things just the previous night.

you sit next to sunghoon on the couch. he scanned around your apartment, taking in all of your cute decor and trinkets.

"your apartment is so...cute. never would have guessed based on how you were acting last night" he smirked, teasing you.

you felt flustered as you felt your cheeks heat up.

"oh thanks" you looked down at your feet feeling shy. "yeah honestly i never really do that kinda thing at parties but i don't know, guess last night was different".

different he thought.

he just hummed in acknowledgment as a comfortable silence fell between you. it felt as if you both sucked in a breath in unison.

"y/n-"

"i-"

he speaks first, "of course you can rant to me about however you're feeling, but after thinking it over, i don't think you're in the wrong here y/n."

"she's my best friend sunghoon. and you're her ex boyfriend. is that not the first rule of girl code? i'm sure same thing applies to guys."

"okay sure i guess..." he licks his lips as he contemplates his next words "but sage and i broke up over a year ago. whatever we had, it's long gone. and unless she has lingering feelings for me, which i can tell she certainly doesn't, she should be more mature about this"

you nod silently, agree with everything he was saying.

"...and i know you were telling the truth when you told you had no idea it was me. because she quite literally was passing by as you asked for my name. so i genuinely think you did nothing wrong here"

"yeah that's true i guess" there's a pause as you take in his words.

"can i tell you what sage actually said to me last night?" you felt comfortable enough with him now to tell him and now were just more curious more than anything if what sage said was true.

"sage told me that you said she was the best you've ever had and i can enjoy her 'sloppy seconds'" you air-quoted the last two words with your fingers.

sunghoon's silence made your heart pound even faster. was it actually true? if so, this just made you even more embarrassed.

he eventually just scoffed which turned into a breathy laugh.

"oh man, sage sure is funny." he shakes his head at what you assume is disbelief. "i'm not sure if she got me mixed up with another park sunghoon, but i never said that."

you felt a huge weight was taken off your chest. sunghoon caught your sigh of relief.

"i'll be honest though, sage and i dated for a good amount of time, but i mean clearly we broke up for a reason. and i cannot stress enough that i do not have feelings for her at all. especially not after meeting you."

he puts his large palm on your knee, rubbing it soothingly.

you look down at the comforting gesture, a single tear falls down onto the back of his hand.

what the hell, why were you crying? sure, you were stressed about the situation but you didn't think it made upset enough to make you cry.

you had been beating yourself up about all of this since sage said those harsh words to you. you had started to believe that maybe what she said was true and that an ordinary girl like you had no business with a guy as like sunghoon. feelings of embarrassment, frustration, and guilt were eating you alive.

but after hearing sunghoon be in your corner, him saying you did nothing wrong, and finding out sage made up what she said somehow made you feel forgiven.

the small salty puddle on sunghoon's hand surprised you just as much as it did him.

he turns to meet your eyes, making you look at him "hey, what's wrong?" he pouts at your misty eyes, wiping the second stray tear before it could fall on your cheek.

"i-i'm sorry i don't even know why i'm crying. this whole thing was taking a bigger toll on me than i thought. just thank yo-"

he couldn't resist and crashes his lips into yours. his hand coming cradle the side of your face.

you let out a noise of surprise, not expecting him to kiss you so suddenly. you surrendered to him quickly though, not realizing how much you missed the taste of his lips. he deepend the kiss, his hand creeping up to thread through the hair at your nape neck, pulling slightly.

you let out a soft moan at the feeling, your parted lips leaving the perfect opportunity for him to slip is tongue into your mouth.

the sound of your lips smacking and heavy breathing filled the room. the heavy makeout eventually left you breathless. he pulled away but you still chased his lips.

he rested his forehead against yours signaling you he needed a breather. the eye contact and tension felt suffocating—the way you looked at him made his heart burst. your eyes were shiny were so shiny and wide, anticipating his next move. your cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted. your tank top and cotton shorts made his mind run wild. but he wanted to explore what was underneath.

he reached to remove your tank top and bra, and your shorts not long after leaving you in just your panties. he took off his shirt and hoodie, leaving him in just his sweats. the sight alone made you soaked through your panties.

he took in the sight on your almost bare figure on top of his, reaching to grope and feel your body. he attached his lips to your neck, sucking and biting the same sensitive spots he remembered from last night "you drive me fucking crazy y/n" he whispered against your skin.

his lips wandered down from your neck to your chest eventually taking a nipple into his mouth, the feeling of his hot tongue driving your desire for even into oblivion. he made sure to attend to the other one by pinching it with his other hand.

"f-fuck s-sunghoon..."

you began to grind on him, feeling his dick already hard through his sweatpants. his veiny hands wandered to the flesh of your outer thighs and hips, gripping your skin tightly savoring the feeling of your skin against his.

you pressed harder against him, finding the right rhythm of your hips on his, making him throw his head back, his eyes rolling slightly. the delicious sensation of your grinding his boner making him bite his lip staring at you. he crossed his arms behind his head, making his defined muscular arms even more prominent in the dim lighting of the room.

"yeah, grind on that dick baby, feel how hard i am for you?... see what you do to me?" his voice lower than normal, laced with nothing but lust.

"p-please..." you whined, his words making you work your hips even more fervently against his.

understanding your plea, he guided your back to lay flat on the couch climbing on top you, his arms on both sides of your head. the cold metal his delicate silver chain grazed the skin of your chest and neck, contrasting your hot skin.

you pulled him by the chain to kiss you again, your hands feeling his chest and biceps. his hands felt up your body once again, taking in every curve and dip from your breast to your hips, eventually playing with the hem on your panties.

"may i, sweetheart?" god, was he trying to make you fall in love with him?

you gave him a nod biting your lip. he slowly pulled your lace panties down your legs, creating a string of sticky arousal. you had never been so turned on in your life.

his fingertips ghosting the skin of your thighs, eyeing your bare body under his. you started to suddenly feel shy under his intense gaze, hiding your face in your arm and closing your thighs.

he gently pulled your arm away and tapped your knees to part your legs.

"don't hide baby, i wanna see your face, you're so beautiful...fuck you're so wet... all for me?"

"mhm...all for you- oh fuck" you breathily moaned as his fingers circled your clit, spreading your arousal. the feeling of his fingertips alone had your head spinning. he slowly inserted his fingers into your core, your walls sucking them in.

"jesus princess, you're so tight" he groaned as thrusts his fingers languidly, your juices starting to drip onto his palm. the squelching noise echoed in the room as you squirmed beneath him.

with the way that your back was arching and your walls clenching around him, he knew you were close. "you close sweetheart? wanna come all over my fingers?"

"fuck, yes please! your fingers feel so good. i- i wanna come" you whined desperately. his fingers speeding up as his thumb expertly rubbed your clit.

"such a good girl. come for me" a few more rubs from his fingers as your walls spasmed around him.

when he finally pulled his fingers out, you whined at the suddenly empty feeling. he kissed you once again, finding you all too adorable. "you did so good for me baby, ready for my dick?"

"please sunghoon, i need you" he pulled away taking off his sweats and boxers. the sight of his perfect cock made your mouth water: it was so hard, veiny, and red. his size making you question if he would fit in you.

he quickly climbed on top of you again, giving your cheek and neck light kisses while rubbing his cock through your folds, wetting his dick. when his tip grazed your clit you couldn't help but mewl at the feeling, your hands threading through his hair.

"fuck, please put in" you begged shamelessly. he bottomed out inside of you, biting his lip as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. he let you adjust to his size before thrusting slowly but deeply.

"s-shit you're so fucking tight y/n fuck" he groaned into your neck, leaving love bites. his could feel every vein of his dick and the fullness felt so good. so right.

his hands wandered to the small of your back, making you arch into him making him hit your g-spot. you nearly screamed into his neck at the feeling. his rhythm started to falter, your kisses getting messier and you were nearing your highs.

"s-sunghoon, please i'm c-close" you said in between whines and moans.

"fuck, me too sweetheart" he has never finished so damn fast during sex before but your pussy felt like it was made for him. he rubbed your clit once again, wanting nothing more than to give you the most pleasure possible.

"come on, be a good girl and come for me. cream all over my cock baby... you're better than she ever was". his words making the knot snap in your build up of euphoria. you moaned loudly a mixture of curses and his name, waves of pleasure washing over you.

sunghoon finished not long after, pulling out and fisting his dick to cum all over your stomach and thighs—making you his. he looked down at the sight beneath him and he never wanted to look away.

your head thrown back and jaw slack, your cheeks still flushed. your heavy breathing and still sensitive body twitching. he rubbed your clit to prolong your high until you pushed his hand away, feeling overstimulated.

sunghoon leaned down to give soft kisses to your lips and forehead, before running to the kitchen to grab a paper towel wet with some warm water to clean you up.

the way was gently wiping your skin, leaving kisses here and there made your heart ache.

"hoon..." his eyes immediately meeting yours at the pet name, his heart skipping a beat. "...can you stay the night?"

he smiled and pecked your lips, "i thought you'd never ask"

sage eventually reached out to you 2 weeks after jake's party and you two made amends. she apologized for what she said and acknowledged that things will probably never be the same with you two, but still wishes you and sunghoon the best.

"so, how did the call with sage go?" sunghoon asked from your kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. you and sunghoon continued to hangout almost every day since that first night, and the more you go to know him, the harder you fell.

you two started to grow so close that could tell what he was thinking and he didn't even have to say anything.

"well, things for sure will never be the same between us that's for sure, but i think we both got closure from all of this." you said with a sigh.

he walked over to you silently, his hair down and slightly messy from sleep. his fingers fidgeted around the coffee mug and his lips smacking together making the 'tsk' they always do when he's about to say something but holds back.

"did you wanna tell me something?" you gestured him to come closer to you. you put your hands around his neck and he put his around your waist. you leaned your forehead up to his and his lips quirked up on the side.

"y/n, will you go on a date with me?" you couldn't hold back a smile as you kissed him passionately.

who would have guessed you could be so obsessed with your best friend's ex?

taglist:  @luv-jungwon106 @gudkc @gyuoonz

ramblings: literally had a fever writing the second half lol pls tell me if this is bad bc i cannot even tell also this is my first time writing smut so i apologize if it just wasn't smexy at all ahHH

+ (also sage is actively the worst in this part lol, she is saur annoying and lowkey crazy)

thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think <3

reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated!!

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen blog #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen park sunghoon #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfiction #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #enha imagines #enha x reader #enha #enha sunghoon #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen smut

[gglitch1dd]

How woulda Izuku react to his wife coming home from being out with Mina, Denki, and Yaomomo and she’s drunk? He would he take care of her? I’m sorry I js love when ppl take care of their partners 😭😭🙏🏾

(Sorry to answer so late Anon)

Mister Tree

Husband Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader

Warning: Effects of alcohol, YN being thirsty for her man.

He would take such sweet care of her. He finds it more funny than anything because he knows that you probably didn't want to drink that much initially but one drink turned into five and suddenly he's helping you out of Momo's car.

"I'm so sorry, Izuku." Momo bowed as Izuku shuffled to hold you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. "I tried to slow them down but then Denki made a bet and then Mina was on it and then-"

Izuku chuckled. "It's alright, Momo. Really. I'm glad she-"

"WEEEEEEEE!" You threw your hands out as you wiggled your legs in his arms at being off the ground.

Momo looked at you surprised but Izuku just laughed. "I'm glad she enjoyed herself. Thank you for getting her here safely."

"It's no problem at all. I'll see you soon." She waved her hand as she entered back into her car.

Izuku carried you towards the open door of your home, watching as you nodded your head side to side. He kicked off his outside shoes and put back on his slippers as he closed the door behind him.

He then noticed that you were struggling against him with a frown on your face. You pathetically tried to fight against him, pushing at his face as you let out huffs. "Don't touch me, Mister Tree! I have a husband!" You shouted at him as you wiggled in his arms like a worm.

He paused before chuckling at your antics. He found it endearing that despite being drunk out of your mind, you still were faithful to him. He carried you towards the stairs. "I know."

You gasped. "Men." You scowled, shaking your head. "So disgusting and shameless. My husband... He's going to mess you up, mister Tree." You said with a glare on your face. "He's gonna super Dutroit smash your face in."

"Oh really?" He asked with a raised eyebrow as he carried you up the stairs.

You nodded your head with a proud huff as you folded your arms over your chest. "He's super strong! He's a prohero! The Number One one..." You paused at your sentence structure, taking a moment to realise your redundancy before your face split into a grin and you started giggling to yourself.

Izuku tried to stop his own laughter from bubbling out as he carefully moved to set you down onto your shared bed. He took off your shoes and socks and moved to your closet to grab your pyjamas. You were still giggling to yourself like it was the funniest thing ever.

"Sorry about this sweetheart but I've got to change you." He warned you before hand as he moved to grab at your shirt and pull it over your head.

You gasped as you wrapped your arms around you and tried to scramble off the bed. "HUBBY HELLP! THIS STRANGE GREEN TREE IS TRYING TO UNDRESS ME!" You shouted as you squirmed in bed. Izuku had to hold onto you and try to keep a good grip on you. "I mean he's kind of hot BUT I'M NOT INTO TREES LIKE THAT!"

"Y/N!" He shouted trying to get your attention. You paused as you looked at him. He looked down at you before giving you a gentle smile. "I'm your husband." He told you as he showed you the wedding band you got him on your wedding day. He wiggled his ring finger and smiled. "It's me." He told you as he carefully took your small hands into his large rough ones. He kissed your hands and put your hands to his heart. "Izuku."

You paused as you stared at him for a moment. Recognition clicked in your brain as you saw him. Then your face morphed into a smirk as you looked up at him with a giggle. "Boy, you fine as hell."

A pink blush bloomed on his face as he laughed. "Thank you. Now can I please undress you?" He asked.

You wiggled your eyebrows as you lay back, not even trying to fight. "Oh you can do more than undress me." You let out slyly. Izuku only burned redder as he moved to take off your shirt and your bra. "How do you want me, big boy? I'm alright with anything? Matter fact, sir, I can spread my folds for you and-"

"Y/N please!" Your husband laughed as he tried to focus on purely undressing you and getting you into your soft pyjamas. "I'm not going to have sex with you tonight."

You paused. Then a frown came to your face. "You don't want me?" You asked sadly. "It's the nose isn't it?"

"I love your nose, Y/N." He informed you simply as he moved to finally slip you into your pyjamas. He smiled as he cupped your face and kissed your nose. "But you're drunk. You aren't in a right state of mind. How about we put a rain check on that okay?" Izuku left you to go put your clothes in the hamper and grab some water. Suddenly when he came back you were crying.

"You're so sweet!" You whined. "And so hot!"

Izuku shook his head as he came over to sit at the side of your bed and snuggle you in. He gave you some water to drink before making sure you were comfortable.

"Izu..."

"Hm?"

You looked up at him with a tired expression. "You're a very sexy tree." You stated.

"Okay, thank you Y/N. But can you please go to sleep." He said laughing.

"You're so sexy, I swear you could lay down your wood on me, anytime."

"Y/N-"

"Rub your bark on me, baby."

"Y/N PLEASE! Please just sleep."

-Glitch1d

[Midoriya Izuku Masterlist]

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #mha x y/n #deku x reader #bnha #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #izuku fluff #midoriya izuku fluff

[heartfullofleeches]

Can Gigi split themselves to make a clone? Imagine loser reader wishing for a threesome and Gigi just makes a second Gigi.

While they may not be the same exact species of slime alien as Slime Reader, who's to say Gigi can't divide himself too- Loser Reader seems like the type to be hesitant about taking anything up their ass because it feels too submissive for them, but my brain is mushy over the thought of one Gi taking them from behind while the other sucks them off. Slime boy gets the "milk" he so desires by milking Reader's prostate-

-

"Best four out of six?"

"No way! You lost fair and square. At least you're the one who gets to taste their love-"

"Yeahhhh, but this is the first time they've ever let us do this. I think it's their first time doing this...ever actually. It's almost romantic, don't cha think? Just one more go?"

Laying on your back, you watch as the two slime commence yet another round of rock, paper, scissors over who gets to take you first. It's been roughly ten minutes of this shit. At this point you're too horny to care who fucks you. You're painfully aware the two will start complaining if you try to touch yourself without them. Turning over on your side, you shove your boxers down past your knees - burying your face in the pillows as you pitifully mutter.

"Why don't you both fuck me at same time..."

The slides had full control over their own bodies. Surely they wouldn't make themselves too big for you to handle with this being your first time doing something like this- A squeal of excitement sounds from both creatures as they cozy up beside you on the bed - one kissing at your jaw as the other feels up your chest.

"That's a great idea, love!"

"We promise we won't be too hard on you this time-"

"All we really want is to leave you too tired in the morning for that brunch date with that girl you met at the coffee shop. Why are you so obsessed with having one human girlfriend when you can have the two of us?"

"You're so mean to us sometimes.... Don't worry, we'll fuck that need for them right out of you- It's okay if you're still the desperate perv you've always been - so long as your desires rely on us alone."

(Should I make this a full thing? Loser Reader getting dicked down by a bunch of slime boys sounds good to me)

#Gigi my oc #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere oc #male yandere #loser reader #yandere slime #amab reader

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

She brushes another kiss to his hidden face and settles against the car door, holding him. She thinks for a moment and decides on something old, a tune she heard on the radio once upon a time and never heard again; she’s warped it, now, no doubt about it, humming it from memory so long it’s changed to whatever she has made it. But Will recognises it from years of lullabies, picking up on the swooping baritones and mumbling the words into her shoulder.

“You know, that Han Solo shrine up in your room makes a lot more sense, now that I think about it.”

The melody dies in his throat.

“Mama.”

“I’m just saying.” She bites back a smirk, swatting away his smacking hands. “There was a point in time I thought it was admiration, you know, but you have a lot of posters of that open vest —”

“Mama!”

She acquiesces, this time, never having seen his poor face so scarlet, trying and failing to keep her laughter to herself. The tear tracks have long since dried and his breathing is steady, now, gangly limbs tucked into her ribs and hanging off the bend of her thigh. Flopped all over her like he used to to when he was young and she was still touring, when the world was too loud and too bright and too mean and she hid him from the sun. Her hands in his hair are to touch instead of soothe.

“Who’s the boy?”

“No.”

“C’mon, babydoll.” She pokes at his ribs, grinning widely when he rolls his eyes to hide his smile. “Tell me.”

“It’s nobody, Ma, gods.”

“Yeah, right. Not like you were comparing having a crush to killing someone in cold blood twenty minutes ago. Clearly it’s somebody.”

He, very pointedly, doesn’t answer.

Unfortunately, he forgets that he gets his stubborn from her.

“Hm. Can’t be anyone I haven’t heard of in a few weeks, or else it wouldn’t be bothering you. What names have you mentioned?”

He looks at her in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Absolutely, she would. Her smile widens.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it ain’t Chiron, ‘cause then I’d have questions —”

“Oh my gods! Stop!”

“— an’ I doubt it’s that security fellow, with the eyes, although if it is no judgement —”

“I’m throwing myself out of this car! Right now! I’m gonna lay on the road ‘til someone hits me!”

“— Lord, you don’t mention many names. You’re a recluse, baby. You gotta make more than two friends.”

She stills. Will, perhaps guessing where she is going, makes a noise of deep, personal agony.

“Oh my stars, is it Cecil?”

“Ew, Ma!”

He strains against her hold but she tightens, hooking her elbow around his shoulders and flexing her other hand, pretending to examine her nails.

“It is, isn’t it? I mean, he is a very handsome young man. And he has a good heart, too, despite the — how to put it — distaste for the law —”

“I just threw up in my mouth! Right now! Stop it!”

“I should probably stop letting him stay in your room when he stays over, huh, that one’s on me —”

He wrenches himself away from her, finally, clambering over the seats and gagging like the mere idea makes him nauseous.

“Ew! Ew! I do not have a thing for Cecil, oh my gods, I might as well marry my cousin! Augh! I’m gonna throw up for real! Why would you even say that, oh my —”

“Alright, alright!” she laughs, kicking his rapidly repeating shoulder. “Holy Jesus, you are dramatic. I should call up camp and tell him you’re out here retchin’ at the mere thought.”

“Good,” Will says darkly, voice muffled from how deeply his head is buried in his hands, “make sure to also tell him he is a weasel.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that I am going to deface his vintage Hot Wheels collection.”

“Y’all have a strange friendship.”

“He’s not my friend, I am stuck with him via circumstance and because he refuses to leave me alone.”

She holds up her hands in surrender, refraining from pointing out the friendship bracelet he is currently wearing with a CM on it and that has not left his wrist in four years.

“Alright, alright. Not Cecil.”

He scoffs in agreement, ignoring her rolled eyes.

She wracks her brain for other boys he’s brought up in their phone calls, aside from people in passing. Mostly he mentions patients, really, answering her endless inquiries — it will never stop astounding her that he baby can practically sew heads back on bodies; she tells people he’s in med school and preens at their wide, impressed eyes — but there are other people he mentions, in between that and the pranks he’s frequently pulling with his friends.

“There was that boy you were so excited to keep around. Nick?”

“His name is Nico,” he corrects, and then immediately goes scarlet. “I — I mean, I have a friend, named Nico, not that —”

Her grin gets sharp as nails.

“He is — unwell! He’s travelled a lot, he needs monitoring so I am — monitoring him, you know, out of concern for his safety —”

“Nico and Wi-ill, sitting in a tree —”

“Oh my gods are you five —”

“You are steaming! I can actually feel the heat pouring off of you right now! You love him, you want to kiss him, you —”

“I am never telling you anything again in my entire life!” he hollers. “Never! Next time I think I should tell you something I’m just gonna — swallow glass!”

She snickers. “Drama queen.”

He sticks out his tongue as she situates herself back in her own seat, turning the keys in the engine. His puts his dirty converse on the dash despite her grouching, reaching over to fight her for control of the radio, flapping his hand excitedly when she lets him win and something bright and overdone starts playing. His bandage stays where it is, tied loosely around his wrist.

“I’m glad you told me, you know.”

He smiles, small and genuine, leaning into the palm she cups around his cheek. The dimple in the centre of his right cheek is back, the scrunch of his freckled nose. She presses a lingering kiss smack dab in the centre of his forehead and he leans into it, trusting.

“I know.”

#okay THATS it #do i like this as much as the first part? no it’s less impactful. but it is fun so idc #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #will solace #naomi solace #will solace & naomi solace #solangelo #fluff #my writing #fic #longpost

[munsonsmixtapes]

Helloooooo

I'm newer to your page ive been slowly reading your amazing stories.. are you still doing your prompt list stories?? I seen 3 that could work.. 40,42 and 43.. and it made me think or something possibly like this..

Eddie and (maybe plus sized) reader have been together for a while.. she sees a pretty girl/groupie flirting with him after the show (but she doesn't see him walking away from her or telling her that hes taken/not interested.. Reader just gets feral when they get home.. not realizing she's ovulating or something.. and just like gets her frustration out by begging Eddie to claim her fully or something..

sorry my brain has been all over the place.. I just can't get enough of him amd some stories have brought out some sides of me that i didnt know i had haha)

Hope that made sense.. I have a hard time getting what I have in my brain out.. which is why I don't write haha

Hello, lovely! Welcome! Thanks for the request!

Not proofread!

Eddie x fem!shy!plus size!reader

cw: MDNI 18+, smut (p in v), unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving), mention of pregnancy

Ever since you and Eddie had gotten together, he had made your relationship his entire personality. He would mention you every chance he got, letting everyone know that he was a taken man and that he was very lucky to have you. Whether it was in an interview, he talking about one of the many songs he had written about you, or introducing you to someone, it didn’t matter. He was so obsessed with you and had to let everyone know just how much he loved you.

Amongst his many nicknames for you, “my girl” was by far his favorite. He used it so often, so much love behind the words that it was clear to everyone that he was head over heels for you. He’d even go as far as singing the song to you while you made breakfast together, spinning you around the kitchen as the lyrics fell from his lips.

“This? Oh, my girl got it for me.”

“The next song is about my girl. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my girl.”

You were his favorite topic of conversation to the point where it seemed that everyone knew that he was taken just by how much he brought you up in conversation, often unprompted. And anyone who didn’t know or did and flirted with him anyway, he would shut them down so quickly once he realized what was happening. He already had the best thing and wouldn’t have dreamed of ruining it.

You entered the concert venue as everyone was packing things up for the night. Corroded Coffin had just finished a show which you hadn’t been able to get to until after your shift at the bar down the street. You felt horrible for missing it even though Eddie had insisted that it was okay. He just appreciated that you were going to be there at all with your very busy schedule.

You were let in through the back doors and made your way down the hallway to find the all too familiar mop of hair. He was usually waiting right by the door for you, but he wasn’t there. You were starting to panic, but tried to calm yourself down, telling yourself that maybe he was in the bathroom or grabbing his belongings.

You looked all around the building until you spotted him outside his dressing room…talking to a girl. She was beautiful and she was making him laugh. She reached up and touched his hair and instead of stepping in like you knew you should have, you just turned on your heel to leave. You couldn’t watch another second.

What you hadn’t seen when you turned your back was Eddie removing the girls hand from his hair before dropping it. Now he understood what was happening. He took a step back from her until his back almost hit the door.

The thing about Eddie was that sometimes he wasn’t even aware that he was being flirted with. That was something that he still wasn’t used to after years in the industry because of the treatment he had received back home. He just thought they were being friendly until the touches came into play and that was always telltale sign. And then he’d let them down easy, not wanting to hurt their feelings, letting them know that his girl was waiting for him back home.

“Oh,” his eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I have a girlfriend.” The girls face fell and she almost seemed disgusted by the fact that he was in a relationship.

“Oh,” she pouted. He always felt bad, letting the girls down, but he knew that one of his band mates would be happy to take them off his hands.

“But you know what? I heard that Gareth is looking for someone to take home, if you’re interested,” he winked and her face lit up again.

“Really?”

“Really,” Eddie nodded and opened the dressing room door where the other members of the band were hanging out. “Go get ‘em.”

The girl entered the room and Eddie let out a sigh of relief before turning to his left only to see you turning the corner. He didn’t know where you were going. You always waited for him so he didn’t understand why you were walking away.

He took off, racing after you so he could catch up. He almost tripped a few times, but he got to you, draping an arm over your shoulder as he fell into step with you.

“There’s my girl,” he let out a contented sigh before pressing a kiss to your temple. He tucked you into his side but couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t grabbing a hold of him like you usually did. You always had to be touching him so something was clearly off.

“Nothing to say, hm?” he asked, his lips still pressed to your skin. You weren’t usually talkative after work because you were usually overstimulated, but you would normally at last give him some sort of greeting.

Had he forgotten an important event? Maybe your birthday? No, that had already passed. Maybe your anniversary? No, that wasn’t until next month. Whatever it was, he definitely needed to apologize.

You and Eddie didn’t fight often, but when you did, it didn’t take very long for you both to make up. He was normally the first to apologize, hating to see the angry look on your face. He just wanted to make everything right so you could cuddle up in your bed. He just wanted you to be happy and hated when he was the one to be the cause of your unhappiness.

But he wanted to wait until you brought up what was bothering you. He never wanted to pry and hoped that you knew that he was willing to listen to whatever was going on in your head, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

So, you spent the whole walk to his van and the whole ride home talking about your nights. He listened to you tell him about what happened at the bar and he told you how great the show went, not leaving out any detail.

It almost seemed like a normal night except for the obvious tension between the two of you. Neither one of you were going to be the first to bring it up, so it sat between you, like a jack in the box and you both were afraid to crank it first, not wanting to see the thing pop up.

Eddie rested his hand on your thigh like he normally did and even thought you were upset with him, you weren’t going to deny his affection. You loved the way his rough skin felt on yours and you felt like you needed him to show you just how much he wanted you.

You wanted him compliment you as he pounded into you, causing you to let out countless moans. You wanted to feel his lips everywhere. Your neck, your tits, your pussy. You just needed his head between your thighs so badly that you were getting wet just thinking about it.

Eddie pulled up to the house that you shared and was quick to help you out of the van, still keeping a hold of your hand as he opened the garage door. You pulled your hand out of his as soon as the door was open and headed inside.

He needed to beg if he wanted to get lucky. Not that it would take much for you to give in. You would have done anything he told you just by him flashing his million dollar smile, his dark brown eyes shining.

Eddie followed you into the house and up the stairs, noticing how loudly you were stomping as you took each step. He usually liked pissing you off just to get the reaction he liked, but never to this level. He had really fucked up and he didn’t even know what he had done.

You got to your shared room and slammed the door once you were inside. Eddie winced at the sound and decided that he finally had enough. He had to get to the bottom of the problem.

“Alright.” He opened the door, not even bothering to close it. He couldn’t go any longer without knowing why you were so pissed at him. “What’s on your mind?”

How could he not know? He was laughing with another girl then acted like it was nothing? Maybe he wasn’t into you as much as you thought. Maybe what you had wasn’t as special as you had assumed. Maybe this was just the beginning of the end.

“Nothing, Eddie. Let’s just go to bed.” You really weren’t in the mood to start another fight with him.

“No, we’re gonna talk about this.” He put his hands on his hips. Wayne always told him to never go to bed angry and he intended on sticking to that advice.

“Fine, you wanna know what’s wrong?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Tell me, angel,” he stepped forward. “Please.”

“I saw you with her.” His eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out who you could have been talking about.

“With who?” He had no idea what you were referring to and just wanted you to come out and say it.

“The groupie outside your dressing room.” Oh. He had completely forgotten about her as soon as she entered the dressing room. He couldn’t believe you were jealous of her. You were always the only girl on his mind.

“You’re jealous,” he chuckled and you just scoffed. You couldn’t believe that he was laughing at your pain.

“So what if am?” He wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily, but he appreciated the honesty.

“There’s no need to be jealous, honey,” he rested his hands on your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You’re the one I love, remember?”

He had always said the word so easily, so matter-of-fact, as if he was telling you the weather forecast.

“You love me.” You crossed your arms over your chest, needing a little more than that to be convinced.

“Of course I do.” He gave your shoulders another squeeze before sliding his hands down to yours, holding them.

“Prove it.” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. You wanted proof, needed it in fact.

“What?” He let out a scoff at your words. It wasn’t like you to have so much confidence in your words. You were usually so shy and quiet, but he liked seeing this new side of you.

“Prove it,” you repeated and he just let out another chuckle.

“How am I supposed to do that?” He stopped laughing once he saw you weren’t joking. You meant what you said, but he was going to do whatever you asked. He just wanted you to not be upset with him anymore. He needed to see your pretty smile.

“Beg.” Your eyes darkened as you spoke and Eddie’s widened at how authoritative you had become. You were so hot like this.

“Beg?”

“Beg,” you removed one of your hands from his and pointed to the floor. “On your knees.” He didn’t know why he was finding your bossy behavior so hot, but his dick was definitely hardening.

Eddie lowered himself to the floor, your hands still in his. He looked up at you and you loved seeing him from that point of view. He looked so small unlike his usual tall stature.

“I love you so much, angel,” he said, bringing your hands up to his lips. “So so much. You’re my girl and I’d never even think about cheating on you. You have no reason to be jealous, I swear.”

He grabbed a hold of your waist, burying his face into your stomach. Your hands found their way into his hair, giving his scalp a scratch. You figured he had suffered enough, but just needed one more thing.

“I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me how you were feeling sooner so I could reassure you.”

“I know how you could reassure me.” You were trying to sound flirty, but weren’t sure if you were doing it right. Flirting was always Eddie’s thing.

“How?” He asked, pulling back to look up at you.

“I need you.” Eddie was quick to stand up, trying to understand what you mean.

“I’m right here, honey.” He pulled you into his arms, giving you a tight hug. His hand rubbed your back in a comforting manner and normally, you would have taken that, but not tonight. You needed more. You needed to feel his skin against yours. His cock inside you.

“No, Eddie. I need you.” Your eyes darkened again and he was finally catching on to what you were meaning.

“Oh,” he let out a laugh. “That was all you had to say.” He hands wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into a kiss, capturing your bottom lip between his two. He took no time to lick into your mouth while his hands reached for the bottom of your shirt. He pulled it up over your head and let it fall to the floor.

You unbuttoned his shirt and threw it behind you before attaching your lips to his, taking no time to plunge your tongue into his mouth. You backed him up to the bed and pushed him down onto it before straddling his waist.

“You’re so hot,” he breathed as your lips moved down to his neck, giving it a suck before moving back up to his mouth.

“You’re hotter.” Eddie quickly flipped you over so you were the one on the mattress and you let out a gasp at the sudden movement. He straddled your waist and pinned your wrists to the bed before going straight for your shoulder.

“No, baby. You’re the hottest. Your body is fucking killer.” Eddie loved your body. You weren’t skinny by any means, but that just gave him more love on. He loved pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could find, loving to give special attention to your stretch marks. He thought they were cute and that they made you unique.

“You think so?”

“I know so, honey,” he pulled back to look at you. “Want me to show you?” His face lit up as he said the words and it made you even more wet knowing that he was so happy to show you just how much he liked your body.

“Please,” you whined and he kissed his way down to your chest, pressing a kiss right in the center of it, right above the middle of your bra. “Take it off,” you commanded.

He pressed another kiss to the skin and moved his hands behind your back, unhooking it as slowly as he possibly could. He could hear your sighs of frustration and tried to hold back his chuckle. He very slowly undid each hook and removed the bra completely, letting it clatter to the floor beside the bed.

Eddie then pinned you back down to the mattress and looked down at you with a devilish grin. He was always such a fucking tease.

“You’re even hotter than I remember,” he complimented as he stared down at your tits.

“I got hotter just from last night?”

“Sure did. Now hush, honey. I’m about to do my best work.” He moved one of his hands to your nipple, massaging it with the pad of his thumb, just enough for to make it hard before he brought his mouth to it. He licked a stripe across it before giving it a suck.

“Oh,” you let out a moan and he took that as an invitation to bring it between his teeth giving it a little nibble. “Oh, Eddie.”

He did the exact same thing to the other nipple, eliciting more pretty sounds from you and he was eating it up. He loved that only he could get that reaction from you.

Eddie kissed his way down your stomach and stopped once he got to your waist. He pressed a featherlight peck to each of your stretch marks before looking up at you.

“Can I remove-“

“Yes,” you cut him off, getting desperate for him to get it over with.

“Needy,” he chuckled.

“And you’re a tease. I need your mouth on my clit.” You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets.” He unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off of you in one quick more before letting them fall to the floor in a messy pile behind him. He then reached for your underwear and slid them off before tossing them behind him. He lowered himself onto his knees then spread your legs and let out a whistle as he got a look at your pussy.

“Already wet for me, hm?” His fingers lightly grazed your cunt and you gave him that look that he knew all too well. You hated when he messed with you like this, but he did it just to see that angry look in your eyes. It never failed to make him hard. 

“I think we both know the answer to that.” Eddie liked you best when you were like that, all angry and bothered.

“Wow, doll,” his fingers stayed where they are, moving back and forth so you got a little sensation but not the full thing. Eddie liked it when you begged. “That just might be a record.” 

“Stop fucking around.” You usually liked the little games he liked to play, but not tonight.

“Someone’s eager,” he teased with a smirk and you were honestly on the verge of pleasuring yourself since he was taking too long. This was always how it went so you didn’t know why you ever expected anything different.  

“Of course I’m eager, I’m-” your words were cut off when Eddie thrusted his fingers into your pussy. “Oh.”

“That’s right, doll.” His fingers pumped in and out, causing you to let out a moan. 

“Eddie,” you whined and he just smirked. 

“Say my name, honey.” He continued, thrusting them harder and faster as you let out another moan, grasping as the bedding underneath you, needing something to grab onto.

“Need your mouth, Eds,” you mewled and he removed his fingers before draping your legs over his shoulders. He pressed a kiss to each thigh before diving into your pussy and you let out a gasp. He licked a stripe from your slit to your clit before shoving it into your pussy, swirling it around as your hands dug further into the bedding.

You let out a loud moan and Eddie only buried his face further into your cunt, grazing the thing with his teeth and that drove you wild. You almost screamed at the sensation and Eddie did it once more to hear the sound again. Your thighs tightened at the feeling, causing them the press against the side of his head and he spread them, removing himself from your cunt.

You let out a whine at his absence and he ripped off his pants, desperate to be inside you. He moved to his bedside table and reached for his box of condoms, only to find that it was empty.

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you told him, seeing what the issue was. And you were okay with it. You suddenly liked the idea of feeling his bare cock inside of you.

“You’re sure? What about-“

“If I get pregnant, I get pregnant,” you shrugged. The two of you had talked about having a baby and even discussed trying, but he didn’t think it would be so soon. He couldn’t have been more happy, though. He loved the idea of having a baby that was a product of the two of you making love to each other.

“You want to have a baby with me?” His face lit up. Sure, being a rockstar was cool, but he was convinced that being a father and husband were the roles he was convinced he was put on this earth for.

“I’d be honored to have a baby with you, Eds.” You didn’t know why he was asking since you had talked about it at length.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” he smiled, ripping off his underwear. He lined himself up with your pussy and slowly slid his dick into you. You let out a small noise as the sensation. You never had unprotected sex before so it felt a little odd at first, but you had to admit that you liked the way it felt, that there was no barrier between his cock and your pussy.

Eddie slowly thrusted into you, wanting it to be nice and sweet for once. He wanted this to be a sweet moment between the two of you. Something you’d remember for the rest of your lives.

His hands gripped your hips as he pumped in and out, paying you compliment after compliment, showering you with the sweetest words as he thrusted inside you, assuring you of his love for you.

You let out moan after moan as he pumped into you and you grabbed onto him, pressing your face into his neck. His thrusted a little harder and your fingers dug into his back, but not enough to actually hurt him.

“Taking me so well, honey,” he said, pumping a little faster and harder. He was just testing the waters to see what you liked without the condom.

“Eddie,” was all you were able to say, your words getting slurred as your head leaned back.

“I know, princess,” he brushed some sweaty hair out of your face. “Got one more for me, hon?”

“One more,” you repeated. He gave a couple more thrusts, these ones harder and faster than before and you let out the most pretty moans he had ever heard come from your mouth. He hadn’t thought you’d liked it rough, but he supposed his was wrong.

He pulled out and lowered you to the mattress before cleaning you up and getting you some fresh pajamas from the drawer you had them tucked away in. He helped you change into them then got into his own before getting you both under the covers.

You turned over to face him and you wrapped your arms around each other, tangling your legs together as you did so. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he looked at you, the love of his life. God, he was so fucking lucky.

“I love you,” he smiled, bringing one of his hands up to your face and you smiled as well.

“I love you too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips in response.

“You’re going to be a great mom.” His thumb rubbed back and forth along your cheek and you closed your eyes, loving the way it felt. You could tell he meant the words, not only because he never said anything he didn’t mean, but also because of the way he looked when he said it, his eyes all soft and sweet.

“And you’re going to be a great dad.” He felt himself tearing up at your words and yours teared up too. He pulled you in for another kiss and the two of you drifted off to sleep, thinking of nothing but cribs and high chairs and the extra bedroom you had that would have made a perfect nursery. Maybe if things went right, you’d actually be parents.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x shy!reader

[yauchfilms]

anything with logan and being back in florida ? would appreciate!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

sunburn ✢ logan sargeant (18+)

pairing: logan sargeant x reader (established relationship)

warnings: smut, porn with plot (lots of exposition sorry i got carried away), one use of y/n, soft dom!logan, switchy!reader, fingering, edging, unprotected p in v, lots of pet names, begging, lots and lots of praise, body part worship if you squint, cursing, logan’s a simp, reader is implied floridian, implied childhood friends to lovers, sunburns, fluffy intimacy

summary: it’s been too long since y/n has been back in the states and she is NOT used to the florida sun like she used to be, but don’t worry, logan knows how to take care of her.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: sorry i got soooo carried away with this i don’t know what came over me. this was NOT supposed to be smut but im just a florida girl crushing on a florida boy here y’all lmao. i’m down so bad for this man that i just went kinda crazy. also this was my first time writing smut so pls bare with me. this is inspired by my friend (and fellow logan girly) who just acquired a nasty sunburn lmaoooo. enjoy!!!!

it had been quite a while since you and logan had been back home together. well, not really, but the weather was typically a lot nicer in the winter months than in the spring and summer, and you were not used to it. after you and logan moved to london together full-time, you rarely saw the sun anymore, and your matching pale complexions certainly reflected that sentiment. 

obviously, the miami race weekend was a big deal for the whole sargeant camp. aunts, uncles, cousins, childhood friends, and grandparents would be making their short trip down i-95 to see logan race, but it also meant that you and logan could spend a week together at home, in the sun, in each other’s company. a free vacation of sorts. logan’s parents were busy getting the house ready for the hordes of guests that were to soon occupy the space, so you and logan were more than happy to get out of their hair and into the back yard for some relaxation. 

it was sunday, and you found yourself lounging out on the dock, lost in a romance novel that was probably making you lose brain cells, when you heard a familiar voice calling out to you.

“y/n!”, logan yelled from where him and coco were playing on the grass. “have you been applying sunscreen?” 

you put your book down, letting out a small huff at his question. logan often took a rather paternal role over you, not in a weird or demeaning way, but rather in the sense that he always has your best interest at heart. and you loved that about him, loved how he always wanted to take care of you without being asked. 

you looked down over the chaise longue you were laid out on, thinking there was a bottle of SPF next to your drink, but all that was there was the can of sparkling water you had been nursing. 

“don’t have any; i’ll be okay!” you called back, hoping that would be the end of it.

“you want me to bring you some? it’s no problem,” logan replied, positioning himself to get up off the ground.

“don’t worry about it; i’m coming inside soon anyways!” you half-lied, knowing that logan usually respected your wishes when it came to things like that. you knew you weren’t necessarily telling him the truth, but he knew you and your stubbornness, and he knew it was not his business to try to fix it. 

another few hours had passed, and logan and the dog had long gone inside to find something else to do. you had stayed out, vowing to finish your book in one sitting. as you closed it, you stood up from the lounger, grabbing your long-abandoned can from the ground, wrapping yourself in the towel that you had been laying on, making your way back into the comfort of the house – and the air conditioning.

walking in through the kitchen, you pass logan’s mom, who was cooking dinner for the family. 

“oh sweetie, looks like you got some color on you!” she exclaims, chopping up some vegetables. 

“yeah, it’s been a minute since i’ve had time to tan! i missed the florida sunshine too much.”

“well, logan’s in his room, and dinner’s in about an hour if you’d like to freshen up,”  mrs. sargeant said sweetly, motioning towards the hallway towards logan’s room.

upon your arrival, logan moved his laptop out of his lap and onto the bed next to him. you took the towel off your shoulders, leaving you in just your bikini, when logan’s eyes went wide with shock.

“what, it’s not like you haven’t seen me in a bikini before?” you quipped, reacting to his sudden change of expression. 

“y/n, you are bright red, like ferrari red,” logan replied, serious as a heart attack. you make your way to the vanity over his dresser, taking in your current state. logan was right. you were burnt. 

“what the fuck dude, i swear i wasn’t out there that long,” you snapped, poking and prodding yourself in the mirror, letting out a wince when you stumbled over a particularly sensitive area.

logan gets off his spot on the bed, making his way towards you, joining you in front of the mirror. his hands immediately fall to your hips out of instinct, but he makes sure not to grab too tightly due to your new look.

“baby,” he says, placing his chin onto your shoulder. you let out another wince, reacting to his touch. “i told you to wear sunscreen. now look at you, my little lobster…”

“this isn’t funny,” you pout, and he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your lips. you spin around in his arms, now facing him face-to-face rather than through the mirror. 

“stop pouting baby, and go hop in the shower, please. the sooner you get some cold water on you, the better you’ll feel. i can feel the heat radiating off you from here,” logan said with a giggle. his hands linger around your ass, and he gives a slight smack to send you on your way, which elicits a shrill yelp from you due to the sensitivity of the area. 

“are you at least going to join me?” you question as you make your way to his en suite, stopping in the door frame with your arms crossed across your chest. logan lets out another giggle.

“and listen to you whine the whole time? no thanks, plus i showered like an hour ago,” he replies, which garners a predictable whine from you.  “if you make it quick, i might have something that can help you,” he adds, and you turn on your heel into the bathroom, shutting the door with a slam. 

and he was right; the shower hurt like hell, but you know that had he been there, you wouldn’t have been able to properly soak in the cold water, so you silently curse him for being right. 

you walk back into logan’s room, wrapped in your towel, when you see him sitting on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. he hears you approach, putting his phone down and grabbing the clear bottle off the bed next to him. 

“i found you aloe; well, my mom did. she said your burn is one of the worst she’s seen,” logan said, presenting the bottle to you like it was a participation trophy. 

“is that supposed to make me feel better or worse, logie?” you questioned, feigning offence from his comment. 

“well, the comment probably won’t, but hopefully the aloe does,” he replied. “c’mere, baby,” he cooed, his arms outstretched, welcoming you into his arms. you take your spot on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep you in place. logan places a kiss to the bridge of your nose, and along your cheeks, leaning in to admire the newly-formed freckles that were threatening to peak out from underneath the harsh redness of your skin. 

“your freckles are back; reminds me of when we were little, trying to catch fish with my dad in the backyard. you were so bad at it; still are to be honest, but it’s okay because you still look cute trying to bait a hook,” he laughs, his breath giving a cooling sensation to your cheeks, and you wish he would keep talking just to feel his breath against your skin. 

“logan, baby, the aloe?” you suggest, knowing that the time he’s wasting is killing you. all you crave is the feeling of the lotion on you, and his hands being the ones to apply it. 

“sorry, didn’t mean to get sentimental on you, just being here with you makes me think about stuff like that. i sometimes wish we could go back…” logan trails off, and you know what he’s thinking about. he often thinks about the memories of you growing up, how much he missed you when he moved away to the uk, and what it meant to get you back. you like to think of those moments too, sometimes, but he often gets in his head about it. 

“i know,” you coo, lifting a hand up to card through the longer hair on the back of his neck, as a way to soothe him.

he lifts the bottle of aloe up towards you. 

“may i?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow up in an inquisitive way.

“of course you may. how do you want me?” you ask, a mischievous look in your eye.

“do not say it like that, you minx,” logan shot back, your innuendo catching him by surprise. 

“keep talking crazy like that, and we might have a problem,” he snapped, although with no actual malice behind it. “you can lay on your tummy first, though, and i’ll go from there, if that’s okay,” he said, his expression softening as he looked at you. 

you climb out of his lap and onto your stomach on the bed next to him, and he straddles your back to get the proper angle. 

“this okay?” he asks, tugging slightly at the towel that is still loosely wrapped around your back. 

“log, you’ve seen me naked countless times; of course it’s okay,” you quip, turning your head so he can see the side of your face. he leans down, planting a sloppy kiss to your cheek, blowing a raspberry there. this elicits a giggle from you, wriggling underneath him. 

logan drags the towel down your body slowly, his fingers barely grazing your warm, sensitive skin, standing up on his knees to pull it out from under you. 

“i know we aren’t having sex or anything, but could you at least take your shirt off or something? this feels too clinical,” you say, causing logan to burst out laughing above you.

“you are not a real person, i swear to god,” he quips, pulling his shirt over his head in one quick motion. “is that better, princess?” he says sarcastically, using the nickname he only gives you when you’re acting like a handful. 

between your fits of giggles, you let out a “mhm” that signals to logan that he is free to proceed. this evokes an eye roll from logan that you catch out of the corner of your eye. 

his attitude doesn’t last long, however, because before you can protest, his lips find your shoulder blade, peppering kisses along the top of your back, feeling his stubble graze across your skin. it burns, but feels so good at the same time.

“so sweet for me, logie,” you groan, melting into his touch. he reaches for your hair, still damp from the shower, to move it out of his way, as he makes his way across the plane of your body.  

all he can manage is a drawn out “hmmmmm” as he feels the warmth of your skin along his cheek. 

he pulls away suddenly, and you whimper at the loss of contact from him. 

“i know, i know,” he cooes, and you hear the bottle of lotion being opened just out of your periphery. 

his hands make contact with your skin again, feeling the sensation of the cool liquid as he massages it in. his strong hands make their way up and down your back, causing you to arch only slightly, if it wasn’t for him sitting squarely on your ass. 

“you’re killing me, logan,” you half-whisper, his actions genuinely taking your ability to speak at a regular volume, the intimacy of it all being just a little too much for you. 

“feels good, huh?” he asks, and although you can’t see it, you can tell that he’s cocked his eyebrow at you, and you’re surprised he’s been able to behave himself this long. 

his hands work swiftly, massaging the liquid in with long, deft fingers, the sensation driving you crazy.

“logan, i want you, please,” you whine, looking up over your shoulder to meet his gaze, your eyes softening in an almost begging manor. 

“i thought you said we weren’t–” 

“i lied. i’m a liar. i need you right now,” you beg, as logan stands back up on his knees to allow you to roll over underneath him, him now settled on your thighs.

“fuck, baby, i can’t say no to you,” he huffs, not sure exactly how to make the next move. he looks down at you splayed out in front of him, taking in the sight before him. a hand reaches down to caress down your chest, fingers grazing slightly over your nipple, causing your breath to hitch. 

“we have to make it quick, okay? can you be good for me?” he asks, his hand lingering on your left breast. 

you let out a whimper, shaking your head slightly.

“words, baby,” he sighs, his fingers massaging into the tissue of your chest. 

“yes, i’ll do whatever you want,” you whisper, unable to find your voice with how turned on you were. 

“that’s my pretty girl,” logan cooes, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips, adjusting himself so he’s slotted between your legs. the kiss deepens, his tongue finding its way into your mouth, as he swallows your muffled moans, trying to avoid the awkward conversation with his mom later. 

“gotta be quiet, baby,” he whispers, his hand running up and down your side, the warmth of his hand searing your sensitive skin.

“god, i feel like we’re in high school again,” you say, rolling your eyes at him.

“except i wasn’t nearly as good then as i am now, though,” he smirks, diving down to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to the base of your neck, softly nibbling on your pulse point. 

“are you gonna prove it?” you ask, trying to rile him up.

this question evokes something in him, his breath against your skin coming hot and sudden, and you could feel the deep exhale from his nose.

leaning up to your ear, he whispers, “you are such a brat.”

the sensation from the whisper mixed with the sting of his words sends a shock straight to your core. he’s not always the best at dirty talk, but he still somehow knows exactly what to say and when to say it. 

“touch me, logan,” you manage to squeak out, your breath growing heavier the more you took in his words, and he was eager to oblige.

with that, the hand that found comfort on your hip trailed its way down between your bodies, grazing the softness of your stomach, fingers oh-so-gently teasing your folds. 

“so wet, huh? so worked up for me? you drive me so fucking crazy, you know that?” he growls, his voice rasping as he begins rubbing small circles against your clit with his thumb. “one or two, baby?” he asks, and you know exactly what he means. 

“two, please”, you whine into his mouth, body arching up into him before he even has the chance to touch you properly. 

“good girl, take it so well,” he groans, sliding two fingers into your cunt, almost too slowly. his voice is almost unrecognizable, the threat of being too loud taking over. his thumb continues its pattern on your clit.

you feel the tension building as he fucks his hand in and out of you, but not before you feel him slowing his pace down.

“i know you wanna come now baby, but we don’t have long. i’m gonna stop, and we can come together, okay?”, he half-whispers. 

his hand moves from its spot between your thighs back up toward your lips, as he rests his fingers on your bottom lip, cocking his eyebrow at you. 

“o-okay,” you squeak out, and with that, his fingers push past your lips, urging you to suck them clean, and you oblige, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself on his fingers. 

your hands trail down between you two, your fingers dipping underneath his shorts and boxers, toying with the waistband. 

logan removes his fingers from your mouth, opting to move back to your jawline, planting lingering kisses along the bone.

“quit teasing, baby, want you on top. let me see those pretty tits of yours, yeah?”, he smirks, knowing that him complimenting your body drives you crazy in the best way. 

you oblige with a searing kiss to his lips, opting to pull his shorts down in one motion, cock bobbing free and slapping across his stomach. he reaches down to finish taking them off, throwing them on the floor with your long-abandoned towel. 

he rolls you both over with ease, you now on top. your fingertips graze his chest, down to his abs, grabbing his cock and giving it a few quick pumps to make sure he’s ready. 

“ready, log?” you ask, your hands now on either side of his head, his blue eyes sparkling back up at you, your hips and ass now up in the air waiting for his cue. 

he leans up to chase your lips, trying to kiss you, just out of his reach. 

“please, baby, i can’t take it much more,” he begs, using his arms to pull you down to him, sinking down on him, and meeting his lips with yours. now it’s his turn to moan into your mouth. 

“fuuuuuck,” is all he’s able to get out, his hands finding their way to your hips, trying to help you relieve the lack of sensation. Your hips roll for the first time over him, and his hips immediately buck up into you.

“patience, baby. i thought i was the desperate one?” your words go right to his cock, making him buck up once again, making you speed up your motions. you feel the effects of his desperation on your body, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with every bounce on his cock.

“fuck, you’re close, baby; so am i,” logan pants, the physicality of it all catching up to him. he knows your body so well; he can always tell when you’re about to come. 

with his observation, you lean back with your hands behind you on his thighs, your hips continuing to roll against his body, eliciting a low, grumbling moan from logan. he loved you like that, all cock-drunk and lazy on top of him. it also meant that he had a perfect view of your tits, both his hands reaching to grab at them as he continued fucking up into you. 

“these are so fucking perfect. all mine. i can’t believe you’re all mine, baby,” logan pants, both of your movements becoming lazier, as he rolls your nipples in between his fingers, feeling your already-tight walls close in on his cock.

you can feel your orgasm quickly approaching with his presence on your tits, and you know that he isn’t going to last long, either. you lean forward, diminishing the space between you two, giving logan the opportunity to bear hug you. his thrusts up into you send you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, causing you to let out a muffled moan onto his right pec. your vision goes slightly blurry for a second until you hear a grunted “fuck, baby”, followed by the feeling of logan’s hips sputtering underneath you. he comes shortly after you, spilling into you. 

You collapse onto his chest, your highs riding out together. he doesn’t loosen his grip around your back, planting a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead, pulling out as you lay pitifully on his chest.

“so good for me, baby, so sweet. fuck, i’m so lucky,” he whispers, rubbing your back where, just a few minutes earlier, he was applying aloe lotion. he rolls you both over so that you’re now facing each other on your sides. 

you reach a hand up to caress his face, feeling the stubble from a week’s worth of no races, the hair rough against your smooth palm. 

“logie, you fucked me so good i almost forgot about this damn sunburn,” you giggled, “but now we’re done and it just hurts again!”

“guess that means i’ll just have to fuck you again,” logan smirked, burying his head into the crook of your neck, eliciting more giggles from you. you begin to hook your leg over his thigh, bringing you even closer, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. you almost begin the cycle over again until you hear a knock on the door that has you both frozen in your tracks. 

“dinner!” you hear his mom cheer from the other side of the door, and then her footsteps clearly walking back down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“guess not,” you teased, eliciting an eye roll from logan, who quickly gets up to pull you into the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

#logan sargeant smut #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader

[white-poppie]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ JJK DADS! ⎯ ft. jjk men: (Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji)

SYNOPSIS: Cute incidences of them being fatherly <3

A/N: I gave no names to the kids so you guys can imagine whatever you wanna except Toji cause we have baby Megumi :) Is it obvious that Nanami is my absolute favourite?? <33

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

The two of you are woken up by the faint cries of your baby girl in the next room.

You sigh and rest your arm over your eyes, tired from the entire day of tending to her, "She just slept..." You mumble exhausted and begrudgingly about to get up.

"Stay in the bed, let me take care of her." Gojo murmurs. The sheets rustle as he gets up and walks towards your baby's room, gently picking up the little girl in his arms. She's always so tiny in his arms, he's afraid of holding too tight. Her little fingers that curl around his--she's the prettiest thing in the world (along with her mama of course.)

"What's wrong, baby ?" He whispers, cradling her to his chest as checks her temperature, and pats her diaper; everything seems to be okay. She's not hungry because she had milk just a little while ago.

Satoru sighs and rubs his thumb over her chubby cheeks, wiping the tears that rolled down her eyes, it broke his heart to see his baby girl cry.

Satoru walks to your bedroom with her in his arms and looks at you. "I checked her diaper and she doesn't have a temperature." He murmurs and you nod while playing on the bed.

"She's probably just restless." You reply. "Rocking her while singing works." you say and his eyes soften as he looks at the little bundle of joy in his arms.

His brain racks through the records of all the lullabies he knows until he figures the best one. He pouts and looks back at you, "Don't laugh at me, alright?" he mumbles and you chuckle with a nod.

Gojo clears his throat and starts singing, its off-key, a little hoarse and you have to bite you lips to prevent from laughing out. Surprisingly her cries start to stifle, simmering into soft sniffles as he continues to sing till eventually they stop completely and so does Satoru's comical singing.

You can't help but aww at the way Satoru looks at her, cerulean eyes so full of love, so tender that you could melt. His forehead leaning against hers, "She's so pretty," he says for the nth time in today only, his voice carrying the same amount of warmth and affection each time he says it.

"Our little baby," he mumbles fondly.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

“Ouch” Geto groaned as his son tugged on his hair while trying to braid it with Nanako and Mimiko.

“Easy champ-“ he scrunched his nose as he looked over at his older adoptive daughters who just shrugged and giggled.

“Why do I need three hair dressers for my hair?" he sighs and looks over at you who is calmly scrolling on your phone while he gets tortured.

"They like your hair a lot." you smile, clicking a picking of the unruly braids your toddler tied up.

Getou chuckles and picks up the boy at which the little boy whines, his little feet kicking around in the air before he plops down on his lap with a little pout.

"Dada, hair." he sniffles in his cute baby voice at which getou chuckles.

"Sorry to break it to you buddy but we are already removing 'hair-dresser' from your future career list." he sighs, making the twins laugh.

"No hair?" the boy confirms with a little pout and Getou shakes his head. "No hair," he replies back.

The kid shimmies around in his lap, asking to be put down, Getou sighs and puts the boy down, before he sprints, his chubby feet making a little 'thap thap' sound as they hit against the marble flooring.

"Where is he running off to?" Mimiko asks.

"He's gone to your room, let me go check what he is up to," you say as you follow him behind to the twins' room.

You walk into the room, only to find the little boy picking up the little bow clip on the girls' dresser and you smile; immediately understanding what goes on in the two-year-old's mind.

He runs back and stands with the clip in front of Getou, Nanako and Mimiko.

"Hey, that's mine!" Nanako exclaims and Haru just laughs, gesturing his dad to bend down a little and Getou does what the boy asked for. Haru puts the clip right on his front hair and grins proudly.

"Pretty!" He smiles, causing all four of you to erupt into chuckles.

The boy tilts his head and looks back at you, "Truck-clip." He mumbles and chuckles.

"You want a clip with a truck on it?" You ask and he nods, drawing another laugh from Getou.

"You are such a peculiar kid." He says, smiling fondly with the bow-clip still on his head.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

You had just returned from a long day at work, your meetings stretched a little longer than you had assumed, so you called Nanami asked him to pick your daughter up from kindergarten.

It was 8 right now. You sighed and removed your shoes, walking in.

"I'm home." you murmur as you walk into the living area.

"Mama!" your little girl exclaimed and you smiled before your eyes widened as you took in the scene.

Your husband and daughter sat on her pink table set with Kento sitting down on the floor, crisscrossed, a plastic teacup in his hand. Around the table are many of her stuffed toys, each having a cup of their own.

Kento's nails are messily painted pink with nail polish and a tiara on his head. Your daughter wearing her tinted kid-safe lip balm in an unruly manner, a beaded necklace and bracelets adorning her and finally a tiara on her for a finishing touch.

"Welcome home honey," Nanami says with a sigh, scratching his head with the empty tea cup.

"Daddy! You'll spill the tea!" Your daughter exclaims and your husband obediently keeps the tea cup back on the saucer.

"Sorry princess." He says with a smile and you can't help but laugh.

"Mama, join us!" she says and you nod, sitting beside Kento as she fetches a tea cup and saucer for you and you bow in respect.

"Thank you, princess." You smile. "So, what's the storyline?" you inquire.

"I am the princess of a castle and daddy is the king of another castle, can be...the stable guy." She says and your jaw drops. kento bites his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

"Why am I dealing with horses?" you ask offended.

"Because I have only two crowns." She justifies and you sigh before you feel a crown being placed on your head. You look over at Kento as he fixes it on your hair.

"Doesn't mommy look prettier with the crown?" he says, his deep voice sending butterflies in your stomach. "I can be the loyal servant instead." He says and looks back at his daughter with a soft smile.

"You are right, mama looks better in the crown," she says and fetches the teapot, pouring imaginary tea into your pot.

"Thank you, my princess." You say, taking a sip of the imaginary tea as you shift closer to Kento, your shoulders touching together and he smiles, looking down as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

"Daddy and Mama are in love!" Your daughter says with a toothy grin and you snort.

"At this rate, you might just get a sibling before the tea party finishes," Nanami says, squeezing your waist.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

"Why did Mom even marry you anyway?" Megumi asks Toji who is sitting crisscrossed on the couch next to the 5-year-old, munching on the bowl of popcorn him and Megumi are sharing.

"Don't you think you talk too much?" Toji asks, dusting of his hands as he sighs and looks at the kid. "Fine I'll pause my movie." He says giving up. Megumi had been asking him to put on a movie of his choice for the past 5 minutes. Toji is the one who is supposed to be taking care of him, not the other way around!

"What do you want to watch then?" he grumbles, looking annoyed.

"Zootopia." Megumi says almost proudly and Toji nods with a groan, putting on the movie.

Toji leans back as he is forced to watch another kids movie, his hand fetching for some more popcorn before his large rugged hand is met with a tiny soft one. Toji looks over and sees Megumi looking at the TV while trying to fetch for the popcorn, touching everywhere but the popcorn bowl.

Toji smirks and picks up a fistful in his hand as he holds his hand close to Megumi. Megumi looks at his father, confused for a second before he hesitantly takes a piece.

"You need to eat more if you want to grow taller, If you are any shorter than 6 feet 2, I won't claim you as my son in a few years." He says as he keeps holding the popcorn in his hand, his arms bulked up enough to do this for hours end with ease.

"This movie is not that dogshit," Toji says as he watches the weird animal movie.

"Stop swearing in front of me." Megumi whines and Toji just smirks, ruffling his head with his other arm.

"You are growing up too fast for your own good."

You come back home a few hours later from your gathering, half expecting the house to be on fire, but to your surprise its oddly quiet.

You walk into the living room and you see an empty bowl of popcorn on the table and Megumi laying on his father as Toji's arms were draped around him protectively.

You sigh and let out a soft smile. You are home.

© white-poppie 2024. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— JUJUTSU KAISEN - Fanfictions

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#white poppie🌼 #⎯𝒿𝒿𝓀⋆ #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk as dads #jjk!dads #jujutsu kaisen as dads #dad!au #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #gojo fluff #geto fluff #toji fluff #nanami fluff #gojo x you #nanami x you #getou x reader #getou x you #geto x you #toji x you #jjk drabbles

[monster-disaster]

[wolf-shifter] Rome + NSFW Alphabet

wolf-shifter!Rome x human!Reader Warnings: smut

Summary: Let's get to know Rome a bit better.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Rome is mushy and pussy-drunk after having sex with you. Taking care of you when you are still trembling and breathless is mostly about him caressing your heated skin while his knot is still inside you, stretching your walls and keeping his cum where it belongs.

"You were so good, sweetheart," he hums next to your ear while you are on his chest, half-asleep. His warm breath fans over the soft curve of your neck and shoulder. "Can't wait to see you with my pup. You will be so pretty." Even the thought is enough to make his cock twitch in your pussy for another round.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn't really have a favorite body part when it's about himself, but he is pretty content with the body he has, human or wolf form. He loves the fact that he is strong enough to protect you and manhandle you anytime he wants.

Rome is a simple male. He loves everything about you. He lives for those moments when you are close to your climax, and your eyes become unfocused while your swollen lips open with a hoarse moan. He loves your tits, of course, and your ass and your pussy and everything he can touch and kiss and caress.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

No matter how much he loves seeing you covered in his cum, his desire to start a family with you is much more urgent.

"Come on, sweetheart," he coos while keeping his gaze between your thighs. He watches his cum leaking out of your pussy, making a mess on the white sheet under your body. "You have to keep it inside to make it work." A slow grin pulls on his face. "The more of my cum you lose, the more I have to fuck you to make up for it."

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn't have secrets. Rome is more than happy to tell you every dirty thing he does or thinks just to see your reaction.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Rome is no womanizer, but he can play with your body like he would with an instrument. He knows how to make you tremble in his embrace and drive you wild with desire.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Call him boring, but doggy style is what makes him feral every time he has the chance to pull you underneath himself.

Your fingers dig into the mattress under you, trying to keep yourself grounded while Rome's chest against your back pushes you deeper into the white-hot delirium that weighs down your mind. One of his large hands is on your hips while the other gropes your breast. Your nipple is hard and sensitive in his palm. The wolf-shifter's cock moves in and out of your messy cunt with rapid speed. "Fuck, love," he grunts breathlessly. "Cum for me, sweetheart, milk my cock."

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can play and joke around at the beginning, but his desire for your warm, pliant body takes over his brain rather quickly.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

In his wolf form, Rome is covered in thick, dark fur that works as a furnace every time he holds you in his arms.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Rome is an intense lover. He can be romantic, but overwhelmingly so. He pushes you until he is your whole world in that moment.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before your relationship, Rome touched himself regularly while imagining you. Now that you two are together, he doesn't really feel the need to masturbate.

A thin layer of sweat glistens on his naked body while his chest heaves with pleasure. The image of you spread out on his bed, covered in his scent lingers in front of his eyes. "Fuck," he grunts breathlessly. His still half-hard cock is in his hand with your cum-soaked, stolen panties around his shaft.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink with some humiliation.

"This sweet pussy is mine from now on," Rome growls into the curve of your neck, nipping the soft skin with his sharp canines. "I'm gonna stuff it full of my cum until you scream." Waves of arousal run along your spine at his words. While your mind is still unsure about your demanding relationship with the shifter, your body is desperate for more. "Come on, sweetheart," he breathes into your ear, pushing his erection to your center. His shaft slides over your wet slit. "Beg me to fuck you, love. I want to hear you scream for me." You are paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the male above you. Your mind is a desperate mess. "Say it," Rome demands. "Say you want my cock in your pussy. Tell me you want my seed inside you."

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers the privacy of your home and the comfort of your bed with your scent all around him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He is a horny, desperate male who waited long enough for you. No matter what you do, it turns him on, and before you can blink, he is all over you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He says no to anything that can be dangerous for you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both. Both is good.

No matter how many times you give him a blowjob, the wolf's reaction is the same. His mind goes blank the moment he feels your lips around his erection, sucking him deeper into your throat while your tongue slides down on his shaft until he is soaked in your saliva.

And he feels the same every time he has the chance to settle down between your legs with his face in your pussy. His claws dig into the soft flesh of your thighs to keep them in place around his head. His long tongue licks over your slit, prodding your throbbing clit before going down again to push into your hole while you shake and plead underneath him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rome often tries to be slow and sensual to savor the moment with you in his arms, but it never lasts long. He is an intense lover. He likes to play rough while manhandling you easily, and the male knows it makes you excited, too.

"Fuck, love," Rome groans close to your ear while holding your legs down in a mating press position. "You like this, don't you?" Your pussy started milking his cock the moment he grabbed your legs to put you the way he wanted you while bullying your tight hole without slowing down.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

As it was said before, he is a horny boy. He needs quickies to keep his sanity during the day.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he grunts, pushing down on your back to keep you against the kitchen counter. The throbbing head of his cock glides over your already wet slit. "I will be quick. I promise."

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The shifter enjoys trying out new things with you, but usually, you are the one who comes up with new ideas.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually, by the time Rome is done with you, you are delirious and half-conscious. He can go until you are a sensitive, begging mess, and he finds pride in it.

When it comes to his heat or rutting season, you are excited and scared at the same time. Days can go by without barely any sleep because every time you are ready to rest a bit, the wolf is already on you, chasing his release.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He is not against toys, and if you buy one, he is happy to try it out, but he prefers using his fingers and tongue on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Rome loves taunting you during dirty talk, but he doesn't have enough self-control to edge you or deny your orgasm. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is a wolf-shifter. He is not loud but intense with all the growling, groaning, and moaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His desire to make you the mother of his pups is not just a kink. He really wants to start a family with you. He helps and supports every way he can during your pregnancy, and if you decide to go back to your career, Rome is more than happy to stay at home and take care of everything else. He is a great parent and a loving partner.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

In his wolf form, he is even taller. Rome is lean, with hard muscles and dark fur all over his body. His cock is long with a slight curve that reaches every sensitive spot in you and a thick knot at the base that fills you up to the point you can't think.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a high sex drive, especially during his rut. When his mind is clouded by his desire for you, the man becomes unstoppable.

"Rome!" You groan, holding onto the edge of the bed with every intent to get up while his arm is heavy and firm around your middle. "Just one more time," he hums, letting his tongue lick over the soft curve of your neck. His erection rubs against your thigh as he rocks his hips desperately. "Just one more, and you can go," he lies. "I promise."

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He always makes sure you are asleep before he closes his eyes after sex. Usually, he doesn't have to wait long since he tends to fuck you half-conscious.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #werewolf x reader #werewolf smut #exophelia

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (6) - A Proposition for You

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 6 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4911

Work count for Story: 23,924

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, arguments, comfort, Alpha Space, close proximity, and scenting.

Story Summary: The Hybrid K-pop group BTS is on tour in America; of course, things don't start out the way they should, but after an encounter with Y/n, things change but will everyone follow Fate?

“Excuse me, Sirs. We have arrived at the AirBnB,” the driver announces through the van's intercom system. The voice pulls Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook's attention away from the scenting session. 

“Thank you, Malcolm,” Jungkook calls out loud enough to be heard past the petition between the driver’s and passenger seats. Looking down, he trails his fingers through Jimin’s hair as the tiny Alpha is now sprawled out across his and Taehyung’s lap with his eyes closed. 

“Minie, we need to get out, my little love,” looking at Taehyung, “Tae? Are you good now?”

“Hmm. Yeah, Kook, I am doing better,” Taehyung opens his eyes, returning to their clear brown. Lifting Jimins legs off his lap, Taehyung moves from his seat and opens the van door. 

“Minie, you cuddle bug. Time to go, I know you are nowhere near a scent high, so please get up so that we can get Y/n to see the doctor.”

Jumping up from lying on Jungkook’s lap, Jimin stumbles out the door and over to the first van, “I will get their door!”

Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle as they watch the dancer trip over one of the van's chairs, but he manages not to fall onto the curb before beelining it to the other van.

“Hey, Tae. Are you going to be okay around Y/n?”

“I think so. It might be better for me to keep my distance until she isn’t in as much pain. I think that is what is causing the most issues for my Alpha. Well, that and keeping away from that pathetic excuse of a Director.” Taehyung growls out the last part.

“I think it would be best if we all keep away from him, though I think Manager Sejin and Namjoon will have to at least deal with him a few more times.”

“Better him than us. Why don’t you go with the others, and I will help out with the luggage so that everything is where it should be?” Taehyung hugs Jungkook around the shoulders, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook looks closely at Taehyung, smelling his clear and unbothered ebony wood. “Alright, hopefully, the doctor will be here soon. I think time has flown by faster than we think. It is already starting to get dark out.”

Buzzing. All you hear is buzzing as your brain short circuits. The desire to melt into the man holding you and run from the predatory eyes of the men watching you causes your body to tense and twitch. 

Suddenly, the van door opening seems louder than it should. It startled you into finally moving away from them and out of the van. 

You didn’t realize how stuffy the van had gotten, but the intensity of the scents within the van does not go unnoticed by Jimin as he watches you bolt from the van right past him towards the packhouse. Yoongi followed close behind with a smirk on his lips.

“What did we miss being in the reject van?” Jimin asks no one in particular. 

“Oh, you guys missed quite a bit, but we will talk about it later. Maybe once Miss Y/n goes in with the doctor,” Namjoon says as the rest leave the van. 

Jungkook walks up to the group and watches you with a confused look. Manager Sejin also joins them.

“You all realize she has no idea what she is to you. She isn’t going to understand why it is nice that she is so instinctually responsive,” Manager Sejin comments using air quotes.

“Yes, Manager-nim. She just was… ah it is hard to explain,” Hoseok bashfully responds as he looks at the floor.

“Well, she isn’t my mate, and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to break it to her, but you are going to have to be careful. I know that much.” Looking at you, a softness of worry crosses his face.

“Do you guys know that she wouldn’t even ask for a bottle of water when she got to the van because she didn’t want to take something from the pack?”

“I have a feeling that she has had to be the one to take care of others and put herself last. She won’t ask for help, and accepting help will be hard for her. Especially, since you guys are so well-known and established as a mate-bonded pack.” Manager Sejin looks at his watch, down the street, and then back to the gathered group.

“The doctor should be here in a few moments. You might want to get her inside and settle in one of the unoccupied rooms, Namjoon-ssi.” 

Manager Sejin bows respectfully to the group and heads to the luggage van, where he can see Taehyung giving directions.

You walked quickly, not running, up the stairs to the front porch—fresh air—cool Air. It was non-steamy, good for your heart, and not going to make you lose your job and blessed air. 

Taking deep breaths, you hope to clear your mind, slow your heart to a normal pace, and regain professionalism from wherever it is hiding.

Muttering to yourself, you are unaware that Yoongi has followed you, but he keeps a distance while listening to your utterances. His smirk grows to the point his eyes are almost closed. Now that you have calmed down, you turn around and almost run into him.

“Ahh! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I need to get you and Evie both a bell. It must be a feline thing.” Glancing past Yoongi you notice Taehyung coming up the steps with some of the staff carrying in the luggage, “Should get one for him too.”

Chuckling, Yoongi shakes his head, “No bell. No house cat. Jaguar.” Taking a step closer, he sniffs, “Better? No conflict?”

You can’t help but smile softly at his concern: “No, I am fine now. I just haven’t had much skinship as one might say… outside of my family pack, as you call them.”

“I know it is a big cultural thing amongst hybrids and even more so depending on the kind of relationship involved. I guess I was just taken back by all the … all that.” You say, gesturing towards the van as if it were explaining whatever was happening inside. 

Yoongi nods in understanding and takes the last step to be by your side, facing the rest of the pack. His tail again wraps around your waist, and you giggle in amusement, returning his attention with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you keeping me on a fur leash?” You ask, pointing at his tail on your waist.

Yoongi looks down at where you are pointing and looks at his tail like he doesn’t realize that he ever put it there, to begin with. With a glare like he is scolding a child, his tail starts to let go, which pulls at your heart a bit.

“It’s okay, Alpha.” You say as you stroke along the very soft black fur, laying it back in its place, “you are keeping me close and safe like a good Alpha should. Thank you for protecting me.”

Yoongi preens at the compliment while holding back a shudder at the feeling of you petting his tail. His Alpha is happy that you recognize his needs and are allowing him to continue.

“Mr. Min,” you start to speak only to get cut off with an indignant huff.

“Yoongi. Alpha. Not, Mr. Min. Yoongi.”

“Ah, umm. Okay. Yoongi,” you say with a blush as you avoid looking him in the face, “I want to thank you for helping me not land hard on the floor back at the office. I am sure I would have been in worse shape if you hadn't tried to catch me.”

“Hopefully, you know that I do not blame you for my wrist. It was just really bad timing.”

“Still hurt. Keep safe for healing,” Yoongi says, leaning down to catch your eyesight and hoping you see the truth in his words. 

The truth is that he will keep you safe not only while you heal your wrist but also your heart and soul.

“Time to go ahead inside. Jin, can you make some snacks with Hobi for everyone? The rest will help with the luggage, and I will go with Yoongi and Miss Y/n to one of the guest rooms on the first floor.” Namjoon instructs the pack.

With different forms of agreement, the boys take off to do their assigned tasks. Seokjin and Hoseok smile sheepishly as they pass you, heading to the kitchen.

Namjoon walks up the stairs, his ears flicking to the street as he hears a car approaching, which could only signal the doctor’s arrival—leaving the greeting to the manager.

“Miss Y/n. Yoongi. If you please follow me, I will take you both to one of the guestrooms that you can use to meet the doctor in. We have some snacks being prepared and will bring those soon as well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to eat in one of the bedrooms, Prime Alpha Sir. Plus, my stomach isn’t feeling so well with all the pain,” ‘and the emotional waves’ you add on in your mind.

Leading you both into the house, Namjoon nods his head, “I see. I am sorry it took so long for us to get you seen. We normally heal rather quickly as hybrids. I think we kind of forgot that humans cannot do that. Sorry.”

“No worries, Prime Alpha Sir. I have a high pain tolerance, according to my mom and Derek, but I guess there is just so much that has happened in a short time that my body is just kind of everywhere. I am sorry if my scent is causing any problems as well. I know it must be all over the place.” 

At that last comment, you feel a tug at your waist from the tail, causing you to stumble back into Yoongi. Who buries his nose in your neck, similar to how you were being held by Hoseok in the van, causing you to blush as you regain your footing. 

“Smells good. Not bad. Y/n in pain but happy,” he says as he releases you. This time, he grabs your good hand and pulls you into the room that Namjoon has opened. 

The room is significantly larger than your bedroom, that is for sure. The walls are off-white, with a dark purple accent wall containing a sitting window. The bed is a four-post queen with deep purple curtains tied back with black lace complimenting the purple and black bedding. All the furniture is in a dark, almost burnt-looking wood with iron accents.

You look around the room with your mouth agape. “It’s so beautiful here, and look!” you exclaim as you walk to the adjoining bathroom. “It comes with a private bathroom!”

Namjoon and Yoongi smile at each other as they smell your sweet pea coming out in waves with a hint of more jasmine, which the boys now understand is an indication of your happiness. 

“There is also a walk-in closet, but my favorite part is the sitting window. Perfect to read in,” Namjoon adds.

There is a knock at the door, though it is standing wide open. The three of you look over to see the manager, Jungkook, and a woman with an old-fashioned medical bag standing just outside the door.

“Pardon the interruption, but Dr. Blackwell is here,” Manager Sejin states, motioning to the woman beside him, who bows.

“Dr. Blackwell! It is good to see you again, please come in. I am sure you were informed that Yoongi is in Alpha Space and will probably like to stay but I will step out if it is needed,” Namjoon greets Dr. Blackwell with a firm handshake. 

Dr. Blackwell is a younger-looking woman but still older than you. Her hair is in a French braid, and she is wearing a pantsuit. Setting her bag on the chest at the end of the bed, she looks at Yoongi with kind eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Kim. I was informed and you are correct, since the patient is not a member of your pack then you will have to leave. Technically Mr. Min should leave as well but I will leave that up to the patient.”

“Oh, umm…” Looking between the doctor and Yoongi, they both seem to await your decision. “Mr. M,” you are cut off by a huff and a tug around your waist, “Sorry, Yoongi can stay for now. If anything gets too private then I ask him to step out.”

Yoongi’s actions cause the doctor and Namjoon to pause before looking at each other. Dr. Blackwell speaks first: “Mr. Kim, I was informed that Mr. Min believes to be responsible for the injury. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that is right, and as a mate ~cough cough~ bonded pack we are all here to support them.”

“Oh. I see and that would explain the familiarity. Thank you, Mr. Kim, that is all I believe I need from you now. Unless you want me to check out your cough?” Dr. Blackwell teasingly asks the Prime Alpha who turns slightly pink.

“Nope, I got it. You got it. Yeah. We will head out with the rest of the pack. Gonna be waiting in the dining room near the main kitchen if you need anything or need to kick Yoongi out.”

Namjoon bows to the doctor and then smiles at you as he walks out of the room, taking Jungkook with him.

In the kitchen, the two eldest have finished preparing snacks and drinks for everyone, including the staff, who gathered around munching on them. 

Pleasant conversations are happening here and there between everyone present. Everyone seems to avoid the topic of you since no one really knows what is going on except the pack and the manager. 

Namjoon watches from the entryway with Jungkook. He has always felt proud of his pack and how they treat the staff like a pseudo-family pack. They have seen other idol groups treat their staff like stepping stones, which never felt right to any of the packmates.

“Hey, everyone,” Namjoon says loud enough to gain the room's attention. “The pack has to have a pack meeting while the doctor is here. I invite the staff to take some of the prepared snacks to the guest house across the lawn and settle in. We won’t be needing any services tonight aside from Manager Sejin.”

“Namjoon-ssi, I will also head over to the other house to settle in, but I will keep my phone on me. Please text me when you need me, and I will come right over,” the manager responds while holding a tray of rolled-up meats and cheeses.

“Sounds good. Bangtan Pack, we need to meet in the dining room. Grab what’s left and come sit down.”

With that, the kitchen is filled with goodbyes, see you later, and other pleasantries as everyone departs. Namjoon, knowing that he doesn’t do well in the kitchen, simply turns and heads to the dining room they will use for the pack meeting. 

The rest of the boys grab what they can. The energy in the dining room is heavy, and they know that they have to discuss this, but the situation is odd. Once everyone is seated, Namjoon takes a look around the table. Each of his mates looks at him expectantly.

“We can all agree that she is our mate, right?” The Prime Alpha asks, wanting to make sure they are at least starting out on the same page. A chorus of agreement floods the room, lifting a weight off their shoulders. 

“Hyung?” Jimin tentatively speaks up.

“Yeah, Jimin, everything okay?”

“Seeing how everyone has reacted to her, I agree that she is a mate but I want to be honest that I haven’t had any time for my Alpha to respond to her. Actually, to be transparent, he backs away whenever she is close. I don’t know why.”

Jimin looks down and picks at the tablecloth until a Hobi takes hold of his hand. “Jimin, you were close with our last playmate and were the first of us to connect with her on a deeper level of friendship. She broke that trust with you,” Hobi begins.

“I am sure that I was not the only one who was shocked that you wanted a new playmate out here. I didn’t say anything because I figured you were trying to rebound.

However, rebounding by finding a new friend is different than finding a new mate. It will be difficult for you and some of our other mates because very few of us have had any experience outside of the pack.”

“Minie,” Jungkook chimes in. “I know you are nervous, and you keep trying to find a way to be around her but not at the same time, which is okay. But you need to make sure to listen to yourself and your Alpha. It is okay if you are not jumping into it head first like some of us are.”

“Hobi and Kook are right, Jimin.” Namjoon finally speaks up. This goes for everyone. We will all take this at a comfortable pace for us and, more importantly, for her. Manager-nim reminded me that she has no way of knowing what is going on and is most likely fighting her instincts because we are already a pack.”

“Remember how long it took us to convince Kook he wasn’t a toy? Or how Taehyung did not open up fully until after Jimin finally took it into his own hands?”

“She is gonna be like that.” Seokjin states, gaining everyone’s attention. “We need to watch ourselves. Some of us are more instinctually driven, but that could drive her away.”

“With that being said… does anyone have any suggestions?” questions Namjoon.

“Yoongi will end up being her safe space, I think.” Taehyung comments more to himself than to anyone.

Hobi shifts in his seat, remembering how self-conscious you were in the van before he speaks up, “She reminds me of myself. She doesn’t have a good self-image. We should each spend time with her.  Show her who we are off-stage, as a pack, as mates with each other, and encourage her to join in.”

“While I think that is a good idea, she won’t join in,” Jungkook interjects. “She wouldn’t ask for a bottle of water for the worry of taking from the pack, how will she accept cuddle time or scenting?”

“True, and besides that, how are we gonna keep her around for us to interact with to even prove anything to anyone,” whines Jimin. “This is so complicated.”

“Six to eight weeks! You have to be kidding. You expect me not to be using my wrist for upwards of eight weeks? What about work? Can I shower? What about chores?” You loudly speak to Dr. Blackwell in response to her diagnosis of a hairline fracture of your wrist. 

Yoongi’s ears are flat at either your yelling or the feeling of failure. His tail had curled around his own waist during the examination, and your pain levels tinted your scent with mold.

Ever remaining calm, Dr. Blackwell continues, “It would be best if you sought help during that time,” looking at Yoongi, “and since you have a respectable pack responsible for the injury there should be nothing to worry about. Isn’t that right, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi nods with an almost blank face as he tries to hide his disappointment in himself. Internally, scolding himself for breaking his mate during their first meeting.

“Mr. Min, I think it would be best to get your Prime Alpha to discuss anything further,” Dr. Blackwell instructs.

Looking briefly at you while you are looking at the floor, cradling your wrist, Yoongi leaves the guest room, quickly seeking out his pack.

“Miss Y/n, have you dealt with hybrids?”

“Yes, my family pack, as Bangtan puts it, consists of a beta fox and omega munchkin, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“I see. That makes sense. You were the Alpha in your pack and that is why you don’t understand what is happening around you.”

Snapping your head up, you look at the doctor. “What do you mean?”

Taking a tentative step forward, Dr. Blackwell places a hand on your shoulder, “It isn’t my place to say anything more than I already have. Just take a moment to think back to what you have learned about hybrids, and be open to the pack around in the next coming weeks.”

“Why would I be around them for weeks?”

Yoongi’s scent hits the dining room before he enters. All eyes are on the door as he comes in with his head hung low. He looks around the table with a frown on his face, and he mumbles, “Broke mate.”

Jin, being the closest to him, reaches out and pulls him to sit on his lap. Being Yoongi’s only hyung, Yoongi goes willingly and tucks his nose into Jin’s neck, “Hyung, I broke mate.”

“Yoon, it’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose. It was strictly an accident,” Jin whispers while rubbing soothing circles on his back. The pack pushes out calming scents into the room.

“Yoongi-hyun, can you tell us what the doctor said?” asks Jungkook.

“Broke wrist. Weeks healing. Need Pack Alpha.”

“Joon, go talk with Miss Y/n and the doctor. Get things figured out. We will take care of Yoongi,” Jin instructs, subtly pulling the elder card again.

“Yoongi, you have done great, and I am sure she doesn’t blame you,” Namjoon says as he walks to the hall, stopping. He looks back to the table. “Kookie, come with me, please. From how the scents are coming down the hall, we might need your tact at calming her down.”

A knock on the wall gains your attention. You see a toothy smile shine at you before he comes bounding over and joins you on the bed. His enthusiasm takes you back, then giggle as he lays his head on your lap, grabbing your left hand to rest on his hair.

“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable,” you say, smiling as you scratch softly on his hair.

“Are you still in pain?” he asks as his eyes close at the soothing feeling of your fingers.

“No, Dr. Blackwell gave me something for that, and it kicked in a few minutes ago. Though it’s going to be painful for a while,” you inform. Looking up, Namjoon stands next to the doctor with a sweet smile.

“Dr. Blackwell, can you explain the situation please?”

Nodding, she turns to the Prime Alpha, “Mr. Kim, Miss Y/n has what I suspect is a hairline fracture. To be certain, I would need to take her to the local hospital but given your situation that would not be a very easy task.”

“I can say with certainty that be it a hairline fracture or a severe sprain, she will have to wear a brace and not use her wrist for six to eight weeks.”

At the reminder of the weeks of difficulty that will come, your scent turns watery as worry creeps into your mind.

“As you all know, I am both a hybrid and a human doctor which brings me to the next issue at hand. While Miss Y/n is kind of heart and forgives Mr. Min of any wrongdoings, Mr. Min, according to the hybrid culture, is responsible for her recovery.”

“Wait, my recovery? I thought it was just to get me to see you?” Your eyes bounce between the three others in the room.

“That is correct, and as Prime Alpha of his bonded pack, we will provide for her over the next eight weeks. We have the space, the means, and the power to do so, Dr. Blackwell.” Namjoon says, holding eye contact with you. His voice gave no room for argument. 

“Prime Alpha Sir, you… the pack… my work… how?”

“Not to interrupt, but I will excuse myself as this is now a pack matter. Keep that brace on as much as possible. I will leave my report with notes for your employer explaining your health situation and a vial of your pain medications on the dining room table.” Dr. Blackwell says as she gathers her things and bows, leaving the room. 

“Miss Y/n, Dr. Blackwell is right. This is a pack matter now and I think speaking with everyone together would be the best idea. If you would join us, we could talk about what to do next?”

“Umm, yeah. We can do that. I can do that.” 

Moving to stand, Jungkook moves out of the way and holds your good hand, leading you toward the living room where the pack is now gathered. 

Seokjin and Yoongi are on the medium couch, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are on the long couch, and the only open seat is a loveseat. 

You move to sit on the loveseat only to have Jungkook pull you to the couch where Seokjin and Yoongi are. “Jin-Hyung, can we sit there with Yoongi?”

Noticing that Yoongi gets stiff at the question, you say, “No, no, that is okay. I think Yoongi has had enough of me. I can sit somewhere else.” However, not only does Jungkook not let go of your hand, but a black tail finds its way around your thigh.

“Sure thing, I will sit with Namjoon.” Seokjin smiles and moves to sit with his Prime Alpha on the smallest couch. 

Next thing you know, you are sandwiched between the bunny and jaguar. Yoongi is on your right, his tail still wrapped around your thigh, with the tip sliding up and down almost absentmindedly. Jungkook is on your left, still holding your hand and resting his head on your shoulder.

Your body relaxes as you lean back on the couch, looking around the room. Mind making jokes about having a fur leash again despite Yoongi not looking at you since you entered the room and how you seem to have become a bunny pillow. After some thought, you realize that you don’t actually mind either action. 

Someone clearing their throat pulls you from your thoughts. Looking towards the loveseat, you see Namjoon sit up straighter and take on a look that clearly shows that it is the Prime Alpha talking and not the cute, funny Namjoon you have seen clips of on Instagram. 

“Bangtan pack, Miss Y/n has a hairline fracture of her right wrist,” at this information, a collective hiss of sympathetic pain comes from the other members. 

“She will be required to wear that brace and limit her use of that hand for the next six to eight weeks. This brings up some causes of concern for Miss Y/n.”

Namjoon looks at you to continue, “Umm… well I am right-hand dominant so doing pretty much anything is going to be complicated. I only have about four days of sick pay saved up right now. So, going back to work will be a hurdle all on its own, not to mention doing any kind of chores or cooking.”

Your eyes wander across the group as you speak. They all look at you like you are speaking something other than English or Korean. When your eyes come to a stop on Yoongi, he is finally looking at you with his eyes now a deep brown.

“Y/n, stay with us,” Yoongi states, not asking. “I am a respectable Alpha Jaguar and it is my honor to care for you back to health. My Alpha already told you outside that he would keep you safe until you are healed. I am here for the long haul.”

Your eyes widen at his declaration, and your mind blanks on what to say or how to respond. 

From your other side, Jungkook cuddles into your side, his nose nudging your neck softly, “We all will be here for the long haul.”

“They are right, you know. We are a bonded pack of mates and we would love to have you stay here with us so that we can take care of you,” Hoseok adds. 

Breaking eye contact with Yoongi, you took to Hoseok as he and the others on that couch smiled genuinely. “What about my job? I cannot leave my work. I have to pay for my flat and food and stuff.”

“Y/n,” your head snaps to the Prime Alpha, “is it okay if we call you Y/n?”

Nodding, you turn your body to face him directly. Your left hand, still holding Jungkook’s, is gripping tightly, trying to ground yourself. 

At your agreement, the Prime Alpha smiles, showing off dimples as he continues, “I figured that you would worry about a few things like that.”

“The room you met with the doctor in is yours while you stay here with us… at the pack house. When we say that we will take care of you, we mean it. We will cover all your expenses; it’s not like we lack the funds to care for anyone. Lastly, in order to keep a job to cover your everyday expenses, such as your flat, cell phone, etc., going, I have a proposition for you.”

Holding your breath, your eyes wide at everything he has said so far, you gulp, “What is your proposition, Prime Alpha Sir?”

“Become our playmate.”

Previous / Next

Taglist - Open

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @smileykiddie08 @kayways @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages @kittycatkrissa @hijabae2019

#ldysmfst fic #americanmate #bts #bts x reader #hybrid #hybrid bts #au #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #angst with a happy ending #plus sized reader #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #alpha beta omega #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok

[carmenberzattosgf]

this is probably ooc carmen but fuck it we ball….virgin carmy who’s just so stoked to have sex with you that he doesn’t really realize how ““not normal”” his behavior is.

most men you’ve been with get icked at the thought of kisses after blowjobs or giving head after they’ve cum inside—carmen does NOT care. gripping your jaw and tugging you up for messy kisses, so elated and pleased with you that he doesn’t even care that you haven’t swallowed his cum yet. cumming on your tits or your sticky cunt and immediately cleaning up his mess (and giving you another orgasm)

when you tell carmy he’s nasty, he knows it’s a compliment due to your happy tone but doesn’t really know what you mean because to him this is just normal so he’s like ‘:D ? thanks lmao’ -💫

Oh god my brain is going haywire. While I think it’s OOC for Carmy in the show, I definitely think virgin Carmy before the show would do this. Like please the way you worded it as “stoked to have sex with you” is exactly what is going on in Carmy’s brain. Literally just happy to be here vibes.

When you suck him off he refuses to push your head down at all, whatsoever. As soon as he cums in your mouth he’s pulling you off of your knees by your jaw to kiss you. You haven’t even gotten the chance to swallow before his tongue presses into your mouth.

It’s so fucking messy. A clash of lips and tongue. Spit mixed with cum drips out from between his mouth and yours. Carmy isn’t phased at all by it. If anything, the taste of himself on your tongue spurs him on. By the end of it, he’s wiping off the corners of your mouth with his thumb before cleaning the digit off with his mouth.

You assume it must have been a fluke, the way Carmy didn’t care about kissing you with his cum still in your mouth. Every guy you’ve ever been with would have protested, at least a little bit.

It’s not a fluke. Not at all. Carmen’s just straight up filthy. He shows that the next time he fucks you. He has only even cum inside you before, but Carmy has other plans this time. Right after you climax, he’s pulling out of you and fisting his cock at a rapid speed. His eyes stay focused on you and your body. Specifically, on the way your hips twitch with pleasure, and how your head is thrown back exposing the hickies he left earlier. The desperate cries of his name from your lips brings him to the edge. A couple more strokes and he’s cumming all over your stomach. Hot spurts of cum land on lower abdomen and the folds of your cunt.

When you manage to open your eyes again, Carmy wordlessly lowers himself between your legs. His blue eyes look up at you, completely blown out, as his tongue licks a broad stripe from your mound to your navel. He diligently collects every bit of cum on your stomach, swallowing it happily, before he shifts focus to your cunt. Carmen takes the same level of care there, licking up every trace of cum he encounters.

Once you’re all ‘cleaned up’, he works fast to bring you to another orgasm. If there’s one thing for sure about Carmy, it’s that he knows how to use his tongue. He already knows you inside and out, tracing his tongue on your cunt in the perfect way to make you scream. You finish with your thighs clamped around his head and your hands woven into his hair.

“Fuck, Carmy,” you sigh, letting your thighs fall back against the mattress. Carmy looks as happy as can be with a ditzy look in his eyes, and a smile he couldn’t wipe away if he tried. “You’re really nasty,” you laugh.

His head falls to rest on your thigh, looking up at you with a look of devotion in his eyes. “What do you mean?” One of his hands reaches for your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. It’s comments like this that remind you how little experience he has with sex.

“Well… every other guy I’ve been with would never kiss me after a blow job. Let alone willingly lick cum off my stomach.”

“It’s my job to clean you up. I um— trust me, I’m happy to do it.” Carmy blushes as he speaks. He really had no clue that wasn't the norm. He was just doing what felt natural.

"I'm not going to stop you. Besides, it's kinda hot."

"Oh is it?"

So yeah bascially carmy is so into cum play like it’s so very serious. It’s the part of the marking kink he 100% has going on.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto #carmy bear

[armysantiny]

12:44 – 재민 (Jaemin)

P: Jaemin x female reader | G: timestamp, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff | Inc: office au, lunch breaks, established relationship, descriptions of self-loathing, planning dinner, Jaemin offering to pick y/n up from work | Wc: 463 | W: self-loathing| R: G

Min's notes: fun fact I literally started the word doc at 12:44 on Thursday :D this whole fic is self-indulgent honestly, I needed this on the day, bc this was exactly how much lunch break went haha. Just without Jaemin.

There’s an ache in y/n’s chest as she slumps into the booth. The office is awash with conversation, her colleagues all walking past on their way to the cafeteria. She’d join them, on a normal day, and bask in the reprieve it grants her away from her desk. But today, she just can’t seem to bring herself to get up, to go and join the general office population. Not when her chest is tight and coiled with self-loathing, a thick sludge that coats every part of her brain and body.

She just can’t do it today.

Lunch itself doesn’t seem all to appealing anymore, and she sets her lunchbox aside, silently grieving the lack of appetite while she downs an iced coffee, the second caffeinated beverage she’s had today. Maybe that’s what’s toying with her, y/n’s mind supplies, subtle palpitations aching to prove her threadbare theory right.

But the HR admin’s had more coffee without any adverse effects, and the true culprit of her turmoil taunts her again. It’s almost pathetic, how easily her train of thought slips into cruel lies, reminding y/n by the second of her imagined incompetence.

Always bothering them, always wasting everyone’s time. Utterly useless human being.

Her phone’s ringing. Her personal phone. The call’s answered before y/n can think about letting it ring out, a whisper of desperate hope that wants whoever it is on the other line to either save her from her thoughts or put her out of her damned misery. One way or another. She isn’t picky.

“Hello, my love,” Jaemin hums, his voice bright and cheerful and undeserving of y/n’s inner misery, “I’m picking up some things for dinner tonight, how’s work going?”

“I..” and the words clog in her throat, suffocating her with the threat of burning tears until she can force them out. “I think I’ll head home early today; I need a break.”

And on the other end, in the middle of the supermarket, Jaemin’s face knits into a frown, concern making a home in his chest. Y/n didn’t sound like she was upset that morning, but now? Now it sounds like the love of his life is fracturing around the edges, desperate for salvation of any kind. He needs to get a move on, hurry home and make sure everything’s in place to give his girlfriend the tenderness she needs.

He can start with a simple offer, however.

“Do you want me to come pick you up when I’m finished with the shopping?” Jaemin offers, standing in line for the cashier. He waits for an answer, counting the seconds as they drag on, each long and—

“Please, Min. I miss you..” Y/n’s voice hovers through, and Jaemin’s plans are set.

“I’ll be over as soon as I’m done, my love.”

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[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Vaggie: “Charlie? Can I have a pick-me-up?”

Charlie: “!! YES!!! OF COURSE ALWAYS!!!”

Charlie: “Uh- where to start, um- Oh oh oh! You have the most AMAZING laugh whenever you to relax enough for it and your voice is INCREDIBLE really easy to get lost listening to- You take skirt wearing to whole other level, you snore SO cutely in your sleep, and even if it’s a little concerning how fast you are with that spear, it’s also really kinda h-”

Vaggie: “I meant literally, babe. Like, thanks for making me blush, but…”

Charlie: “Ohhhh you want UPPIES?”

Vaggie: “Girlfriend-based personal vertical augmentation- yeah. I’d, I’d like uppies. Please.”

Charlie: “One vertical upgrade via your girlfriend coming right UP!” (giggles) (picks up) “Heheh, how’s this?”

Vaggie: (is up picked) “Perfect, sweetie. Now carry me over to Alastor?”

Alastor: “?”

Charlie: “Okay?” (starts walking) “…why…?”

Vaggie: “I wanna punch him in his stupid smiling extremely punchable face.”

Alator: “Oh I AM flattered!”

Vaggie: “Great he’s given implied consent to a beating, let’s go.”

Charlie: “Okay.” (turning around) “We’re not doing that.”

Vaggie: “We don’t have to. I’ll do the punching, all you have to do is go over there and hold me at eye level.”  

Charlie: "Vaggie-"

Alastor: “Get on a level with ME? Rather impossible for you, I’m afraid. You simply lack my, dare I say DEPTH of vision, ha ha! DO take care you don’t suffer from altitude sickness in the attempt through, hmm?”

Vaggie: “Two seconds of being held up to his face, Charlie, that’s all I’m asking.”

Charlie: “Vaggie, that’s still assault on my part. That’s assault with a deadly weapon, even!”

Vaggie: “I’m not armed?”

Charlie: “Are you breathing?”

Vaggie: “Uhh, yeah..?”

Charlie: “If you’re breathing then you’re a threat.”

Vaggie: (grinning) “Aww, Charlie.”

Charlie: “ESPECIALLY to guys like Alastor. No offence, Alastor.”

Alastor: “Compliment accepted!”

Vaggie: (beaming) (didn’t hear him) “You’re just saying that.”

Alastor: (annoyed dial tune) “Ahem. Well, I just said-”

Charlie: “I’m saying it because it’s true, and my ex still instinctively flinches at any HINT of a red hair bow at around chest height.” (switches to cuddling vaggie) “So let’s go be a threat over here instead, okay? Out of Alastor punching range.”

Vaggie: “Still within spear throw.”

Alastor: “Ahh yes, your darling divine toothpick. How quaint!”

Charlie: “Would you really wanna get his blood all over your spear?”

Vaggie: (HEAVY SIGH) “Nnnnno… I guess not.”

Alastor: (honestly insulted) “Rude.”

Charlie: “Didn’t thinks so!” (muttering) “The way you fawn over the stupid thing when it get’s so much as a stupid little smudge from me poking it in it’s stupid perfectly polished face…”

Vaggie: “What?”

Alastor: (evil static) “SHE said-”

Charlie: “Nothing! Petty revenge always ends up biting you in the ass! Anyway.” (grins brightly) “We’ve got better things to do than punch people in the face!”

Vaggie: “Good point.” (touches charlie’s jaw thoughtfully) “...this angle is pretty useful for more than just punching.”

Alastor: “AhaHA! And there is my cue to get off the air!”

Charlie: “Yeah…?”

Vaggie: “Yeah..”

Alastor: “Indeed!”

Charlie: “Like for tongue wrestling~?”

Vaggie: “….”

Alastor: “….”

Alastor: “Oh dear~!

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “What.”

Charlie: “Well if it’s combat you’re after- we COULD have a battle for dominance. Y’know. With our mouths.”

Charlie: (wink)

Vaggie: “….never mind. You can put me down now.”

Alastor: “Oooh~”

Charlie: “!! NO NO WAIT I TAKE IT BACK-”

Vaggie: “Charlie. It’s seared into my brain.”

Alastor: (grinning) “Dreadful! Truly dreadful!”

Charlie: “NOOOO NO NO UN-SEAR IT! UN-SEAR IT FROM THE BRAIN!!!!”

Vaggie: “I don’t feel up for punching anyone either anymore, so don’t worry.”

Charlie: “Would, would punching put you back in the mood!? Vaggie please wait hold on just one sec-”

Charlie: “ALASTOR! CAN YOU COME OVER- NOOO DON’T WALK AWAY, I NEED-”

Charlie: VAGGIE!!! Wait!! I’m sorry! Please wait up! Please I’m sorry I just got SO in the mood and kinda COMPLETELY lost my mind with your talking all low right next to me like that, like when we-”

Alastor: (distantly) “Dear ones~ I am not yet out of hearing range~”

Vaggie: “Good. Suffer.”

Charlie: “I’m suffering IM SUFFERNG! PLEASE!!!” (trailing after girlfriend) “Vaggiiiiieeeee..! S-smooches????”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, I can’t even look at you right now.”

Charlie: “We could do the smooches without looking!!!”

Vaggie: “Even worse. Every time I close my eye I see your tongue suited up in armor, waving around a sword.”

Charlie: (horrified) “No! NO!!! IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE A METAPHOR!”

Vaggie: “Metaphorically speaking, I’ve been scarred.”

Charlie: “Th- then let me kiss it better!”

Vaggie: “Not how it works, babe.”

Charlie: “ARGH!”

Angel Dust: “Hey’a tootes! Guess who’s back from LONG and HARD day of… the fuck is wrong with her?”

Vaggie: “She’s fine.”

Charlie: (clutching vaggie’s arm) (wailing) “FANFIC RUIN LIVES!!!!!”

Angel Dust: “Ain’t that the truth. Porn tip- NEVER try adapting a smut fic for the screen. Choreography’s a nightmare…”

Vaggie: “Wow thanks for the amazing advice that we definitely needed.”

Angel Dust: “Ya welcome.”

Charlie: “We might still need it! Right Vaggie!? We might still be doing stuff like that in future-”

Vaggie: “What we could really use right now is a few drinks. Angel, I’ll spot yours if you can convince Husk to open early.”

Charlie: (slumping over bar) “I hate my life.”

Angel Dust: “That’s cute, Charlie-horse.” (lean down to whisper at vaggie) “Ya sure she hasn’t already had any...?”

Vaggie: “I’m sure-”

Charlie: “-the whole PROBLEM is me NOT GETTING ANY!”

Vaggie: “Annnd now everyone knows it, perfect.”

Angel Dust: “Oh now this is JUICY!”

Charlie: “What everyone? I only told Angel…?”

Vaggie: “Angel can’t keep anything to himself, including himself.”

Angel Dust: “Spittin’ nothin’ but truths tonight, huh Maximum Vaggige? Cherri will love this- I’m gonna need ALL deets! Wait right here and I’ll get Husker fluff to loosen those gossipy tongues right up!!”

Vaggie: “Great. More tongue stuff.”

Charlie: “UGH.”

Vaggie: “….”

Charlie: “…”

Vaggie: “Charlie.”

Charlie: “Meh?”

Vaggie: “I swear, if I could kiss you right now without physically cringing, I would.”

Charlie: “...Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Yeah?”

Charlie: “What if we’re never able to kiss again?”

Vaggie: “…”

Charlie: “…Vaggie this is the part where you say don’t be silly and reassure me.”

Vaggie: “I know.”

Charlie: “Tell me I’m being silly, Vaggie.”

Vaggie: “Charlie, I… I will always love you, no matter what.”

Charlie: “That’s-”(sitting bolt upright) “THAT’S NOT REASSURING!”

Vaggie: (slumping next to her at the bar) “Where the FUCK is Husk and those drinks.”

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #alastor the radio demon #angel dust hazbin hotel #incorrect quotes #utter silliness #i don't know it just happened #im sorry charlie

[thatoneneuvichiliauthor]

I have an angsty aventio idea that’s haunting me (also this one’s a lil dark, just a warning) imagine ratio at some point in the future telling aventurine that just because he’s been lucky so far, that doesn’t mean that his luck will *always* hold out, and tells him to stop putting so much faith into the fact that his luck never run out. And Aventurine, who is exhausted and having a bad day because otherwise he’d make a joke or just play it off, pulls out his gun again. And Ratio scoffs because they’ve already been through this, with Aventurine proving his luck by taking all but one bullet out. But to his shock, this time Aventurine only removes a single bullet. Before ratio can stop him, he spins the chamber and points it at his own head before pulling the trigger. Nothing happens. Then, without hesitating, he pulls the trigger once more, not even flinching as he stares Ratio directly in the eye. The gun jammed, and no bullets left the chamber. And aventurine tells him then, that he’s tested his luck like that more than once, always with the vague hope of getting to see his family again, but something like that happens every time. His luck genuinely prevents him from experiencing a *permanent* death before his time. And then he sees that this time, *Ratio* is the one that’s shaking, with genuine horror and fear in his eyes. (I just love the idea that aventurine is so ‘lucky’ that something will always stop his death, and I want Ratio to feel the gut wrenching fear of seeing aventurine fire a fully loaded gun at himself right in front of him. Ratio probably holds him close and tightly after that and refuses to let go for a long time)

My heart 😭😭😭 Ratio would be left so shaken up by this omg. Especially since his original demand obviously stemmed from his fear of losing Aventurine to his gambles! This is such an excellent concept and I love it!

Also, since my angst-addict brain somehow found a way to make it worse: Imagine an alternate scenario where Ratio understands what Aventurine is about to do and just cannot stand there and watch it happen, not when he could lose the one person he loves most. Panic overrides his mind and he tries to take the gun from Aventurine. In doing so, one of them accidentally pulls the trigger, but this time, the gun doesn't jam. Instead, the bullet hits Ratio. Horrified, Aventurine lets the gun fall to the floor and rushes to his side while the doctor's clothes start turning red with blood. The wound is not fatal, but still, it confronts Aventurine to the very thing that haunts him : the knowledge that his insane luck only protects him from harm, and not those he cares about. It would also force him to acknowledge just how attached he has gotten to Ratio, and he would be an absolute guilt-ridden wreck while waiting at his bedside after he got surgery, scared to death that he might not make it. Once Ratio wakes up, it's Aventurine who'd be the one unable to stop holding him.

Thanks so much for sharing this with me, this is such a great concept, I can already tell I'll be thinking about it for days!

#aventio #ratio x aventurine #aventurine #dr ratio #amazing angst #asks