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koqabear · 11 months

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Killer Instinct

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“Beomgyu knows better than to get himself involved in that shady fight club you always warn him about— but he never listens to you, and despite how much you beg him to leave that place alone, you don’t find yourself to be too surprised when he starts bringing those same people you warned him about to you.”

MMA Fighter! Taehyun x fem!reader

Genre: underground fight club! au, mma fighter!taehyun, enemies to lovers, thriller/action, angst, smut

Word count: 37.4K

Warnings: general violence. (This is an mma au; fighting, blood, injuries, etc.) illegal activities (underground clubs, gambling, etc) older!mc (3 years gap), use of the word “noona”, talks about family issues, single parenting, tae is a little bitch, weapons, (knives, guns), stabbing, cigarette smoking, mc is also a bitch (they’re mean to each other), medical inaccuracies probably sksjsj, a bit of jealousy… mentions of bullying, mentions of power imbalance & manipulation, alcohol consumption, mentions of death & coping, mma inaccuracies bc i am not a professional!!

Smut warnings: dom!tae, sub!mc, mc is slightly bratty, manhandling, breast play, marking, biting, oral (f. rec), bro is a pussy fiend, (service top!tae? maybe?) hair pulling, scratching, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie(s)

Notes: i’ve worked on this stupid story for so long that i don’t even want to look at it anymore. (/hj.) another warning that idk anything abt mma, so there are definitely inaccuracies! features literally the whole idol industry,,, they're scattered like easter eggs.

The air is thick and foggy; Taehyun can already feel the sweat beginning to form on his brow the moment he enters, pushed around like a rag-doll from the full capacity of the room. No one bothers to spare him a glance— he’s a nobody, a clueless figure that’s given away from the sheer curiosity that breaks through his eyes. The poor boy is forced to hold in a cough as someone proceeds to blow cigarette smoke in his face; he hears a few mocking chuckles around him.

None of that matters, though. The flickering, weak lights overhead manage to spotlight his objective perfectly, his eyes lighting up with wonder as he feels a grin threatening to spread on his face; before him, two unknown men stand in a ring.

Taehyun’s muscles twitch in attention— his mind is racing, imagining himself in their place as he watches the two slowly circle each other, wondering what he would do if he were in their place; even from here, Taehyun can see the hungry look on one of the men’s faces, a bloody grin stuck on his face as he keeps his hands up and close— his hair is tied up and out of his face as he stares his opponent down.

It’s tense, wild even, as he finally swings, landing a punch to the other man’s stomach as the crowd around the ring roars— in approval or dread, he isn’t sure entirely. It’s a mixture of everything, men and women alike gesturing wildly as their screams blend in with the crowd; all to form a violent audience, closing in hysterically on the ring in hopes of getting a good view.

Taehyun feels adrenaline coursing through him— it’s contagious.

He fights the urge to try and push through, curious to see what might be going on as a sudden unanimous roar sweeps through the crowd. His eyes dart wildly, watching people celebrate, clapping each other on the backs as they cheer; others don't share the feeling, upset or even angry as he finds people being held back from trying to get on the ring— security is quick to put an end to it, though.

And as he slowly watches the crowd scatter, he sees the same man from before circling the ring, bloody and bruised as he walks back to the referee; his arm is thrust up by the official as his supporters cheer in victory. Eyes scanning the room, his eyes briefly land on Taehyun’s before he’s back to gloating, proud despite the clear beating he took himself.

Taehyun can feel his ambitious heart beat faster— he doesn’t know how he’ll do it, but he wants to be up there next.

The buzz of it all is quick to calm down; it’s as though nothing happened, and he notices the way the unconscious man gets picked up and carried towards an infirmary— taking in his condition, Taehyun shudders, trying to shake it off before he looks for his target.

“‘scuse me,” Taehyun says, voice rough and as confident as he can get it to be— he hopes the referee can’t see through his act of bravery. The man barely spares him a glance before he nods, seemingly able to see what he’s here for— the small quirk of his lips is more mocking than anything to Taehyun.

“What do you want, kid,” the unamused tone of the man before him isn’t very encouraging— for a moment, Taehyun almost feels foolish for stepping inside such a foreign ground without proper connections; he’s quick to push the feeling away, much too used to the patronizing looks he gets for being a newcomer.

“Get me in the ring,” he can’t seem unsure now— if anything, any ounce of hesitation will get him denied immediately. Taehyun is demanding, jaw clenched and gaze hard as he stares at the older man before him; his eyes narrow at the younger’s words, and for a second Taehyun wonders if he took the wrong approach.

“You got money to bet?” The older man’s words only bring excitement to Taehyun— he can’t hold back his eager nod, ignoring the man’s amused chuckles as he reaches into his duffle bag; carefully, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, allowing it to peek slightly out of his bag as he glances back up at the referee— judging by the smug look on his face, Taehyun is sure that what he’s brought is more than enough.

“Good boy,” the referee whistles, but Taehyun chooses to ignore his blatant mockery as he tucks the envelope back in.

“Jin,” the man introduces himself, offering his hand out in the introduction— Taehyun takes it, the smooth leather of Jin’s black gloves stained with blood as he holds the younger’s hand tightly; he tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice the blood smudge onto his skin, attempting to wipe it off without being noticed. “Let’s go get you on the registry, I’ll see if I can find another newbie for you.”

“Taehyun,” he says, following obediently as Jin weaves through the crowd effortlessly. Taehyun, however, isn’t as lucky, struggling to keep up as everyone seemingly goes out of their way to get in his path— it isn’t long before Taehyun resorts to pushing roughly through the faceless people.

“Newbie? I don’t—“ Taehyun grunts as someone shoulder checks him, turning to the side roughly as he attempts to keep his sight on Jin; slowly, he’s able to catch up, “Don’t put me up against a newbie.”

The curious glance Jin spares is enough for Taehyun to get the confidence to continue.

“Put me up with someone experienced— all or nothing.”

Jin can’t control the laugh that escapes him at the younger’s words; his head is thrown back, briefly catching the attention of those around him as he stops before the bar. Leaning against the wooden counter, Jin’s act quickly becomes unamusing to Taehyun as he’s forced to watch as the older man attempts to regain his composure. When he does, Taehyun can feel his jaw tick— pure mockery fills Jin’s eyes.

“You even know how to fight, kid?” Taehyun says nothing, afraid of what might come out if he chooses to open his mouth. But his steely gaze is enough for Jin, who reluctantly holds his hands up in surrender—he can tell there’s still a reluctance in the man to take him seriously.

“Fine, I’ll give you your money’s worth,” Jin mutters, glancing back at the black duffle bag that remains secured at Taehyun’s side, “from the amount you showed me, I’m sure I could get The Bear’s attention.”

“The Bear?” Taehyun echoed, frowning at the name. Jin only scoffs, rolling his eyes at the title.

“I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Whatever sticks, I guess,” the referee grumbled, clearly displeased at the thought of having to announce any ridiculous names— clearing his throat, Jin squared his shoulders as he shot Taehyun a smug smile.

“The one who just won— that’s The Bear,” Jin explains, narrowing his eyes as he gauged Taehyun’s expression, “I saw you staring— you stick out badly— and I know you wanna have a go at him.”

Solemnly, Taehyun nods— Jin only sighs at that.

“Of course,” he runs a hand through his hair, seemingly unfazed by the uncleanliness of his gloves, “everyone does.”

Taehyun wondered if Jin berated every newcomer like this— he wouldn’t put it past the referee, quite honestly. It hadn’t been long since they met, but this short amount of time had Taehyun wondering if the older man even wanted to be a part of this place; slowly, a fire lights in Jin’s eyes, leaving Taehyun confused as he watches the man let out a cruel laugh; his eyes were no longer on Taehyun’s, but instead at a very distant point behind him— one glance over his shoulder and he was able to see victor from before approaching— The Bear.

“Cocky, faceless fighters like you,” Jin calls out, bringing Taehyun’s attention back as the younger’s eyes meet his— something is threatening within them, and Taehyun wished that he didn’t feel a sense of danger lick up his body as a grin overtook the referee’s face, “I love watching them get put in their place.”

Taehyun was unable to say anything to that— Jin’s expression seemed to light up as he pushed himself off the bar, his gloved hand slapping on Taehyun’s shoulder, startling the boy as he felt himself turned around forcefully— any angry comments died on his tongue as Jin pulled him into his side, walking forward as he called out a foreign name: Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu!” Jin calls out, grinning wildly as he forces Taehyun to follow along. Like before, Taehyun is turned into nothing but a rag-doll, fighting back the urge to shake him off as they approach the man— he can feel the curious stares of the patrons dig into him, and Taehyun begins to wonder what he got himself into as Seokjin’s fingers dig into his shoulder— almost as though he were preventing him from running away.

One look at the man before him has Taehyun’s nerves on fire— were they really going to let him fight like this? The man before him is bruised and bloody, refusing to stop at the infirmary as he shrugs on his coat; slowly, a grin overtakes his features, a slight wince stopping him as his cut lip reopens— Taehyun can hear the man curse under his breath.

“Who’s this?” Though Beomgyu’s eyes remain on Taehyun’s, he’s not truly talking to the newcomer; Jin is quick to respond, shaking the young boy teasingly as he laughs.

“Taehyun,” Jin says, patting the boy’s shoulder as he glances at him, “says he wants to have a go at you.”

Beomgyu quirks a brow at that— he’s clearly amused, letting out a soft huff as he’s crossing his arms over his bare torso; Taehyun can already spot dark bruises forming in certain spots, his thin and reddened fingers tapping at his bicep impatiently as he surveys Taehyun.

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu drawls, tilting his head as though he were in thought, “I don’t wanna scare the poor kid off by giving him a good beating.”

This, Taehyun decides, is about all he can put up with; shrugging Jin’s hand off his shoulder, he scoffs, stepping forward and coming face to face with Beomgyu— the man isn’t even much taller than him, and he seems to be around his age too— yet the arrogance pours off him in waves, looking at Taehyun as though he were lesser than him— yet, he hasn’t seen what Taehyun can do.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem phased by any of this; it’s like the smug look on his face is permanent, his head held high as Taehyun takes a moment to survey him. The air is tense as the patrons at the bar become aware of what’s happening before them; it isn’t long before they’re all taunting either Taehyun or Beomgyu, encouraging them to fight in hopes that they’ll get another show.

“If anything, I should be the one worried for you,” Taehyun mutters, a fake look of sympathy crossing his face at the thought, his voice patronizing as he continues, “I wouldn’t wanna ruin your pretty face.”

A pause. Beomgyu’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing as he fights back the smile that itches to show; shaking his head, he scoffs, enjoying the way Taehyun’s fiery gaze seems to burn into his skin. He sighs— it’s long and labored, his head thrown back as he shakes his bangs out of his face— then he reaches out, clapping Taehyun on his shoulder as he looks at Jin, nodding in approval.

“Get us in the next best slot,” Beomgyu says, and the spectators seem to grow more excited with his every word. Glancing back at Taehyun, he smiles; it’s mischievous and sly, but Taehyun doesn’t allow it to get to him as he stands his ground. “I need to freshen up.”

The room is buzzing with energy as everyone seems to spread out, watching Beomgyu disappear into the locker room before they begin to bet on the results; Taehyun grimaces at the number of people who are already betting against him.

“Seems like you bit off more than you can chew,” Jin whispers, leaning in as he bumps against Taehyun playfully. “You got twenty minutes; pray if you need to.”

Taehyun grits his teeth as Seokjin walks back to the bar, leaning in towards the bartender as they talk, glancing back at Taehyun before they’re laughing and nodding— it doesn’t take a genius to guess what they’re talking about. Readjusting the strap of his duffle bag, Taehyun has no choice but to make his way into the locker room; he just hopes The Bear can save his temper for the match.

It wasn’t as though he wanted to provoke the man— if anything, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But, it wasn’t long before Taehyun realized that being nice wouldn’t get him anywhere; luckily for him, he didn’t truly mind.

The locker room is small, just as Taehyun expected; the lighting is dim and there isn’t much room to move due to the benches that line the walkways— Taehyun frowns at the inconvenient layout. At the end of the wall to his left, he finds a doorway to another room— he catches a glimpse of showers and bathroom stalls; the water runs on that side of the room, and Taehyun can already guess who might be behind the flimsy wall that separates them. Sighing, Taehyun looks for the nearest empty locker.

The sound of running water fills Taehyun’s head, blocking out everything else as he begins to think— attempting to remember all the moves Beomgyu used, trying to decipher his fighting style; his mind raced with different possibilities he could use to counter him.

“Hey,” Taehyun is ripped out of his reverie at the firm voice, his head snapping up at the realization that they were talking to him; turning around, he’s unfazed to find The Bear staring at him blankly.

“First time in the cage?” He asks, tilting his head as he surveys Taehyun curiously. Taehyun shakes his head in response, watching as Beomgyu only nods thoughtfully at that. It’s clear he took a moment to patch himself up, but it’s still strange to Taehyun that he’s willing to go for another match so soon— his cockiness only fuels Taehyun further.

“It sure does look like it.” Beomgyu doesn’t bother lingering around— he’s ready, clapping Taehyun on the shoulder before he’s walking away, heading back out as he spares Taehyun one last apathetic glance. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, ‘kay? I’ll even go easy on you.”

Taehyun says nothing. He can feel his jaw clench, trying his best to bite back another comment as he watches the older man exit the locker room; His fists tighten, the feeling of his hands tightening over the material of his wraps allowing him to calm down as he takes a steady breath. Sighing, his head is tilted back, eyes surveying the dim room for a clock— it isn’t long before he spots it above the doorway, calculating how much time he has left to prepare.

Ten minutes.

That’s more than enough for him.

⊹⊹⊹

The cage is freshly cleaned. It reeks of cleaner and is scuffed and old under Taehyun’s feet. He has no interest in hearing about the fight that went on before his— the bored mumblings of the spectators were enough for him to tune everything out. The seating area wasn’t that big, but it was enough for the people that were more than ready to gamble and waste away from alcohol as they watched; it didn’t take a genius to know that the regulations in the place weren’t very strict.

There’s someone new standing in the cage— a commentator, Taehyun realizes. He looks like he could be a fighter himself, but the fire in his eyes seems to be curated more for the thrill of commentating every detail of the fights before him. Words spill rapidly from his mouth, but Taehyun can’t bring himself to tune in; his bright platinum hair is glowing, even under the flickering lights, and the commentator’s names manages to slip through the walls of Taehyun’s concentration— Taeyong, with his co-commentator, Jeno.

It’s clear they’re here to do nothing more than build up tension, making useless comments that make the audience cheer or roar with disapproval. Taeyong is gesturing wildly, pointing to the fighter’s separate corners as he seems to be talking about them; Taehyun can feel the searing stares of the people around him.

Beomgyu stands across from him, his hair pulled back and his face gone dead as he stares at Taehyun— he doesn’t look away for a second. His hands are left at his sides, fingers clenching around his wraps as he tilts his head side to side; Taehyun hears the faint crack of his bones, even from where he stands. He frowns, beginning to feel antsy the longer the commentators take— from the corner of his eye, he sees Jin enter the ring, nodding to Taeyong and Jeno as they shake hands.

Taehyun takes a slow breath, jaw clenching as he feels his teeth bite into his mouth guard. He can feel his impatience growing the longer he stares at The Bear, watching as the man before him only smiles mischievously at him; he’s pacing around his side, eyes pinned to Taehyun as though he were a predator ready to strike.

The Bear’s eyes light up the moment the two commentators exit the ring.

Their voices still ring out through the speakers, spewing random things about the scene as Jin beckons the two to approach him.

“I want a clean, fair fight.” Jin begins, reaching out to clasp the two’s shoulders, “You know the rules. Protect yourself at all times, touch gloves if you want to.”

A beat passes as Jin glances at the two fighters— Taehyun does nothing; Beomgyu only grins at that.

Sighing, Jin backs away from the two, clapping his hands before he points back to their respective sides.

“Back to your corners,” Jin yells, huffing as he backs away, mumbling under his breath as he does so, “let’s get this over with.”

Taehyun’s hands come up instinctively, eyes narrowing as he waits for the familiar sound of the bell. Beomgyu does the same, his stance opening as an undeniable smile graces his lips; if Taehyun didn’t know better, he’d almost think this was nothing but a game to him.

His body tenses the moment the bell rings throughout the room, his mind racing as he watches Beomgyu begin to make his way to him.

Nothing happens at first; they circle each other, Taehyun’s feet pacing quickly around the cage as he waits for a good opening. The useless chatter of the commentators threatens to break his concentration, but he knows better than to pay attention to anything other than the man before him.

Beomgyu throws the first punch. A sharp jab is directed toward his head, but it doesn’t land as Taehyun sharply moves away. Everything changes in an instant; the moment Beomgyu puts his arm out is the moment Taehyun begins to look for a weakness. It’s a rapid flow of punches and dodges, the commentators making a fuss over everything as nothing connects properly.

Beomgyu’s punches are strong; Taehyun’s forearms ache at the impact, jumping back the moment Beomgyu attempts to land a kick— a liver shot, Taehyun realizes with a small smile.

The two boys are equally matched, and it isn’t long before the crowd catches onto that fact— suddenly the fight has become more interesting, and Taehyun can sense everyone’s eyes on them as he watches Beomgyu prep for another kick, the minuscule mistake of his rear hand coming down giving Taehyun the perfect opening.

Taehyun’s body twists violently, his right hand swinging around as he aims for Beomgyu’s head; the impact sends the crowd roaring.

He feels his fist come in contact with a wound from his previous fight, his brow splitting back open as Beomgyu winces at the feeling— he wobbles slightly from the shock, his eye squinting as blood begins to trickle down.

“You motherfucker,” Beomgyu’s lips read, snarling at Taehyun as his guard seems to be raised. His arms immediately come back up, protecting his head as another of Taehyun’s punches threatens to connect. With his body exposed, Taehyun is unable to stop the kick that shoots straight at him, at the same spot as before; He feels his vision blur for a second as his breath is knocked out of him.

Beomgyu is coming back for more as the last counts for the round are yelled out. Jabs and kicks are exchanged in rapid fire, and it’s all lost in a blur of motion as the two attempt to weaken the other— the bell rings, signaling the end of the round.

Back in his corner, Taehyun is surprised to find that Beomgyu has no coach. He’s just like him, forced to tend to his wounds and think of a new strategy on his own; Taehyun is surprised The Bear was able to land such strong hits with his vision impaired so badly.

Beomgyu is a ruthless fighter; he has technique and experience, and it seems that all mercy will fly out the window the moment he catches his opponent in a vulnerable spot— Taehyun just needs to make sure to not give him the opportunity.

“Ready?” Jin’s strong yell breaks through both of the fighter’s minds, and it isn’t long before Taehyun finds himself back in the center of the ring, adjusting his mouthpiece as he doesn’t bother paying attention to Jin’s rambles.

“Knock ‘em out Bear, get this over with,” it’s the only thing that catches Taehyun’s attention, the sharp glare he sends to Jin doing nothing as he’s told to go back to his corner— though he doesn’t miss the smug look that Beomgyu sends him.

The new round is immediate; there’s a fire in Taehyun’s eyes, his body pumping with adrenaline as he immediately approaches Beomgyu, unsurprised to find that he does the same. His breathing is slightly labored as the exhaustion from the last round seems to be catching up to him, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling deter him as Beomgyu attempts to deliver another kick; Taehyun counters it with one of his own.

Nothing seems to land properly; it’s beginning to frustrate Taehyun, but he knows not to let the feeling linger too long— he’s found himself cornered, and it isn’t long before he’s wrapped up in a clinch; The Bear’s limbs constrict his, tightening around him as he attempts to wrestle him to the ground, his punches directing jabs to his ribs and face— one connects roughly against his nose, and he can already feel the familiar liquid dripping out. It’s painful, but Taehyun doesn’t let the feeling overwhelm him as he tries to break the other’s hold on him.

Though he finds himself on the floor, he’s able to break away from The Bear’s grapple, shaking himself off as he backs away, attempting to reassess the situation before him.

Something shifts in his opponent.

Time is running out in the round, and they both seem to realize this as punches are delivered in a more rapid fire. Taehyun hates to think it, but The Bear’s technique is good as his hits begin to fly before him, struggling to keep up as he delivers a few of his own.

One lands against the side of Beomgyu’s head; it manages to break his concentration, the hook breaking through him as it connects harshly to the man’s jaw. Taehyun can already feel his body moving before he realizes, his body seemingly moving on its own like instinct. Beomgyu manages to get a jab of his own, but it does nothing against the next punch that has him stumbling back, his vision spinning as Taehyun continues to go after him, preparing for one final move.

A roundhouse kick— straight to his liver, stunning the man as he feels his body begin to scream at him from the impact, leaving Taehyun stumbling from his horrible footing. He’s only able to get a few more punches out before Beomgyu’s falling, the referee screaming at Taehyun to back away from him the moment he falls back.

Adrenaline fills Taehyun’s body the moment he processes everything.

The crowd roars at the spectacle; Taehyun doesn’t realize what he’s doing as he roams before Beomgyu— his wounds sting and his skin is red and bruised as he grins, teeth gritting against his mouthpiece as he smiles, not bothering to wipe away the blood that drips down from his wounds— the cage is stained with it, a mark of his territory as adrenaline courses through his veins; his eyes scan over the crowd, filled with people who were set on him losing— he can only laugh at the sight.

“Get up,” Jin yells at Beomgyu, attempting to break through the noise as he pats his cheek, “can you get up?”

Beomgyu’s nod is slow and defeated. He’s sitting up and leaning against the cage as the bell tolls like a deadly gong around him. Peering through his heavy lids, he sees Taehyun’s celebration, in a condition no better than his as he’s stumbling to the center to meet Jin.

“Impressive,” Jin admits quietly, and just like he’s seen before, his hand is thrust up as the audience cheers wildly, the proud grin taking energy from Taehyun as his posture slouches slightly.

Despite looking down at him, Jin looks surprised— impressed, even. The thought makes Taehyun smile as he tilts his head back, squinting at the bright lights that are hot on his skin, a long exhale leaving him as he laughs once more; he was just getting started.

⊹⊹⊹

Taehyun’s head feels as though it’s been split open; he doesn’t really remember what happened after his win.

He can’t bring himself to move, a deep sigh escaping him as he winces at the bright lights above him; the cot he lays on is stiff, the uncomfortable paper beneath him crinkling as he attempts to get slightly comfortable— his face is stiff with bandages.

Another fight seems to be going on outside; the annoying ramblings of the commentators seem to seep into where he is. Taehyun is too tired to linger around, so he attempts to put the last of his energy into sitting up properly— his thoughts are interrupted by the loud footsteps that approach the room.

“Beomgyu!” The voice is angry, growling with frustration as the door swings open. Taehyun attempts to look up at the sound, but it’s futile as the curtain around his cot obscures his view.

“Beomgyu, you fucker!” Taehyun winces— his head is throbbing at the intrusion, and his eyes shut tightly in hopes that the newcomer will shut up soon. “You little snake, you’re dead meat!”

“Can you please quiet down?” The voice that was once taunting and dripping with confidence is now gruff and tired— Taehyun can recognize that voice anywhere, and suddenly, his urge to leave is only amplified.

“Jesus, I don’t get why you always come here screaming like that,” Beomgyu says, exhaustion sowed in his voice, “It’s not like it’ll change anything.”

“Fuck! Look at you!” The woman pushes past all his irritated comments, and Taehyun hears both protests from Beomgyu and the crinkling of paper, “I can’t believe you, how the hell am I gonna explain this to your mother? You know she hates it when you sneak over here!”

“Chill with that, I can handle myself just fine,” Beomgyu scoffs, “You should be more worried about the other guy, anyway— gave him a good beating.”

Taehyun scoffs at that.

“The other guy?” The woman says, and before Taehyun can prepare himself, he hears footsteps approaching where he lays— the curtain is ripped away without warning, and Taehyun hisses at the lights that shine in his eyes.

“Holy shit!”

He’s not sure if he should be offended by that, but Taehyun keeps his eyes shut in hopes that the woman will simply turn her attention back to Beomgyu; he’s surprised to feel her approaching him more.

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, observing Taehyun as though he were a spectacle; Taehyun takes a deep breath, hoping that his patience doesn’t run out soon, “Beomgyu, you prick!”

“Hey,” Taehyun grumbles, brows twitching in frustration as he screws his eyes shut, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream in my ear.”

“Oh shit,” The woman jumps back at his words— almost as though she hadn’t expected him to be awake. One look at his angry expression has her quieting down, whispering a soft apology before she’s turning back to Beomgyu.

“You little snake,” she hisses, whispering angrily as she crosses her arms on her chest angrily, “you were supposed to come help unload the delivery today! You were the only strong one available that day, so imagine your mother’s surprise when you’re nowhere in sight!”

Peeking through his lids, Taehyun is able to catch a glimpse of the woman stomping over to Beomgyu, slapping his arm roughly as he yelps in response; the sight is almost amusing.

“I had to lie my ass off and say you were fucking studying!” Another rough smack is delivered to his arm, as though her mentioning the incident brings back pure rage, “Of course she didn’t believe me at first! So I volunteered to do it myself! My arms are so sore, you fucker!”

“Don’t seem sore to me,” Beomgyu grumbles, rubbing his bicep as he scoots away from the violent woman. “I’ll make it up to you, ___. I promise.”

The woman, ___, only shakes her head in disappointment. Turning back around, she stalks her way back to Taehyun.

“Sorry about his recklessness,” she says, and Taehyun’s eyes only widen as she bows in apology— he sits up, wincing as he awkwardly attempts to shake her off. Standing straight, she huffs, hands folded neatly in front of her as she sends him a polite smile.

“___,” she introduces, fishing in her pocket for something; a business card, he realizes. “Feel free to stop by for a meal— on the house. I promise we don’t condone that one’s behavior,” Beomgyu quietly dismisses her, saying that he’s not that different from me; his words don’t seem to reach her.

The card is cool and smooth in his fingers, and Taehyun nods softly as he watches her bow again; then she’s walking back to Beomgyu, sending him a sickly sweet smile as she leans in.

“Two hours. You better be back for the dinner rush. Or else,” wordlessly, she brings up a fist, slamming it into her open palm in a clear threat. Beomgyu gulps, the action not as subtle as he wished as he nods nervously. Straightening up, she smiles, ruffling Beomgyu’s hair before she leaves— it isn’t until then that Beomgyu clears his throat, calling after her hurriedly.

“Hey,” He yells, pointing at her accusingly— yet she doesn’t turn back around once, his words falling on deaf ears as they watch her retreat, “Stop giving out free meals like that, you’ll go broke doing this shit!”

Swiftly, she flicks him off.

Then, she’s gone.

Taehyun has to stifle a laugh as Beomgyu huffs in bewilderment, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide it the moment Beomgyu sends him a killer glare. From the corner of his eye, Beomgyu runs his hand through his hair desperately, cursing quietly to himself as he stares at the doorway, then glances back up at the clock— it’s silent save for the quiet mutterings of the man next to him.

The door opens again, and Jin walks inside.

“___ just left?” He asks, leaning against the doorway as he looks expectantly at Beomgyu; he nods, a frustrated look on his face at the very mention of the woman. Jin groans, shaking his head as he lets out a deep sigh.

“Damn. I promised Jungkook I’d try to make her stay a while.” Beomgyu sneers at that, throwing his pillow at the referee as Jin dodges it with ease, a squeaky laugh escaping him before he throws it back at the younger man.

“Tell him to go find her at that damn restaurant if he’s so interested,” Beomgyu snarls, rolling his eyes at Jin’s amused reaction. Laying back down, he pulls the curtains back around his cot, his voice muffled as he calls out, “And you better not be thinking about going for that free meal, newbie.”

It becomes Taehyun’s turn to sneer.

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu is dead meat.

It’s the only thought that runs through your mind, glaring at the cutting board beneath you as vegetables fly through your hands. All the background noise dies as you allow yourself to think, glancing back at the clock in hopes that the next hour will pass by quickly.

You’re not sure what led him to involve himself so deeply in that strange underground MMA club. It was dangerous and untrustworthy— you and his mother made sure to drill that into his head the first time you caught him messing around.

Even so, it seems as though your efforts only fall short in the end. No matter how much you team up with his mother, telling him that he should consider taking up the business in the future, or god forbid, actually focus on college, it always ends up in him shrugging you off dumbly, or waving you off as he tells you not to worry— he knows what he’s doing.

You’re on autopilot as you sift through the countless orders, the small open layout of the kitchen allowing you to peek at the entrance from time to time—all in false hopes of seeing the young boy you always pestered.

Two years isn’t much of a difference, but god, Beomgyu made it feel like it was sometimes. Most of the time you felt more like an older sister than an employee at his mother’s restaurant— it wasn’t your fault the man was quite the nuisance, your schedule becoming much more consistent and forcing you to see him practically all the time, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself wrapped up in the Choi family's personal lives.

Five minutes. You think to yourself, gritting your teeth as the next hour passes, you’ll give him five more minutes.

The next five minutes pass seamlessly.

Honestly, was two hours not enough? You get that Beomgyu was very particular about his appearance despite his interest, but two hours was more than enough for a person to patch themselves up and come back home. You attempted to not let your frustration show, averting your eyes the moment Ms. Choi appears in your peripheral vision, mumbling in curiosity about where her son might be.

Another five minutes pass— then, thirty. The restaurant is beginning to fill up as it always does, and you’re trying to hone your concentration in hopes that your undying rage won’t seep through your face. The sound of the bell ringing breaks through your thoughts, and you look up automatically to greet the new customer.

Your grip on your knife tightens.

“He—“ Ms. Choi gulps, her jaw dropping at the sight as she turns frantically to you. Taking in your expression she sighs, exasperated as she rubs at her face in frustration. “He wasn’t studying, was he?”

Making eye contact with Beomgyu, you allow your muscle memory to take over, cutting through the vegetables effortlessly as you grit your teeth, not looking away from him for a second.

“No ma’am.”

His mother is speechless as she scoffs in frustration, cursing at her son under her breath before she’s taking off her apron— you don’t bother glancing back at the younger boy as you turn back to your cooking, the sounds of the Choi’s hushed bickering reaching your ears as they go to the back.

It takes a while before Beomgyu emerges, patched up and pouting as walks up behind you.

“Where do you want me,” he says, petulant with his tone as he glances at the workers around him; they barely spare him a glance, all too used to his behaviors as they focus on their orders instead. You hum in thought, looking up from your stove as you survey the area— like always, Beomgyu has managed to sneak in toward the end of the rush hour; it’s not like you’re short-staffed in the kitchen, either.

“Go bus tables,” you say, rolling your eyes at the way Beomgyu whines at your words. He’s as annoying as ever, pulling at your sleeves in an attempt to get your attention as you refuse to look at him; shrugging him off, you hear him groan behind you.

“You never let me help in the kitchen,” he protests, and it takes all the strength within you to not turn around and smack him.

“If you arrived an hour earlier, you would’ve,” you hiss, waving him off, you walk past him as he opens his mouth to protest more, “get to work.”

His mumbles and whines still reach your ears as he exits the kitchen— and it only takes one sharp glare from you to shut him up. For the rest of your shift, all you can think is how spoiled this boy remains— he doesn’t know how lucky he is, watching as his mother finally grows soft on him, shooing him back to their home to rest as he meekly nods at her words, putting an act of weakness as he immediately leaves his position— but the smug smile he adorns as he hangs up his apron doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Sighing, you glance back at the clock— two more hours, then you close.

⊹⊹⊹

“You’re still here?”

You refuse to respond to that— instead, you grit your teeth, scrubbing at a stain on the bar as you continue to pre-close. Beomgyu sighs, sitting at the bar as he leans on the counter, seemingly paying no mind to the damp wood that comes in contact with his sleeves. He’s desperate to get your attention, calling your name out softly as you continue to ignore him.

“Are you closing today? Why is it just you?”

“Sent everyone home. They helped enough.”

If the place remained as empty as it is now, the only thing you would need to do is clean the floors and machines— which takes little to no effort for you. Beomgyu shakes his head at your words, sitting up straight as he folds his hands in his lap.

“I’ll help,” his words are immediately met with a scoff from you, his brows furrowing as he watches you shake your head in amusement— you only laugh more as he softly questions why you’re laughing.

“Help?” You say, tilting your head as you finally look at him. Throwing the wet towel on the counter, you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back.

“I asked for your help— three hours ago. Yet you still chose to be a brat and go back upstairs the moment your mother pitied you. You—“ cutting yourself off, you sigh, shaking your head before you’re picking the wet towel back off, turning your back to him, “I hope you realize how much she spoils you.”

A twinge of embarrassment threatens to consume you due to your outburst, for the silence that follows after is entirely unexpected— usually, Beomgyu never knows when to shut his mouth. Then again, he never really knew what to say when the topic of his parent arose; he was afraid of saying something insensitive to you, you suppose.

Yet you refuse to be the one to cave in— you refuse to even make eye contact with him, walking out of the kitchen area as you go to wipe down tables; it’s then that the small bell above the restaurant door rings.

Mentally, you sigh— there was less than an hour left; nevertheless, you plaster on a cheery smile, straightening as you glance behind you and to the new customer; stiffening, you wince as you try to not let your surprise show through.

“Welcome,” you grit out, meeting eyes with the same man Beomgyu had beaten to a pulp a couple of hours ago— yet he seems perfectly fine, patched up and unphased as he sends you a somber nod, your worries that he’d be another bitter fighter that tracked Beomgyu down dispelled.

“You—!” Beomgyu is back to his awfully rambunctious self in a split second, twisted around in his seat as he sends the man by the entrance a sour look. “I told you not to come here!”

Taehyun pays no mind to the dirty looks Beomgyu sends him— if anything, he smiles, ever so casual in his demeanor as he goes to sit down; next to Beomgyu, of course.

“This place any good?” He asks, his voice gruff as he leans into Beomgyu cheekily, “you seem really eager to keep it hidden.”

“You kidding? You’re at the hottest spot in town,” Beomgyu scoffs, puffing his chest out as he leers at Taehyun “I doubt you’ve never heard of this place.”

Their conversation becomes nothing but a muffled mess to you. Their tension is unending as they converse, their eyes filled with a fire that suggests that they might just forget about the food and fight here and now— which is why you step in, not wanting to clean up after any more messes as you take Taehyun’s order.

At some point, you find yourself tuning back into their conversation— their rivalry is ridiculous, the tension rolling off in waves as you take a breath; Turning around, you go to place Taehyun’s order in front of him, reluctant to meet his eyes as you go to leave.

“Hope I didn’t scare you off today,” Beomgyu goads, ever the instigator as he rests his chin in his hand cheekily, “but then again, you did ask for it.”

Taehyun scoffs— it’s enough for you to turn back around, watching from afar in fear that Beomgyu will try to take things too far.

“Don’t act like you left the ring all perfect,” Taehyun tilts his head, brows furrowing as he inspects Beomgyu, “Remind me, who was it that won?”

You bite back a laugh at that, surprised to hear the results of the fight— it’s easy to do when Beomgyu is sitting up, a clear fire lighting in his eyes as he leans closer to Taehyun; his food remains untouched. You’re tense, watching carefully and waiting for a switch to flip inside Beomgyu; the last thing you want is for his mother to come down and find him in the middle of another fight.

Instead, Beomgyu smiles; it’s a small twitch of his lips at first, his mind clearly telling him to fight it off before it overtakes him, a bewildered laugh escaping him before he’s clapping Taehyun on the shoulder, the action so rough and sudden that Taehyun is flinching from his touch. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts as he continues to laugh— you’re unsure if he’s getting ready to throw a punch or not.

“You…” Beomgyu grins, letting go of Taehyun with a sigh. He shakes his head, huffing in amusement before he continues, “I like you, you’ve got ambition.”

“The ring’s closed tomorrow, but it’s available for training. I’ve been needing a new sparring partner,” Beomgyu trails off, and Taehyun is quick to catch on as he frowns.

“Tomorrow?” Beomgyu nods in confirmation. It’s silent, and you’re making your way back to them as Taehyun seems to ponder it.

“You won’t be free tomorrow Beomgyu,” you say, grabbing his attention as you send him a warning smile, “You’re helping with a catering order, remember?”

Beomgyu, shameless like always, only tilts his head in innocence.

“Really? I don’t recall you telling me about it,” Beomgyu ponders, pouting slightly as you glare at him, “plus, I was told you would be fully staffed tomorrow— if anything, I remember my mother suggesting you give some people a day off.”

You have no patience to deal with his sly ways— your jaw clenches as you suppress the urge to jump at him from across the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you raise a brow in disbelief.

“If you need help, you could always keep those people on standby,” you’re unsure of what annoys you more— Beomgyu’s smug look, or Taehyun, who has finally decided to eat his food as he watches the two of you, clearly amused by what’s happening before him as he doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile.

“Good idea,” you grit out, leaning toward the younger man as you smile, “I should let your mother know you’ll be out tomorrow then; I’m sure she’ll be wondering where you went off to.”

“You know, for a mere worker, you sure are involved in our personal lives.” Beomgyu’s words are hissed out and sting like acid as your eyes widen, gritting your teeth together as you watch Beomgyu sit back in realization— as though he didn’t know what he said until now.

“You’re right. Sorry,” you say, a gritted smile on your face as you go to fetch a takeout container; returning, you place it in front of Taehyun, ignoring his curious gaze as you send him a patient smile.

“We closed fifteen minutes ago; sorry, but you can take the food with you if you’d like— on me. I’ll be back, if you need anything let him know,” jerking your head to Beomgyu, you ignore his attempts to call your attention back to him as you bow politely, quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom in a weak attempt to soothe your hurt and anger.

The restaurant is quiet save for the soft ticking of a clock that hangs above them; a sound of warning as Taehyun glances subtly at the man next to him— whether Beomgyu picks up on it or not is beyond him. He’s frowning, bottom lip chewed and tugged at as he stares at the doorway which you disappeared through, a hand running repeatedly through his hair as he lets out a soft curse.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks— whether or not he’s crossing a boundary, he’s unsure— but he does know that he truly doesn’t care enough to gauge the older man’s reaction. He’s quick to finish his food, surprised by the quality of it as he peeks at Beomgyu from the corner of his eye; watching the way Beomgyu seems to ponder whether or not to talk, inevitably giving in as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“I fucked up. Said something I shouldn’t have,” standing up, Beomgyu slides the stool he sat on back in, shaking his head as he goes to turn off the blaring open sign— he’s quiet, lost in thought as he carries out the usual closing duties.

“My offer is still open, by the way,” Beomgyu calls out, and before Taehyun can say anything, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I doubt she’ll wanna see me tomorrow.”

Taehyun says nothing. Beomgyu doesn’t bother trying to convince him, muttering out a tired one p.m under his breath, unable to help the way his eyes travel back to the hallway you disappeared to now and then— it isn’t long before Taehyun is bidding goodbye, the offer left out in the open as Beomgyu is forced to sit with his own thoughts, ignoring the way his muscles ache or his wounds throb whenever he performs a certain task.

It takes a while before you come back out— you refuse to look at Beomgyu as the two of you clean in silence, your face left blank and cold as Beomgyu fails to decipher what you might be thinking; even though he wishes nothing more than to take back what he said, he finds his words stuck in his throat every time he looks at you.

You don’t bother saying goodbye when you leave.

⊹⊹⊹

“Were you lying when you said you’ve been in the cage before?”

Taehyun rolls his eyes at the older man's words, a scoff escaping him as he chooses not to answer. Beomgyu watches with amusement as the man before him looks away, neck tilting side to side as he feels it crack with ease. The air is hot and there isn’t much light coming in from the small windows atop the room, cracked open to let the cool wintry air inside. Yet it doesn’t seem to help a lot, the two men in the cage weathered down and sweaty from hours of sparring.

“You’re quite annoying, you know,” Taehyun grumbles, wiping away his sweat before he begins to stretch, preparing for another round as he looks back to Beomgyu— he seems unfazed by his comment, a smug grin overtaking him as he mimics his stretching.

“So I’ve been told,” Beomgyu pouts, straightening up as he waits for Taehyun to approach, “how long have you been doing this?”

Beomgyu has his own guesses as Taehyun throws a careless jab— he’s tired, not putting any effort into his movements as he dodges Beomgyu’s own hits with ease.

“Little over two years. It’s been nothing but a hobby until recently though,” Taehyun admits, stepping back as he puts his arms down, “didn’t know this place was a thing.”

“It’s been running for four years, actually,” Beomgyu says, sighing as he lowers his guard as well; he takes this time to rest, feeling the way his body is beginning to ache from the activity, “Jin and a couple others started it for fun. It’s only recently that things turned serious.”

Taehyun thinks of the referee— and his clear bias with Beomgyu— and frowns, realizing that the very same man he met yesterday was the owner of the building. Shaking his head, he sighs— then jumps back at the unexpected jab Beomgyu sends to him in warning.

He has no time to complain; his arms immediately come up for defense as Beomgyu seems to have regained his energy, a mischievous smile plastered on his face as he lands a hook on Taehyun— he groans at the feeling, stumbling back as he attempts to regain his composure.

Before he can regain stability, he’s pulled into another clinch— Beomgyu’s got him good, unable to keep his balance as Beomgyu pulls him into a tight chokehold; He’s trapped, unable to get away as he’s forced to tap out.

“You know, I’ve noticed quite a few things about the way you fight,” Beomgyu says, ignoring the way Taehyun gives him a pointed glare, “you give all your energy in the first round— you need to be able to conserve your energy, you know.”

Though all Taehyun does is roll his eyes, he secretly takes note of the older man’s comment; he noticed Beomgyu had been giving him pointers the entire time, and he would be a fool to not take advice from the club’s toughest fighter— Taehyun’s pride could only stretch so far.

Silently, they decide to take a break; there was no use in practicing if neither of them had the energy to throw a proper punch. Exiting the cage, Taehyun lets out a groan as he immediately takes a seat at one of the benches before him— annoyingly, his water bottle is empty again, and he’s forced to trudge to the only water fountain in the building that’s been placed all the way by the entrance; he grimaces at the thought of having to drink water from such a rusty old thing, but the dehydrated scratch of his throat isn’t giving him much of an option.

Taehyun isn’t too phased when the doors slam open; there have been a few other fighters that have come in while they were sparring, so he figures this must be another regular as he keeps his eyes on the water fountain— it isn’t until he hears haste footsteps and lows cursing that he looks up in curiosity.

“Of course he would be here,” you’re as irritated as always as you push past Taehyun without much more of a glance, your brows knitted together in annoyance as you make a beeline to the cage— Taehyun gets the privilege of getting front seats to the scene as he leans back in amusement, taking a sip of his cool water before grimacing at the taste.

“Hey!” You yell, jumping up on the outskirts of the cage and glaring at Beomgyu, who has the audacity to look up at you with puppy eyes as he lays spread out in the center of the ring, “do you always have to be here? Why don’t you go do normal things for once?”

Taehyun can hear you grumbling something about the long drive and shady district, but it’s left an unintelligible mess as he watches Beomgyu sit up, wincing slightly in the process.

“You knew I was gonna be here,” is all he says, ticking his head side to side as loud cracks ring throughout the empty building, “plus you’re acting like you couldn’t have called.”

You can’t seem to control the bewildered laugh that escapes you at his words, eyes widening as you jump back down from your place; crossing your arms, you sit down at a bench, jaw clenched as you shoot Beomgyu a lethal glare.

“You think I didn’t try?” You ask, crossing your legs as you tap at your bicep in annoyance, “your phone is always in the damn locker room!”

“Alright, whatever!” Beomgyu says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “what do you need now.”

“Two of our workers called off. Your mother wants you to come back and help with the catering order,” you say, your gaze cold as you watch Beomgyu begin to whine at you, giving you excuses that you don’t bother to listen to as you shake your head.

“Listen to your mother and go. Quick,” you say, not wanting to linger any longer as you stand up, leaving without so much as a goodbye as you’re rushing back out again.

“Yeah, listen to your mother,” Taehyun teases, raising a brow as you snap your head towards him, delivering a cold glare that only makes Taehyun grin, much to your annoyance; he can hear you muttering curses under your breath as you slam the doors open, the sound of your rambling only amusing Taehyun further as he makes his way back to Beomgyu.

“Crazy how you let yourself get pushed around like that,” Taehyun knows he’s only instigating, but it’s amusing to watch the older man get worked up as he simply huffs in annoyance, cursing under his breath in the same manner you did— he can see where Beomgyu gets his short temper from.

“I don’t.” he snaps, but the way he’s already beginning to pack up says otherwise; there’s defeat in all his actions as he becomes sluggish, trudging to the locker room where he reluctantly begins to change, “come back here tomorrow, same time— I need to show you something.”

Beomgyu leaves shortly afterward— the annoyance in his mood has yet to go away as he glances back at the ring one last time, watching solemnly as Taehyun continues to shadow box without him. For a second, he almost considers dropping his responsibilities and going for another round, but your fiery and threatening voice echoes in his head, allowing him to finally leave as a shiver goes through his body.

⊹⊹⊹

“Stupid workers… making me clean up after their mess…” Beomgyu thinks he might go insane if he has to pack another to-go tray filled with the same order, his mind fried and his hands on auto-pilot as he watches you busily cook out of the corner of his eye. You’re as stone-cold and intimidating as always, sending Beomgyu a sharp glare every time you catch him slacking off— it’s eerie, the way you can almost sense it, never giving Beomgyu a break as you stress the fact that you need to have the order done by the next thirty minutes.

He’s almost done, so he doesn’t feel as rushed as you do— then again, you may just be on edge due to the fact that you’ve been pulling the weight of the two workers that called off as well as your regular tasks; the sight is enough to have Beomgyu irritated once more.

You work way too hard for your own good; it’s a fact that Beomgyu always calls you out on, but you’re always just as quick to dismiss it as you shake your head in denial, telling him that he’s overreacting. Yet, as he watches you now, stressed and irritated, he can practically feel himself biting his tongue to prevent calling you out on it.

The catering order is finished with ease; Beomgyu can feel a weight lift off him the moment a delivery person takes the order from him— the same can be said for you— and he’s almost ready to leave when his eyes catch sight of a new patron that walks in.

The place has calmed down a bit, so it’s relatively empty— meaning, there should be no reason for Beomgyu to linger around anymore. Yet, he can’t help but be nosy and stay as he watches Jungkook beeline towards you, confident and handsome as always as he sends you a beaming smile.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you remark sarcastically, leaning against the bar counter as you match Jungkook’s mischievous grin, “the usual?”

“You know me so well,” Jungkook coos, and the exchange is enough to have Beomgyu straightening up— he’s never seen Jungkook at the restaurant before, let alone the two of you talking so casually to each other.

Neither of you seem to catch Beomgyu’s analytic stare, much too caught up in your own world to notice anything around you; even the new customer that comes in through the door, trudging over to the bar as he sits a few seats away from Jungkook— Beomgyu is the first to notice as he quickly makes his way over.

“The hell are you doing here?”

The smile Taehyun sends is pure evil as he leans on the bar, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he raises a brow at Beomgyu’s pointed question.

“Here to eat, what else?” Beomgyu says nothing in response, his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed as he takes Taehyun’s order, “and if you’re done eavesdropping on their conversations over there, I’d like to know what you were talking about earlier— I’m not exactly free tomorrow.”

The man’s words are enough to have Beomgyu standing straight, sending Taehyun a glare as he grits his teeth at the comment. “Am not.”

“Come on, be slick about it at least,” Taehyun sighs, eyeing the two of you from the corner of his eye, watching as you continue to converse with the customer— it takes a moment, but Taehyun is able to recognize the patron as he looks back at Beomgyu, pointing their way as he asks, “the hell is the bartender from the club doing here?”

“That’s Jungkook,” Beomgyu mutters, putting his notepad away as stops to watch the two of you carefully for a second, “and that’s what I’m wondering myself. It’s clearly not to eat.”

“Yeah, who gives a fuck,” Taehyun grumbles, watching as Beomgyu reaches in his pocket for a piece of paper— pausing, he takes a second to examine Beomgyu, biting his lip as he fights back a smile, “hey, you jealous?”

“Shut up,” Beomgyu groans, rolling his eyes as he turns his back to you, jaw clenched as he narrows his eyes at Taehyun, who’s only left smiling in return, “she’s basically family, don’t even assume shit.”

“Not what you said last time I was here,” Taehyun’s words have Beomgyu pausing entirely, forced to take a second to breathe as he takes in the younger man before him.

“You’re an instigating little bitch, huh?” Is all Beomgyu can utter, watching as Taehyun simply laughs at his words, clearly unaffected by Beomgyu’s anger, “you better keep your mouth shut if you wanna stay in here.”

“Alright, do your thing,” Taehyun sighs, putting his hands up in defeat. A moment passes, and Taehyun huffs out a laugh, his eyes falling to the piece of paper Beomgyu pushes forward before he continues, “This better be good.”

Beomgyu watches as Taehyun begins to scan the paper, turning away so he can put the younger’s order in as he does. Once finished, he pauses, leaning against the wall as he waits for Taehyun to finish—Taehyun can practically feel the said man’s stare burn into his skin as he reads the information carefully, eyes widening as takes it all in; looking up, he finds Beomgyu’s eyes effortlessly.

Folding the paper back up carefully, Beomgyu makes his way back over, surprised you haven’t swooped in and asked what’s going on yet; hurriedly, he gets tries to get his point across, leaning in close to Taehyun and sending him an excited smile as he watches Taehyun open his mouth to ask questions immediately.

“How did you find this?” He asks, searching Beomgyu’s eyes as he watches the older man take the flier back, running his fingers over the creases in an absentminded attempt to smooth them out, “who gave you this?”

“Old friend of mine.” Beomgyu says, leaning back as he watches Taehyun do the same, crossing his arms as he watches Beomgyu with scrutinized eyes, “thought you’d be interested in this.”

“You’re inviting me? Letting me in on this?” Taehyun asks, frown only deepening as Beomgyu nods innocently, “what makes you think I won’t just win the tournament and take the prize money for myself?”

“That is a possibility,” Beomgyu hums, “but that’s also what makes it fun.”

“The hell is this? FightX?” Beomgyu can’t help the way he jumps as you appear behind him, looking over him as you reach to grab the flier from his hands. Beomgyu, in a weak attempt to distract you, attempts to call Jungkook over, trying to snatch the flier back while doing so; his attempts fail miserably as he watches the way your eyes grow wide.

“Are you kidding me?” You say, taking the flier and tucking it away in your own pocket smoothly. Beomgyu only sighs, used to your antics as Taehyun can only watch with an amused look in his eyes, ever as eager to poke the bear as he finds your anger intriguing.

“Beomgyu, I swear to god that if I see or hear anything about you in that FightX club, I’ll kill you myself.” Your hands are tense as you cross them over your chest, giving Beomgyu a pointed glare as you continue, “I don’t care about you going to Seokjin’s little place— but if you even try to go to that tournament—”

“Hey, relax, won’t you? You wouldn’t even know what goes on in a place like that,” Taehyun’s words are enough to have your eyes widening, mouth parting in surprise as you slowly turn to the man; beside you, Beomgyu shakes his head in warning, sending Taehyun a warning glare as he mouths the words shut the fuck up.

“What did you just say to me?” You ask incredually, leaning forward and against the counter as you examine Taehyun carefully; the man is nothing more than amused as he smiles innocently at you, standing his ground as he tilts his head like a puppy, “who are you, anyway?”

“Someone who knows way more about what goes on in that club than you,” he says softly, a tired tsk leaving him as he takes in the twitch of your brows, watching the way you try to keep your expression neutral, “you don’t need to worry about what Beomgyu does in his personal time.”

You’re left speechless as you press your tongue against your cheek, huffing out a bewildered laugh as you take a step back; glancing at Beomgyu, you narrow your eyes at him, watching as he simply attempts to diffuse the situation with stuttered excuses and a nervous laugh, his behavior changing drastically under your heated gaze.

“I warned you.” is all you say, not bothering to regard Taehyun at all as glare at Beomgyu, turning on your heel as you hear a coworker call your name for your help.

“What the hell man?” Beomgyu whispers, turning to Taehyun with wide eyes; the man simply shrugs, unphased by the tension as he sighs tiredly. Mind muddled with everything that just happened, he’s quick to find himself untying his apron; he’s done what you’ve asked, and he doubts that you’ll be able to force him to stick around now— especially after the confrontation you just had.

“FightX? Yo, you’re not planning on going, are you?” Jungkook is slow to the scene as he takes a seat next to Taehyun, recognizing him as the new fighter from a while ago as he nods to him in greeting; turning to Beomgyu, he raises a brow as he waits for him to respond.

“I don’t know. The prize money’s no joke,” Beomgyu admits, holding onto his apron as he narrows his eyes at Jungkook, who’s only shaking his head in dismay.

“The prize money is like that for a good reason,” Jungkook warns, nudging Taehyun as he tells him to listen as well, “that place is dangerous. Both the fighters and the patrons are something else, and if you don’t have connections to the right people…”

The way Jungkook trails off is enough to give the two younger men a gist of what he means, the troubled look in his eyes disappearing as he watches you pass by— his signature smile is back as he pats Taehyun on the back, sending Beomgyu a look before he’s standing up, ready to go to where you’re at now.

“Use your brain for once and think this one through, yeah? And you,” Jungkook says, nudging Taehyun before he leaves, “stop putting our most valuable asset in danger.”

The way Jungkook goes to you is reminiscent of a puppy, the two men watching as he goes back to shamelessly flirt with you— you seem unphased, rolling your eyes as you try to hide your smile of amusement all the while.

“Think this through,” Taehyun chimes in, bringing Beomgyu’s attention back to him, “you seem to have connections— plus, I think it’d be fun.”

The offer becomes more tempting as Beomgyu recalls the prize money that comes along with the win, and Beomgyu is left with more uncertainty than expected as he thinks back to the warnings that came along with it.

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu hasn’t been home today.

He’s never home, really, so the fact should be no surprise to you. But there’s something about today that leaves you on edge, your leg bouncing under the table as you hide your unease with a shaky smile.

“You’re such a hard worker,” Beomgyu’s mother sighs, pouring you a cup of coffee as she makes her way back to where you sit at the dinner table, “I can’t thank you enough for what you do.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” you say, taking the warm mug from her, trying to hide your shaking hands as you cup the dish tightly, “For giving me this opportunity. For giving me a home.”

The Choi family was the only reason you were still alive and healthy; if it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be on the streets, dependent on the money that came from shady clubs filled with dangerous people.

That was the only reason you met Beomgyu— you had just finished a fight of your own as you stumbled out of the infirmary, barely patched up as they began the men’s lightweight division fights; you only wanted to stay and bet on the fight before you before you left with the rest of your earnings, curious as to how the match before you would end.

To say the crowd loved it was an understatement; they were sick people, and the moment they realized that one of the most experienced lightweight fighters was currently pitted against a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy, the betting pool practically tripled within seconds.

You‘ve never seen him before; it was clear to you that he was new within seconds of watching him in the cage, from his unsure missteps, to the way his arms didn’t come down from his head for a second, wide eyes watching carefully for any opening available.

He got beat and knocked out within minutes; the match had been more of a joke to those watching than an actual fight. His injuries were nothing to laugh at however, the cage floor littered with his blood as nurses rushed out of the infirmary for him, picking him up and carrying him away as the patrons around you remained unphased at the sight— you still remember wincing as you took in the state his opponent left him in.

It was a general consensus within the ring that those more experienced shouldn’t be too harsh on newbies— simply out of respect for one’s opponent. But respect didn’t exist in such a place— if anything, respect wasn’t even earned after countless grueling matches in a place like FightX; it didn’t matter if you were good, the only thing that mattered was the number of wins under your belt and how much cash you walked out of the place with— which is why the patrons of such a club knew better than to mess with you.

This was no place for a child, you remembered thinking to yourself, scoffing at the way people continued to berate and talk about the loser of the previous match. Rolling your eyes, you figured it was better to leave now than to stick around and have shady people try to strike up deals with you— wanting to become your manager, to move you further up the ladder, to share profits with you.

It usually wasn’t a problem for you to leave; if anything, regulars knew better than to get in your way after you’ve had your fill of fights— but it had been different that day, left to push your way through as a commotion began to form at the entrance.

“Woah, who the hell is this?” The speakers above you were booming with the commentator’s sneering remarks, the current fight before them no longer a priority as the screams of a woman tore through the crowd.

“Please, please tell me he’s here,” the ruckus was beginning to become more of a headache to you than anything, pushing through the heaps of people in an attempt to get past the dramatic scene and back home— “home” consisting of a random motel that was cheap enough for this week’s earnings— only to pause once you were able to take in the woman’s helpless state.

This was someone’s mother, you realize, raising a brow as you take in the way her eyes are wide with fear and worry, brimming with tears as she attempts to put on a brave front. The mocking commentary of the men continue to boom over the speakers as those around the older woman ignore her or tell her to get lost, not bothering to listen to her words as they immediately turned their backs to her.

The boy’s mother. You realize, taking a deep breath before you walk toward the woman, grabbing onto her bicep tightly in order to gain her attention. She seemed more than ready to brush off your grip and fight to stay, but upon taking in your solemn appearance, she paused, her mouth parting as she no-doubt became ready to ask the same question she had been asking everyone else.

“Your son is over here,” you sigh out, tugging her along wordlessly— at your claim, she quickly follows, asking endless questions that you can’t even seem to keep up with.

“Tall, scrawny, long hair?” You ask, glancing back at her to catch her nodding incredually, “around sixteen?”

Once again, she nods, her gesture only making you sigh once more as you ignore the pressing stares of those around you.

“Yeah, he’s this way,” you say, finally arriving at the infirmary as you’re left to scan all the cots around you; his mother seems to spot him first, exclaiming loudly before she leaves your side to run to him.

The sight is enough to have you clenching your jaw as you lean against the doorway, arms crossed defensively over your chest as you watch the boy’s mother cry and scold the barely conscious boy. It was clear she cared for him, and the sight was foreign to you as you found yourself frozen in one place, forcing yourself to spectate a scene that you knew you’d never experience for yourself.

You stuck around to help the woman take her son home, listening quietly as she turned to scold the boy, huffing once in a while as she observed the way you effortlessly helped him walk with an arm thrown over your shoulder— the patrons around you were wise enough to keep their comments to themselves as they flinched at the hard glares you gave them.

“Don’t come back here kid,” you remembered telling him, dropping him in the passenger’s seat of his mothers car, rolling your eyes as he incoherently attempted to argue with you, “this place is too dangerous for someone like you.”

“And you?” His mother’s words had been enough to snap you out of your dazed state; looking up, you had been surprised to see his mother staring at you with the same concern in her gaze, her head tilting as she scanned your bruised skin and tired face, “will you be alright here?”

Her concern had been unexpected— so much so that you couldn’t help the way you laughed softly at her words, shaking your head as you ignored the strangely warm feeling that bloomed within you from her concern.

“I know how to handle myself here,” you told her, jaw clenching as you watched the way she remained unconvinced. Slowly, you watched her reach in her jacket pockets, fishing around for something until she finally found it, a small ah, escaping her mouth before she finally offered you the object with polite hands; you stared at the business card she handed you, unsure of what to do until you finally accepted it after a pause.

“Thank you so much for your help today,” she says, bowing gratefully as she looks at you with a kind smile, “if you’re ever hungry, you can always stop by. On the house.”

The laminated card feels smooth under your fingers as you absentmindedly accept her offer, unsure of how to react to her kindness as she thanks you again; you try to ignore the way her eyes are coated with concern and pity, the emotions within you nothing but bitter as you watch her drive away.

Shoving her card into your jacket pocket, you sigh, turning on your heels and walking back to the cheap motel that you knew was too shady to stay at for too long. If you win another match tomorrow, you might be able to stay at the better motel just a few blocks over.

The thought was promising as you made your way back, your muscles aching and your stomach growling as you inevitably thought back to the free meal that boy’s mother promised you.

Maybe tomorrow, you thought, pulling the card back out of your pocket to examine it, you should treat yourself after tomorrow’s fight.

⊹⊹⊹

Your life had taken a surprising turn after that day— now you found yourself here, sitting in the home of the Choi family, welcomed as always and reformed of your ways of fighting— you only wish the same could be said for Beomgyu.

“So,” you say, clearing your throat as you try to get the nerves out of your tone, “Where’s Beomgyu at?”

“Oh,” she sighs, slumping down in the chair across from you as she takes a sip from her cup of coffee, “God, I don’t even know— he left really early today, didn’t even bother to let me know— he hasn’t been back since.”

The news was odd to you; it was late already, but Beomgyu wasn’t the type to be up in the mornings, much less make any plans. You took a second to process her words, nodding absentmindedly as you took another sip from your drink— the flier you took from him seems to be weighing your pocket down now more than ever.

He wouldn’t, the more forgiving part of you thought, he knows better than to go off to a place like that.

But the more skeptical part of you knew better; Beomgyu was always one to be swayed easily, and with that new sparring partner of his, your trust in him only seemed to dwindle more and more.

Taehyun had only proved himself to be a danger to Beomgyu— especially if he was so eager to get himself into a place like FightX.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the sound of a phone ringing echoed throughout the room; blinking wildly, you allow Ms. Choi to excuse herself as she leaves to answer the phone— you take this chance to take the flier out of your pocket, unfolding it carefully as your fingers smooth over the wrinkles.

Reading it carefully, your eyes widen, biting at your lip as you feel your heart beginning to beat faster.

It was tonight.

And it started two hours ago.

You don’t give much of an explanation to Ms. Choi as you’re standing abruptly, making your way to where she stands at the kitchen to say goodbye— you can see the confusion and concern swim in her eyes at your suddenness, but you hope that the bright, carefree smile you send her is enough to soothe her as you apologize for leaving early.

It’s scary how easy it is for you to make your way to that club— despite it being years since you last stepped inside, you can still feel instinct take over as you’re speeding off to the tournament.

If Beomgyu’s still alive by the time you get there, you’ll kill him yourself.

Clenching your jaw, you pray that there are no cops around as you speed through the empty streets, your only priority clouding your mind as you run past a few red lights.

And his little friend too.

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu’s body feels like it’s been set alight with anxiety.

He’s pacing around the locker room, attempting to control his breathing as he focuses on his next opponent; on his fighting style, on how to beat him.

He’s been in this position many times— it’s like second nature to him, only the new setting seems to be affecting him more than he expected. It’s not like he’s never branched out to other underground fighting tournaments before; he’s been all around the city and even outside of it, trusting Seokjin’s judgment as he made a name for himself through it— in a way, Seokjin had almost been like a manager to him.

But he hasn’t been here in years; six years, to be exact. He can still feel the danger that looms through these walls, feeling more trapped than anything as memories of his first match come to mind— a primal fear is prominent in every single one.

Beomgyu is much more different than he was six years ago— both in muscle and mentality, he knows how to handle himself in such a shady place. Yet, he can’t help but remember your warnings, his brows furrowing as he feels his heart pound a little harder against his chest.

“You overthinking things again?” Beomgyu’s spiraling train of thought is interrupted as he snaps his head over to the doorway, meeting eyes with Taehyun who sports a bright smile, much more relaxed and excited than he is.

“Can’t help it,” Beomgyu admits, sighing heavily as he turns to stretch instead, “new territory.”

“Thought you had connections to this place?” Taehyun asks, tilting his head as he listens to Beomgyu explain that while it is true, he still isn’t experienced with this club.

“Don’t think about it too much,” Taehyun says, making his way over as he sits at the bench near Beomgyu, “the bracket looks easy today.”

The plan was simple; make it to the end of the bracket, where Beomgyu and Taehyun would inevitably have to fight each other— the earnings would be split between the two after.

Just makes the odds of earning the prize money higher, Beomgyu had explained once Taehyun began questioning his motives, that way, both of us win, and get experience out of it.

The prize money was already so grand that even half of it seemed more than enough for Beomgyu— and of course, the thought of returning to such a place and finally winning a grand tournament was thrilling to Beomgyu.

The things he could do with the prize money were endless— he already had a few ideas in mind, thinking back to his hardworking mother and how much she struggled to raise him on her own while still managing her restaurant. Then he thought about you, of the hard times he gave you, knowing how much you feared him going through the same things you did, of turning to a life dependent on fighting and gambling.

“Hey hey, focus,” Beomgyu is blinking rapidly as Taehyun claps in front of his face, laughing at the way the older man managed to zone out once more, “you’re up in three minutes, you should prepare yourself.”

Beomgyu is nodding absentmindedly as he watches Taehyun exit, still feeling nerves creeping up his system as he wonders if this is all such a good idea; then his name is called, and the referee pops in to ask if he’s ready.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu finds himself saying, feeling as though he’s lost control of his body as he’s walking out of the dimly lit locker room, “lets go.”

⊹⊹⊹

“Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but— yeah, no need to remind me,” your voice is low and your footsteps are echoing as you walk through puddles, the smell of rain still lingering in the air as you weave your way through dark alley— the feeling is oddly reminiscent as you find yourself laughing along with your old friend on the phone.

“No, it’s serious stuff,” you sigh, turning the corner as you find the place you’ve been dreading to step inside of. A small shop meets you, the lights off and the gates closed around the windows— the unassuming shop makes your stomach churn with dread, approaching it slowly before you’re walking around its perimeter.

“You’ll never guess where I’m back at right now— yup, the very one,” your friend’s incredulous laugh booms over the line as you let out some bitter chuckles yourself, rounding towards the back as you see a deep, ominous stairwell; faintly, you can hear the brutish screams and commentary leaking through, the sound only beginning to worsen as time passes; the sound has a deep sigh leaving you as you begin the long descend into the basement.

“Listen, I need you and your men to be here on standby— I’m serious, you think I’d joke about this stuff?” You finally reach the bottom as you pause at the very last step, staring at the metal door that’s left at the end of the corridor.

“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need you to come in,” you say, bidding your goodbye before you’re finally hanging up, tucking your phone in your back pocket before you’re taking a final, deep breath.

Hopefully I won’t. You mutter, reaching forward before you’re finally opening the heavy, metal door.

⊹⊹⊹

Beomgyu feels dizzy.

The bracket looks easy today, Taehyun’s voice echoes in his head as he rests against the ring’s ropes, the layout different to what he’s used to as he takes a moment to recollect himself.

Easy— the fuck was Taehyun talking about? Beomgyu feels left out as he watches his opponent talk with his coach, discussing strategies and glancing back at Beomgyu, who’s left on his own as he takes the opportunity to stretch.

He just needed to beat the man across from him, then he was officially in the finals. The thought was the only thing that soothed him as he scanned the crowd for Taehyun, finally finding him right at the front; he was just as tired and beat as Beomgyu was, but the encouraging smile he sent Beomgyu managed to keep him on his feet a little longer— the prize money loomed over his head as he watched the referee call the next round, the fighter before Beomgyu gritting his teeth against his mouthpiece as his coach yelled at him to knock Beomgyu out.

His opponent became predictable fairly quickly— Beomgyu’s arms came up to his head for defense as the man attempted to jab at him, only to slide down to his sides and squeeze as his opponent attempted to land a hook to his side; at his liver, to be exact.

Chenle, Beomgyu remembers the commentators announce, his name was Chenle.

He looked to be around his age, if not younger. The man before him was energetic and strong, but seemed to get too excited during the rounds; it seemed as though he only came into the ring with one tactic in mind, and remained persistent to knock his opponent out in one specific way— it seemed he targeted Beomgyu with liver shots.

His punch was quite lethal— Beomgyu would know, because he fell victim to his attack in the first round. If anything, he still feels as though his mind is all muddled as he shifts away, avoiding the man’s attempt to get him cornered before he’s throwing a few quick punches himself.

It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu is able to turn the match around, however. Chenle seems to be very poor in adapting to an opponent’s fighting style, and Beomgyu is quickly able to pull him into a chokehold that has him tapping out within seconds— without his hooks, Chenle was practically useless.

All this fighting had taken a toll on Beomgyu— he’s sure it showed as well, panting like a dog as the referee thrust his hand into the air, the commentators announcing him as the winner over the speakers: The Bear wins again.

Beomgyu could see why you attempted to dissuade him from going to such a place as he takes in everyone’s reactions— the good, the bad, and the dangerous. From the corner of his eye, he can see Chenle stumbling back to his coach, the two clearly bitter and angry as they whisper plans to each other— Beomgyu shivers involuntarily as their glares land on him, his gut telling him that they’re up to no good as the referee finally lets go of his wrist, quick to exit the ring and get as far from them as possible.

“Hey, we made it,” Taehyun grins, clapping Beomgyu on the shoulder as he laughs with joy— only to apologize as Beomgyu winces, his hand coming off in a second, “Our fight’s in thirty minutes, go rest and clean up— I don’t wanna have to go easy on you now.”

Absentmindedly, Beomgyu nods, ducking his head and making his way back to the locker room as he tries to ignore the stares of those around him— he can practically feel his body become alight with nerves by the time he’s back in the dark locker room, his heart pounding and his hands shaking as he begins to wonder if all your warnings have made him paranoid.

It must be the adrenaline, he thinks to himself, undoing his hand wraps and wincing as he stretches his cramped muscles, yeah. adrenaline.

He can’t help the way he groans as he makes his way to the bathroom area— all this fighting has taken a heavy toll on him, and he quickly finds that he’s already begun to sprout plenty of injuries and bruises as he finds his reflection in the mirror; his eyes remain downcast as he goes to wash his hands, sighing as the cool water splashes against his skin.

“I’m telling you, you were great!” Beomgyu can’t help but hear the conversation that begins to leak into the locker room, frowning at the way the second person begins to complain and yell angrily— the sound is enough to have Beomgyu on guard, straightening up slowly as he quickly turns the sink off.

“No, I wasn’t great— I fucking lost!” He jumps at the sound of something striking hard against the lockers— Beomgyu can feel his stomach sink with dread as he realizes that it must be Chenle that walked in— he’s able to recognize his voice fairly quickly.

“I know, I know— It’s odd, really, you weren’t supposed to have…” Beomgyu feels like he’s unable to breathe as the manager walks into sight, locking eyes with him through the reflection in an instant as he immediately stops talking; Chenle’s irritated what? Is enough to have Beomgyu snapping out of his daze, turning around as he watches the boy’s manager let out an exasperated laugh.

“Hey,” Chenle begins, spotting Beomgyu as he quickly makes his way to him— Beomgyu remains silent, his eyes narrowed coldly as he tries to make a point that he’s not intimidated, “what the hell was that about back there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beomgyu mutters, watching as Chenle scoffs, turning away for a second to compose himself.

“The match,” Chenle clarifies, enunciating each syllable as though Beomgyu were incapable of understanding, “you were supposed to throw it.”

The words are definitely news to Beomgyu; he’s sure it shows on his face, because Chenle only seems to grow angrier by the second, Beomgyu’s silence only irritating him more as he runs a stressed hand through his hair.

“Don’t act fuckin stupid,” Chenle spits out, pushing Beomgyu’s chest and taking him by surprise as he stumbles back into the sink, ��We had our deal. Give me back the money I gave you.”

“You have the wrong person,” Beomgyu says slowly, attempting to remain calm as he briefly looks over Chenle’s shoulder, and at the exit behind the two; he had two options: fight— which Chenle seemed more than ready to do— or stay out of trouble and run. The second option seemed very tempting at the moment.

“I didn’t make any deal with you.”

This seems enough to set Chenle off, more than ready to throw a punch before he’s interrupted by his manager; the man’s sharp Chenle is enough to have the two men looking back, over to where his manager leans against the wall, arms crossed as he stares at Beomgyu carefully.

“You,” the man says carefully, nodding at Beomgyu as he raises a brow questioningly, “what’s your name?”

“Beomgyu,” he replies gruffly, watching as the manager only becomes more confused by his response.

“Who sent you here?”

“Hey man, what’s the hold up, our fight started two minutes ago and people are already calling a forfeit—“ Taehyun pauses at the sight of the scene before him, taking a second to compose himself before he’s sending a cold glare to Chenle’s manager, “what’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the man replies, pushing himself off the wall before he’s shoving his hands into his pants pockets, “now that I think about it, you two weren’t on the original roster we agreed to.”

“The hell are you talking about?” It’s clear that the situation has begun to annoy Taehyun, who remains unphased as the manager begins to walk towards him, “We were invited to the tournament.”

“Oh yeah? By who?” The man asks quietly, tilting his head as he waits expectantly for Taehyun to answer.

“Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, the name foreign to Taehyun’s ears as he gauges the men’s reactions, the two of them watching Beomgyu with a scrutinizing gaze— what he sees does nothing to soothe his nerves.

“Choi Yeonjun?” It seems as though that was not the answer either of them were looking for, the older man beginning to walk towards Taehyun, cornering him against the wall as Beomgyu attempts to step in— the warning glare Chenle sends him has him stilling for a second.

“That little rat sent you two? He still has the courage to try and involve himself here?” Something isn’t right— Beomgyu feels as though his body is on fire, buzzing with adrenaline as he watches the man’s tone drop dangerously— he’s reaching towards his jacket, the sight alarming as Beomgyu decides to divert his attention before it’s too late.

His attempt to take down Chenle works fairly easy— at least, that’s what Beomgyu thinks initially, able to take Chenle by surprise with a punch to the face before the boy is recovering; he’s more than ready to take back any of Chenle’s hits, only that’s not what the younger man seems to have in mind as he reaches into his jacket pocket instead.

Beomgyu isn’t given much time to react before Chenle is tackling him into the wall, his head banging harshly against it before he feels himself grow paralyzed with shock and pain— the knife Chenle drives into Beomgyu’s stomach is quickly plunged out, the younger man’s manager pulling him back with a scolding tsk and a harsh pull of his collar.

“Shit,” he can hear Taehyun exclaim, running to Beomgyu’s side in an instant as he attempts to add pressure to the wound; Beomgyu is still in shock as he groans at the feeling, a shuddering breath escaping him as he watches his blood run down his skin and stain his shorts.

“Chenle, let’s go,” the manager hisses, tugging Chenle along and hiding the weapon before either Beomgyu or Taehyun are able to process it.

Beomgyu feels as though he’s swimming underwater with how disoriented he feels, the quiet apologies Taehyun lets out over and over falling onto deaf ears as the noise outside only grows louder.

“We need to take you to the hospital man, shit,” Taehyun says, doing his best to carry Beomgyu with him as they make their way out— he knows better than to try and trust anyone in this place to treat him.

“What’s this?” Taehyun is already rolling his eyes at the sight of a new person blocking their path, more than ready to curse them out and push them out of the way before he realizes who it is; Choi Minho, the club owner, simply smiles down at them, inspecting the two men before him before his cold gaze stops upon Beomgyu.

“Playing dirty already?” His lack of urgency has Taehyun’s stomach churning with dread, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into as the owner of the club only stops to laugh at his own joke.

Taehyun’s guilt and fear for his friend seems to cloud his reasoning; without another thought, he’s pushing past Minho, trying to find his way over to the exit before he quickly realizes that he’s managed to bring all the attention to him.

The crowd goes wild at the sight of Beomgyu’s injury; they’re crowding around the three, attempting to instigate a fight and bet money as their eyes light up with bloodlust— the sight has Taehyun shivering as he stumbles forward in uncertainty, avoiding a woman that attempts to grab out to Beomgyu in the process.

The sight was terrifying; Minho could only watch in satisfaction behind them, crossing his arms in amusement as he watched Taehyun try to push through the packed crowds of people; his hold on Beomgyu was slipping, and he’s sure he’s left a trail of blood by now as his ears begin to ache, trying his best to ignore the catcalls and insults that are thrown at him; both to try and instigate and annoy him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Minho calls after them, following behind as people almost seem to clear a path for him; in turn, the people on the other end seem to grow bolder, blocking his path and eager to witness conflict as Taehyun begins to yell at them to move.

“We still need to discuss your connections to this place,” Minho says, his eyes darkening as he meets Taehyun’s heated gaze, “Choi Yeonjun, was it?”

It’s no use; the crowd is getting handsy, pushing Taehyun back towards Minho in order to see the drama unfold. Beomgyu can only cling tighter to Taehyun, groaning in pain as the adrenaline slowly begins to wear off.

Choi Yeonjun, what the fuck did you do, Taehyun is practically ready to spit in Minho’s face from the anger that courses through him, but the fear that Beomgyu may bleed out on him keeps his senses on high alert as he tries to formulate a plan to escape.

His chance to escape comes in the form of five gunshots that boom through the room— each causing more panic than the last, the people around him bigger cowards than they let on as they immediately fall to the floor or scramble for cover.

Taehyun is startled but remains alert, his head whipping around and meeting the eyes of someone who was more than used to coming to unorthodox places to wrangle Beomgyu out of danger.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you angrier as you point a gun towards the ceiling, your jaw clenched and your face confronted into a nasty glare as rubble falls around you.

“Get down,” you seethe, sweeping your gun through the area as you watch everyone cower at the sight, eyes pointed at those who try to get back up to escape, “I said get the fuck down!”

The place seems to grow still the moment you put your finger back on the trigger, the startled yelps of those hiding the only thing that you can hear as you begin to walk forward; your gaze only darkens more at the sight of Beomgyu slumped in Taehyun’s arms.

“___, so nice to see you back here,” Minho smiles, attempting to charm you with an innocent tilt of his head, “What brings you to this place?”

“Let them go, Minho,” you warn, raising your gun towards him as he simply puts his hands up in surrender— yet, the mischievous smile and his unphased body language tell you otherwise.

“And why should I?” He asks carefully, eyes flickering over to where Beomgyu barely remains standing, Taehyun attempting to put all his strength into stopping the blood flow of his wound, “They wronged me, and I simply want answers.”

“Bullshit,” you spit out, jerking your arm as you bring your gun to aim at his head instead, “I have Agust and his men outside. Let them go if you know what’s good for you.”

The sudden name seems to be enough for Minho to falter, his smile wavering for a second before he’s letting out a deep sigh; rolling his eyes, he takes a moment to think before he’s looking over to Taehyun and Beomgyu.

“Go.”

Taehyun doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s making his way over to you without hesitation, struggling to step over the cowering bodies as Beomgyu clings to him like a ragdoll— you’re immediately pulling the two behind you before you’re jerking your head back to the exit, walking backwards as you keep your gun aimed at Minho in warning.

“You’ll be back soon,” Minho grins, his eyes alight with something mischievous and dangerous as he lets his arms down slowly, “just you wait.”

Your free hand reaches for the heavy metal door, your eyes narrowing at his words as he waits for you to say something; in response, you spit at him, slamming the door behind you before you’re ushering Taehyun to hurry up.

“I fucking told you, I can’t fucking believe this,” you mutter under your breath, shoving the gun in your back pocket before you’re taking Beomgyu from Taehyun, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you spot Taehyun staggering behind in exhaustion.

“Hurry up before I leave your ass here!” You yell, now at the top of the stairs as you meet eyes with the one person you now owed your life to.

“Shit, you really weren’t messing around,” Yoongi says, his eyes widening as he takes sight of the unconscious man you carry with you. With a snap, his men take him from your arms, carrying him over to the backseat of Yoongi’s car before he’s gesturing for you to get in, Taehyun following close behind.

“We need to get him to the hospital, now,” you stress, unsure of how much Beomgyu was bleeding out before you got there; from his pale sweaty skin and slow, shuddering breaths, you know it’s best to act fast and ask questions later.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” is all Yoongi says, gesturing towards his men as they all begin to scatter, more than ready to speed off into the streets as he yells at Taehyun to put pressure on Beomgyu’s wound.

Pressed against the seat, you can’t ignore the way your head aches and your eyes sting with the threat of tears, unsure of what you’ll tell Beomgyu’s mother the moment he gets checked in the hospital.

Silently, you reach over to Yoongi, grabbing his hand as you let out a soft thank you. In turn, he squeezes your hand in reassurance, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal as he takes in the anxiety that rolls off you in waves.

⊹⊹⊹

The hospital is cold and unwelcoming.

You’re in the waiting room, unable to stop yourself from pacing as Yoongi remains by your side; Taehyun lingers nearby, his gaze downcast and glued to the floor from the moment Beomgyu was taken away by paramedics.

Your fingers dig into your arms as you sigh for the upteenth time; your gaze falls on Taehyun, your jaw clenching as you take him in— his head is downcast and he remains hunched over in his seat, his elbows propped on his knees as he hangs his head. But even from there, your eyes are able to look over the way his clothes are drenched with blood, his knuckles turning white as he clasps his hands together tightly.

“Excuse me, are you Choi Beomgyu’s guardian?” The three of you are quick to turn at the meek nurse that approaches you, her hands folded politely as you take initiative to step towards her; nodding, you watch as she sighs, her face unreadable under the medical mask she wears.

“I’m sorry to inform you that Choi Beomgyu’s wound was quite severe, and he lost a significant amount of blood.” You can feel Yoongi grasp at your arm as you exhale slowly, feeling yourself become unstable as your mouth falls open in disbelief, “We were able to stop the bleeding, but we’ve noticed that his wound has shown signs of infection; due to this, his condition is still critical— He is currently in the intensive care unit, and we are doing everything we can to stabilize him; Unfortunately, only immediate family can visit at this time.”

She lingers for a moment as she waits for you to say something, but you’re only able to muster enough energy to nod politely, ripping your arm out of Yoongi’s grasp before you’re stumbling outside— the said man is hot on your trail as he keeps a close eye on you, his quiet presence enough reassurance that he’s there if you need him.

Your hands are shaking horribly as you shove them in your pockets; your head hurts, and you feel sick to your stomach as you lean against the hospital walls, your head banging softly against the concrete wall as your pockets fish for something to distract you; Yoongi is quick to guess as he reaches into his own jacket, pulling out a cigarette and placing it in between your lips before he’s lighting it for you.

“He’ll be okay,” Yoongi reassures you, watching with narrowed eyes as you take a slow drag from the cigarette, “he’s a strong kid— in good hands, too.”

“I know he’ll be okay,” you grit out, sighing softly as you watch the smoke escape from your lips and disappear into the night sky, “he has to be.”

Your worries don’t lie entirely on his health; his recovery will be slow and tedious, but you’ll do anything if it ensures Beomgyu’s safety— the problem, however, lies on how much it’ll cost to ensure his recovery.

With the treatments and antibiotics the doctors were currently giving Beomgyu, you’re sure Ms. Choi would break down at the sight of the bill; running a restaurant on her own can only do so much, and you’re sure as hell not blind to the reasons as to why Beomgyu took up fighting in the first place, witness to the way he would leave his prize money before her in hopes that it would take care of the monthly bills.

A prize from the tournament at FightX would’ve been enough to have Ms. Choi closing the restaurant for a while and going on vacation— Beomgyu’s motivations slowly start clicking together in your head as you scoff, taking another drag from the cigarette in your hand as you feel the way your head begins to ache; the last thing you’ll do is have Ms. Choi worry about the bills.

“His mother,” Yoongi starts softly, interrupting your thoughts as he practically reads your mind, “are you gonna tell her?”

You take a moment before you answer, watching as Yoongi leans against the wall next to you patiently; flicking the ashes off your cigarette, you bite your lip, frowning in frustration as you sigh slowly.

“I have to,” you say, your mind already wracking for ways you could deliver the news to his mother, “she’s already worried enough as it is.”

Pulling your phone out, you turn it on to show Yoongi your screen; an onslaught of missed calls and text messages greet you, all from Beomgyu’s mother as you wince at the escalation of the contents— all of them asking if you’re alright, if you know where Beomgyu might have run off to.

“She’s already onto me,” you laugh softly, though it feels more forced than anything as you watch your screen light up again, her contact name taking over the screen as you take a second to look at it; with one last drag from your cigarette, you exhale, accepting the call as you drop the item and grind it into the ground, wincing slightly as Ms. Choi’s alarmed voice fills your ears.

“Yes Ms. Choi, I’ve found him.” You look beyond exhausted as Taehyun watches from afar, only able to hear your soft voice as you continue to reassure his mother— the guilt that was plaguing Taehyun’s mind only comes back stronger as he watches you deliver the awaited news tensely, the words awkward in your mouth as you visibly flinch— only to quickly tell Beomgyu’s mother that he’s safe and there’s nothing to worry about.

“We’re still here. I’ll wait for you, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft and calming as you speak, a stark contrast to what Taehyun saw earlier— he shivers at the thought, eyes widening slightly as they meet yours— stiffening, he can’t help how tense he feels as you gesture for him to come to him.

It’s silent as Taehyun walks to you; tucking your phone into your back pocket, your eyes narrow at the sight of Taehyun walking towards you, as though his tail were tucked in between his legs as he refuses to meet your gaze. The sight is enough to have you angered again as you cross your arms, pushing yourself off the wall as you dig your fingers into your biceps, teeth gritting as you attempt to keep your voice steady as you speak.

“What the hell happened back there? How did this all start?” You ask, your gaze intense as Taehyun forces himself to meet it; you look beyond furious as you wait for him to respond, Yoongi surveying carefully over your shoulder, the sight oddly intimidating as Taehyun begins to recount everything that happened.

“The match was rigged— you weren’t even supposed to be there,” you conclude, looking over your shoulder to see Yoongi agreeing, “who was invited there?”

“It was me,” Taehyun says, not an ounce of hesitation in his answer as he watches your eyes widen at the news, “It was all my idea, I thought it’d give us a bigger chance to win the prize money— I… I was the one who got the invite.”

Taehyun isn’t entirely sure as to why he just took all the blame for Beomgyu; maybe it was his guilty conscience, or the way that he knew if he told the truth, Beomgyu would be in more trouble than he already was— yet a small part of him seems to regret it as he watches the way your eyes widen, unable to stop yourself as Taehyun’s head jerks to the side— his cheek stings at the impact of your palm, but he doesn’t find himself to be angered by it as he remains silent.

“This— this is all your fault?” You say, incredulous as you begin to pace again— whether it’s to hold yourself back from hitting Taehyun again or to process everything, he isn’t sure— “Do you have any idea the shit you just got us involved in?”

From the way Taehyun stares at you, his brows furrowed in concern, it’s clear the answer is no.

“Do you know how much it’ll cost for Beomgyu’s treatment? He could’ve fucking died!” The fact that Beomgyu still stepped foot in the underground club despite knowing the dangers of it isn’t lost on you— if anything, it angers you more, feeling as though he took everything you told him and went through as a joke, teeth gritting together at the thought of it, “his mother can’t afford something like this, do you realize how terrified she is to hear her son is in the ICU?”

“The money from the tournament,” Taehyun interrupts, watching the way you pause in your steps before he continues, “we can just use that— it’s more than enough.”

You remain silent— all you can do is stare at Taehyun for a second, eyes narrowing at him before you shake your head; bitterly, you smile, tilting your head as you cross your arms defensively once more.

“Did you finish the tournament?” You ask, watching as Taehyun slowly shakes his head, “did you win?”

“No— it was just me and Beomgyu left anyway—”

“Did you win?” You repeat, your voice much more stern as you take a step closer to Taehyun; he can feel his heart sinking as he takes in your close proximity, your expression serious as he feels the realization dawn on him as well, “did you stay in the cage, did you hear them announce you as the winner?”

You both know the answer to your question; Taehyun’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks.

“No.”

“No,” you echo, hands falling to your sides, the burst of emotions from earlier taking a toll on you and leaving your voice quiet and tired as you continue, “They might as well call it a forfeit from your part.”

“The prize money is still their’s, and they’ll even hold another tournament while they’re at it.”

Backing away, you glance at Yoongi before gesturing for him to give you another cigarette; the lighter is the only thing that illuminates your face for a second, your eyes tired and angry as they flicker back up to meet Taehyun’s.

“Unless you want to go back and win it, you’re no use here.”

You refuse to talk to Taehyun any further as you turn your back to him; the smoke that escapes from your figure is oddly soothing as Taehyun lingers by your side, lost in thought as he leans against the wall; feeling a set of eyes searing into his skin, he looks up, meeting Yoongi’s curious gaze, watching as he tilts his head before he finally speaks to the younger man.

“Who sent you that invitation?” Yoongi asks, burying his hands into his jacket pockets as he watches Taehyun intently— the said man pauses, mind thinking back to the name Beomgyu mentioned before he’s uttering it quietly, unsure of himself as he avoids Yoongi’s gaze.

“Choi Yeonjun.” Taehyun is surprised to find both of you reacting, watching as your shoulders shake with quiet laughter, head turning to Yoongi who simply sends you a knowing look; the two of you shake your heads in dismay, leaving Taehyun to wonder if he said the wrong name as he watches Yoongi let out a deep sigh.

“That explains it,” Yoongi mutters, taking the cigarette from your hands before he’s taking a drag of it himself; he’s blowing the smoke out to the side before he finally decides to give Taehyun more context, the sight of the man staring at him bringing him amusement as his lips twinge into a small smile.

“You and Yeonjun, were you guys close?” Taehyun slowly shakes his head at the question, making Yoongi scoff— he wonders why the older man seems to be making such a big deal about this person, but the heavy feeling in his gut tells him it’s nothing good, “Makes sense— thought you had a death wish or something.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Taehyun asks, tired of being left out in the dark from the way Yoongi refuses to give proper context; he can’t help the way he straightens slightly as you turn back around to face him, your gaze still full of anger as you glare at Taehyun.

“That invitation was a setup,” you begin, brow raising at the way Taehyun’s mouth falls open in surprise, “Choi Yeonjun was exposed as a rat years ago; he was working with police to try and get the club shutdown, greedy for money— didn’t exactly end well for him.”

It all seems to make sense now; the hostility whenever either boys mentioned the man, the danger it wound them up in— Taehyun tries to keep a straight face at the news, but it’s difficult to do as you grow quiet, surveying Taehyun carefully as you take a step closer to him; then another, and another until you’re eerily close to him, attempting to analyze everything about him before you’re tutting softly.

“But why he would send an invite to you, I have no idea— let alone how he got a spot in the bracket— what’d he tell you, anyway?” your questions are enough to have Taehyun gulping softly; hell, how was he supposed to know any of this? Yet, as far as you were concerned, Taehyun was the only one who was in contact with the man.

“Nothing much,” Taehyun replies, hoping you can’t see through his lies as he stares straight into your eyes, “it came in the mail— just told me he secured two spots.”

“Think about it,” Yoongi says, diverting your attention away from Taehyun for a second— he can feel himself relax slightly, free from your intense gaze as you turn to look at your friend, “Why else would he try to get involved with FightX again? And through other fighters, on top of that.”

“He might be trying to get back in the scene,” you say, seemingly coming to a conclusion before Taehyun can as your face lightens up; first, with confusion, then with amusement as a smile tugs at your lips. Turning back to Taehyun, you can’t help but laugh slightly in disbelief, “The prize money probably wasn’t going to be yours to begin with.”

Still a rat, hmm, you mutter, the smile on your face contradictory to the way you bite your lip in irritation; the laugh you let out isn’t very convincing either, and Yoongi can only roll his eyes at your antics as he’s leaning against the wall once more, taking a slow drag from the cigarette in his hand before he’s flicking off the ash absentmindedly.

“How do you know all this?” Taehyun asks, the question hitting him suddenly as he takes a good look at the people before him; a restaurant worker and a man who seemed to be involved in shadier things than he let on— his curiosity laid more on you, taking in the way you seemed unphased by his question, “who are you guys?”

That’s enough for you and Yoongi to share a bewildered look; it takes a second before you’re both laughing, amused at his words as you allow Yoongi to answer.

“Kid, you’re looking at the two old champions of FightX,” Yoongi smiles, eyes creasing as Taehyun takes notice of the scar that runs through one of them, “We’re the only fucking reason that club survived for so long.”

Taehyun’s look of bewilderment is the only thing to have you cracking a genuine smile; rolling your eyes, you huff as his eyes land on you, observing you for a moment before he frowns in confusion.

“You’re a fighter?” Taehyun asks, watching as the two of you nod without hesitation, “Makes sense.”

“Alright you little prick,” you seethe, eye twitching at his witty comment, “I know you have a smart fucking mouth, but I still can’t get used to it.”

You feel as though you might show Taehyun some of your moves when he simply cracks an innocent smile at you— only to stop, the sound of hurried steps and the loud yell of your name making the three of you turn towards the sound.

Ah, you hear Yoongi mumble behind you, dropping his cigarette and snuffing it out before Ms. Choi can pick up on it; the tense smiles the two of you sport quickly has Taehyun doing the same, shuffling back until he’s covered behind Yoongi— from the corner of your eye, you see the younger man cross his arms awkwardly, attempting to cover his blood-soaked clothes as he keeps his head ducked down.

Ms. Choi is a wreck; you’re able to pick up on it easily, the light that leaks out from within highlighting her features that are soaked with worry and stress; her face is pulled into a frown and her eyes threaten to leak with tears as she stumbles to a stop before you.

Her expression is unreadable; you’re unsure of how she might react or what she might do, but you wouldn’t blame her if she lashed out any of her anger on you— jolting, you’re taken aback by the way she practically leaps on you, arms caging you in a bone crushing hug as she buries her head into your shoulder— the sounds of her sniffles are enough to have you snapping out of your frozen state, arms coming up to hold the woman tightly in return.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she mutters, her hands gripping onto your clothes at the reminder, “I’m so glad he’s alive.”

“He’s safe, Ms. Choi. He’s okay, he’ll recover in no time,” your reassurance is soft and endless as you pat her back, allowing her to cry freely into your arms as you give her a moment to recollect herself— sniffing, she pulls away, wiping at her eyes before her gaze falls on Yoongi.

“Ma’am,” Yoongi nods, his face tense as he awaits for her to say something; his face mirrors your own as he’s pulled into a hug, eyes widening and posture stiffening before he slowly returns the gesture.

“Thank you for bringing my son back to me,” she says, pulling away before she reaches up to cup Yoongi’s face; she takes him in, smiling tenderly as she adds, “I’m happy to see you’ve been well.”

Yoongi smiles at her comment; he’s surprised to see that she still remembers him, times spent visiting you at work and pestering you coming to mind as he lets out a soft laugh.

“They said only immediate family is allowed to visit at this time,” you mutter softly, taking her attention as she turns to face you, “We’ll wait out here for you.”

Taking your hands, she nods; you can see how apologetic she is as she takes a moment to smile reassuringly, telling you that she’ll let you know how he’s doing before she disappears inside— watching her figure retreat, you can’t help but frown after a moment, wondering if she’ll be alright on her own.

“Fuck,” you sigh, the reality of it all hitting you again as you tilt your head back defeatedly; staring at the night sky, you bury your hands into your pockets, fighting the emotions that threaten to spill over as you speak, “How the fuck am I supposed to handle all this now.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Yoongi says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as he becomes quick to reassure you, “I can help you out, I know some people.”

“No Yoongi,” you quickly say, shrugging off his shoulder as you send him a stern look, “I don’t want you to get involved in any shady stuff over this— I got this, you don’t need to worry.”

Your argument continues to go back and forth for a while— Taehyun feels insanely awkward as he’s forced to watch, unsure of what to do as he wonders if it’s just best to sneak away and go back inside— after what seems like ten minutes, he realizes he’s had enough as he goes to butt in.

“Let’s just win that stupid thing back,” Taehyun blurts out, stopping the both of you in your tracks as you slowly turn to look at him, “you said they’d probably hold another tournament, no? We’ll just win it back through there.”

“Are you—?” you cut yourself off as you place a hand over your mouth, running it down in frustration before you’re starting again, “You were invited to that place by Choi Yeonjun, a fucking rat. You really think they’d just let you waltz back in and join?”

“Minho—” Taehyun says, pausing for a moment as he frowns, thinking back to what the owner of the place said, “You’ll be back soon. That’s what he said, no?”

“He wants us to come back,” Yoongi realizes, glancing at you as he watches the way your jaw clenches in annoyance, “He knew we’d be back for that damn prize.”

“And what better way to draw in gamblers than with a match after tonight’s show,” you continue, your mind racing with ideas before you’re finally looking back at Taehyun, “But what, how are we supposed to arrange something like this? You seriously think we can just walk in and have a civilized conversation?”

⊹⊹⊹

“Are you fucking insane?”

Taehyun’s hushed scolding is enough to have you rolling your eyes, unphased by his reaction as you tug your shirt over your jeans more; shrugging your jacket on, you nod back at Yoongi, who only returns the gesture after he’s zipped his own coat up; you can barely feel the gun that’s tucked into your waistband, but Taehyun is determined to not allow you to forget about it as his eyes fall onto it’s hiding spot every three seconds.

“It’s rude to stare,” you mumble, slapping Taehyun’s shoulder and forcing him to turn back around; you allow Yoongi to lead the way through the busy streets, the bright alleyways and busy shops entirely inconspicuous as you make your way to a familiar store, entirely empty except for the owner that attends it.

There are no customers when you enter; The store is packed with products and is poorly lit, and it’s oddly quiet as you walk around; making your way around the aisles swiftly, it almost feels like muscle memory before you’re stopping at the checkout— narrowing your eyes, you’re not surprised to find Minho sitting on a stool behind the register, not bothering to look up from the book he reads as he adjusts his thin wired glasses slightly— leaning on the counter, you clear your throat, raising a brow as you tap your fingers rhythmically on the surface.

“A win is only official after it is announced by the referee; if both fighters fail to present themselves in the ring, the match is invalid.” Minho doesn’t bother to look up from his book as he speaks; carefully, he reaches to fold the page he’s on, pressing his fingers on the dog-ear meticulously before he’s shutting the book gingerly; placing it on the counter, he finally looks up, smiling sweetly as he does so.

“But you already know that, don’t you?”

“You’re holding another tournament, aren’t you,” you say, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question.

“Perhaps.”

“We want in,” you can see the way Minho processes your words, his eyes scanning from you to Yoongi before his smile is growing a bit wider; catching onto his thought process, you’re quick to shake your head, reaching behind you and pulling Taehyun roughly as you ignore the way he stumbles forward.

“I mean him. Just him.”

Minho’s smile wavers a little— you can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes decrease slightly, but his expression is still amused as he quickly recalls who the fighter in front of him is; narrowing his eyes, Minho hums, oddly docile as he looks back at you.

“Fine,” to say that it’s unnerving to watch Minho agree so easily is an understatement; you’re sharing a confused look with Yoongi as you watch the way Minho stands from his seat, rounding the counter before he begins to walk away— glancing back at you, he nods to the exit, telling you to follow him before he continues walking.

Before you can think too hard on it, you’re tugging the two men along; anything to make sure he doesn’t disappear from your sight, you think, but you can’t help but pat yourself down slightly in search of your gun the moment you see where you’re headed.

“Relax, it’s empty right now,” Minho hums, swinging the door wide open and allowing you to see, smiling in amusement as he takes in the way you remain a few steps back, “I’ve decided that a tournament is just too simple.”

“After the glorious show you put on last night, I knew my patrons would love to see more of your people,” Minho continues, a satisfied look flashing through his features as the three of you finally make your way to his level, peeking through the door cautiously, “and what better way than to skip the bracket and give the public what they want?”

There’s a single person inside; you’re on guard as you watch them, the dull lights of the place barely allowing you to see them as you squint your eyes; He’s practicing, you realize, watching as he uses the punch bag before him diligently, his sounds of effort reaching you as he continues.

“One v. One match,” Minho smiles, glancing into the door to see what the man inside is up to; the four of you watch as he does a spin kick, the force from it sending the punching bag flying to the side, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the empty area as you wince at the sight.

The man lets out a huff of exhaustion after; he’s backing up, shaking his body as he steps into the light that emits from a window behind him— pushing his hair back, you’re able to take in his features, your eyes widening as you realize who it is that currently stands before you.

“Your fighter versus mine— The Cobra.”

The Cobra— otherwise known as Park Jongseong— or rather, Minho’s last apprentice before you left.

“The best of the best, no?” Minho continues, his gaze meeting your own as he smiles knowingly, “you win this, you win everything— no questions asked, no… attacks, on my part.”

You can already hear Yoongi’s thoughts behind you; this is dangerous, this is a horrible, insane idea.

And you agree— you agree wholeheartedly, hesitating to respond as you take another moment to observe The Cobra— yet it seems as though you’ve taken too long, lost deep in your own thoughts as you fail to account for another, stupid variable.

“Deal,” Taehyun butts in, leaving you speechless as you’re forced to watch the way he shakes Minho’s hand casually; the older man can only laugh at the action, grinning from ear to ear as his eyes meet yours— his smile only widens more as he takes in your baffled expression.

You find yourself speechless— even when you go back up to discuss the rules and terms of the fight, speechless when Yoongi reluctantly agrees, and speechless when you walk out of the inconspicuous store, your hands clutching tightly onto the paper given to you with the specific details of the match.

You’re only able to muster up the courage to look at Taehyun once you’ve gotten back in the car safely; he meets your gaze after a moment, brows furrowing as he finds himself annoyed with your dumbstruck expression.

“What the hell do you want?”

This stupid boy has no idea what he just got himself into.

⊹⊹⊹

“Three weeks,” you say, pacing back and forth as you find yourself in the last place you would ever want to be; Seokjin’s small fight club is no match to the basement of FightX, but it’s enough for you to train in as you choose to look past the dimly lit area, the natural light that leaks in from the small windows above the only thing that allows you to see properly— Taehyun watches you impatiently, stretching his muscles as he stands by the training equipment in attention, wanting nothing more than to get started already.

“For the next three weeks, you’ll throw away any plans you’ve made— I expect to see you here everyday for training.”

”Wait, you’re training me?” Taehyun interjects, watching the way you narrow your eyes at him in warning— he looks back to where Yoongi sits, slumped over in his chair as he smiles lazily the moment their eyes meet— then he looks back at you, biting his lip before he continues, “Why not him?”

“Because you want to get trained by the best, no?” Yoongi calls out, already able to see the way you bristle at Taehyun’s comment; the said boy nods, lips pressed together as he takes a moment to observe you again, “Then she’ll be training you. Now watch your mouth before you sweet trainer here decides enough is enough.”

“But the restaurant,” Taehyun backtracks, realizing how his comment may have come off as he speaks, “Won’t you be busy?”

“Winning that tournament is more important,” you say, not missing a beat as you begin to stretch, “Especially since you agreed to fight The Cobra, of all people.”

“Seriously, why is that a big deal?” Taehyun huffs, rolling his eyes as you signal for him to continue stretching, “the dude can’t be that dangerous.”

“That dude has been in the ring for years,” Yoongi says, catching Taehyun’s attention as he pauses in his movements, “Much longer than you, to be sure.”

“Meaning,” you continue, sighing in dismay at the thought of your next words, “He’s been trained by Minho himself.”

“And us.”

The sudden revelation is enough to have Taehyun tensing; stomach sinking, he seems to realize why you were so hesitant to agree to this arrangement.

“Anything we teach you, Park Jongseong has already mastered,” you say, putting on focus mitts before you gesture for Taehyun to come closer, “That’s where you come in— I’ve been praying that you’d be a decent fighter, hoping you’d have some skills of your own we could hone in on.”

Taehyun frowns at your words— you aren’t exactly the most encouraging person he’s met, and he can even feel his confidence dwindling as he stands before you, pausing as he watches you put up your mitted hands— a moment passes and you’re rolling your eyes, scoffing at the way Taehyun seems to be hesitant before you.

“What are you waiting for?” you scold, your tough voice enough for the man to snap out of his daze; his expression is unreadable as you watch a shift in his form, his hesitation quickly being wiped off as he takes a step toward you— his stance is shifting, and you watch with delight as his eyes turn dangerous, honing in on your mitts as he brings his fists up.

Let’s see what you got.

⊹⊹⊹

“Again.”

For once, Taehyun begins to realize the consequences of his actions.

His body is on fire; he feels as though all his strength has escaped him, pushing his hair back for the upteenth time as he winces at the sweat that coats it— you remain unphased, and Taehyun wonders for a second if you have unlimited stamina as you raise your brow at him expectantly.

His body has yet to become accustomed to this new schedule. He’s gotten used to seeing you every day, reviewing techniques and giving him pointers before you’re giving him a thorough workout; tonight, you’ve decided to focus on his kicks, bringing up many different fighting styles and forcing him to practice on the punching bag that hangs in a nearby corner.

“Come on, can’t we just take a break? I’ve been at this for—“

“I said again,” you interrupt, glaring at the way Taehyun sends you an irritated look; Taehyun has grown used to your intimidation tactics after spending more time with you than should be considered normal, your once terrifying anger nothing more than something Taehyun has to put up with as he sighs— he still knows better than to go against you, though.

And so, he does exactly what you taught him— though it’s sloppy, and he knows he’ll get an earful as he executes the kick weakly— though, he personally blames your refusal to give him a proper break for his actions.

“Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve been saying?” you ask, exasperated as you make your way to him; standing next to him, you gesture for him to step aside, getting in front of the punching bag yourself before you’re getting into the proper stance.

“I need you to remember to swing your hips; like this,” stepping forward with your right foot, you extend your left leg slowly, twisting your hips along with the motion as you freeze, gesturing to your hips, “If you don’t, your kick won’t be as powerful; you need to put your whole body into it, not just your leg.”

Stepping back, you demonstrate again, pushing through the rest of the kick as you listen to the thud that echoes from your move— Taehyun can’t help the way his eyes widen as he watches the punching bag swing back and forth, analyzing your form before another thought is popping into his head.

“That kick,” Taehyun mumbles, switching spots with you as he begins to envision what you just did, trying to get his body to recreate it before he pauses, “Beomgyu did that— he used that move all the time.”

“Yeah? Glad he finally got it right,” you sigh, unfazed by his words as you cross your arms, smiling in amusement— Taehyun turns to look at you, frowning in confusion as you practically read his mind, “Hey, if I can’t stop that idiot from sneaking off to this place, I might as well make sure he doesn’t die.”

The laugh you let out after is tense and bittersweet; Beomgyu was doing much better now, but he remained in the hospital due to complications from the infection of his wound— you were given the news that he would most likely need physical therapy as well, the sound of it only motivating you to work harder after you watched the way Ms. Choi paled with the news.

“He almost knocked you out with it? Holy shit,” you laugh, incredulous as Taehyun tells you the details of his first encounter with the boy— the proud smile that spreads across your face catches Taehyun off guard, your eyes twinkling with delight as you gesture back to the punching bag. “Don’t you wanna get as good as him? Come on, show me you’re not all talk.”

The sudden comparison to Beomgyu has Taehyun bristling with annoyance, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly follows your words— a strange, nagging feeling manifests within his mind, telling him to prove himself and dispel all your worries about him as a fighter— it motivates him, taking a deep breath before he’s getting into the proper stance; closing his eyes, he envisions his body following the same movement path you did, eyes zeroing in on the punching bag before him as he finally executes the kick.

“There we go,” you hiss, an excited grin spreading on your face as you listen to the impact of Taehyun’s kick— though it’s too early for the said man to celebrate, his eyes lighting up for a second before you’re back to pester him for pointers.

“You need to stay light on your feet,” you remind him, rolling your eyes at the way he tries to interfere with your comment, telling you that it’s because I’m exhausted, “Do you think Jongseong will care if you’re tired? You think he’s gonna go easy on you if you start bitching at him the way you are now?”

“There’s no need for you to be such a bitch, either,” Taehyun sneers, getting back into stance as he watches the way you remain unfazed by his comment.

“Maybe I’ll start being nice once you prove to be useful.” you mutter, and Taehyun swears the anger that courses through him fuels his kick as he feels his body twisting with energy— so much energy that he’s losing his footing, the impact that booms from his move much louder than his previous attempts as he stumbles back— from the corner of his eyes, he sees the way your eyes widen slightly at the sight.

“Not bad,” you say, tilting your head as you study Taehyun for a second; he’s exhausted and soaked with sweat, his eyes filled with pure anger and frustration you might just think he’ll fight you instead— the thought is enough to have you stifling a laugh, your lips twitching slightly before you’re snapping back to reality.

“You need to practice your balance if you’re gonna use your body like that,” humming softly, you think for a second, brows furrowing as you continue, “if anything, you should try some spinning hook kicks— that could improve your balance great—”

“You’re here again?” the voice that yells out from the entrance has you startled for a second, turning around before you’re groaning in frustration; you’re leaving Taehyun’s side immediately as you go to the source of the sound— Seokjin seems to be just as annoyed as you are, turning on the rest of the lights with an irritated look on his face.

“You know why we’re here, Seokjin,” you say, yet the reminder of your reasoning doesn’t seem to be enough for the man, watching as he shakes his head in disapproval.

“You know I have a club to run, right?” it’s clear you’ve given up as you mutter a yeah yeah, softly, pouting like a child to the older man, “I can’t have this place running while you’re training that poor kid to death.”

“My regimen has results.” you say defensively, glaring at Seokjin, who simply puts up his hands in defeat, unphased by your attitude as he glances back at Taehyun.

“He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Following Seokjin’s line of sight, you find yourself wincing; it seems that you’ve only now gotten a good look at the man, watching the way he’s already slumped down at the bench nearby, his chest heaving with shallow breaths and his eyes fluttering as he holds onto his water bottle tightly— frowning, you listen to the way Seokjin quietly asks you how long have you been in here today? your mind going back to the hours you’ve spent cooped inside this building— not to mention day after day.

“Go back to opening this place,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the way Seokjin smiles triumphantly— the guilt you feel is odd as you approach Taehyun, standing by awkwardly as you watch the way he doesn’t even acknowledge you, much too tired to even open his eyes.

“Hey. Don’t pass out on me,” you say, slapping Taehyun’s bicep and watching as he startles awake— his eyes meet yours, wincing at the sudden increase of light as he squints up at you.

“We’re done for today. Let’s go,” you mutter, unsure of what else to do as you give Taehyun a helping hand; he observes it for a moment, oddly skeptical before he finally takes it— his skin is surprisingly soft for having the hands of a fighter, though you try not to let it show on your face as you help him up; the groan of exertion he lets out isn’t lost on you, and you’re surprised to find yourself feeling bad for doing this to him.

A pitch black night greets you the moment you’re exiting the building, yelling one last goodbye to Seokjin before you’re closing the door behind you— you can hear Taehyun softly grumble about having to climb way too many stairs, and you can only let out a huff in amusement before you’re linking an arm with him for support.

“Come on tiger, don’t let a set of stairs knock you out,” you mock, ignoring his angered rebuttals that he can barely slur out— you’ve really done a number on him today, you realize, the witty man beside you reduced to nothing more than a slumped figure as he continues to complain under his breath, leaving you unfazed the moment he tries to complain about your routines again.

“Don’t make me regret what I’m about to do for you,” is all you say in response, leading him to your car as you ignore his protests that he just wants to go home, “It’s been hours since you’ve eaten— come on, let’s go see Beomgyu, I bet he’s going insane from the hospital food.”

You’re not sure if it’s the sound of food or the mention of Beomgyu that has Taehyun perking up with interest, but you’re rolling your eyes at him nonetheless as you’re starting your car; driving towards Ms. Choi’s restaurant, you’re guessing it’s the former as Taehyun tells you that all he wants at the moment is some simple ramen.

The drive is calming— Taehyun doesn’t seem as annoying to you anymore, but a glance at him makes you realize it’s only because he’s knocked out in your passenger’s seat, completely silent save for his occasional shifting to get more comfortable.

Now this is a side of him you like.

⊹⊹⊹

Seokjin’s words seem to have affected you more than you’d like to admit.

At least, they definitely have if it’s enough to have Taehyun staring at you as though you’ve gone mad, feeling a strange heat rush to your cheeks as you press your lips together awkwardly.

“Are you messing with me?”

“No. Unless you want to go back to the usual,” you snap, and Taehyun can only put his hands up in surrender as he bows his head down; your proposal to have a rest day feels odd to Taehyun, even more so when you’ve already managed to drag the man all the way to the club.

“What’re we even doing here then?”

“There’s less than a week left before the match,” you sigh, feeling your phone buzz in your back pocket as you pause to check the message— you feel your shoulders slump with relief as you’re answering, glancing up at Taehyun, who was already watching you curiously.

“While you have shown improvement in your techniques, there’s still more you could improve on,” your sentence is interrupted as the sound of the door opens, the two of you turning to see who might be coming in— while Taehyun fully expected Jin to burst inside and start complaining, he’s surprised to find something else.

“I don’t want your body to wear out on me, so I’ll tone down the intensity of your routines as the final day approaches,” you continue, unfazed by the people that begin to approach— Yoongi is casual as he sends the two of you a wave, the woman next to him sending you a cheery nod before her gaze is falling on Taehyun.

“And we’ll work on your fighting IQ instead.”

One glance at Taehyun is enough to tell you that he has yet to connect the dots; you’re gesturing for the woman next to Yoongi to step forward, bringing her to your side before you’re introducing her— Taehyun notes that the two of you must be good friends, if the way she clings to you happily is enough of a sign.

“This is Sooyoung,” you say, and the woman next to you— Sooyoung— simply smiles, her eyes creasing and her face lighting up as she sends Taehyun a friendly wave, “Sooyoung, Taehyun.”

“So he’s the reckless boy you were telling me about?” Sooyoung asks, tinted lips pursing as she stares Taehyun down— the nickname is enough to have Taehyun’s gaze hardening, sending the woman a harsh look that only makes her laugh— the woman’s bubbly attitude feels far more patronizing than genuine as she tilts her head like a puppy.

“I do see potential,” she murmurs, lost in thought for a second before she’s snapping out of it— turning to Yoongi, she practically bounces over to him, and it isn’t until then that Taehyun takes in the duffle bag that the man carried in with him.

“The locker rooms are back there, right?” Sooyoung asks, looking at you expectantly before you’re sending her a nod of confirmation. Cool. Be right back! she says, skipping away with the duffle bag, her long dark hair swaying behind her as Taehyun’s mouth falls open at his words.

“Is she— am I fighting her?” Taehyun breathes out, a bit skeptical as he looks at you in bewilderment. All he gets in return is the usual roll of your eyes, unable to hold back your laugh at his stupidity.

“No dumbass,” You say, reaching up for the zipper of your jacket before you’re tugging it down— it isn’t until you’re shedding the layer off that Taehyun takes in your appearance, your hair tied back and your face turning serious as you begin stretching— he takes note of your hands, wrapped tightly in the wraps he always uses as his brows are jumping up in realization— catching his reaction, you smile.

“I am.”

Sooyoung is skipping out of the locker room moments later; it’s hard to not notice her, especially with her bright trunks and wraps that match the rest of her outfit— a bright green, the hair tie that keeps her hair up the exact same color as she makes her way to the cage.

“You’ll be my coach for this. I’ll only follow your instructions, so you better not get me fucked up,” you explain, joining Sooyoung by the cage before you’re turning back— Taehyun has yet to follow you, his brows furrowed as he waits for you to tell him you’re joking; instead, you’re left unamused as you cross your arms, hissing for him to hurry up and get over here.

“How is this supposed to help?” Taehyun asks, his gaze following you as you make your way inside; he’s never seen you like this, and though he hates to admit it, you’ve definitely piqued his interest.

“Seriously, are you always like this?” Is all you can say, looking down at Taehyun from where you stand within the cage— Taehyun remains silent, choosing to hold his tongue for once as he simply stares at you in response.

“You’ve never seen The Cobra fight. You don’t know what moves he’ll pull or how to counter them,” you begin, glancing back to the opposite corner; Sooyoung is crouched down in it, speaking to Yoongi through the fence as they throw the occasional look back at you, “You need to learn how to analyze your opponent— their tells, fighting style, go-to moves— everything.”

“Yoongi is coaching Joy in this match; the next match, he’ll be coaching me.” Taehyun finally seems to understand as he looks at Sooyoung— or Joy, as you called her, the strange nickname not going unnoticed by him as he furrows his brows at the sound of it. Yoongi coached Jongseong— so did you.

Through this match, he’ll get to take a peek into his opponents mind, no matter how miniscule.

After a minute of discussion, you finally decide to start the first round; Taehyun is oddly anxious as he watches you, your footsteps careful and calculated as you watch Joy, eyes narrowed and dark as you keep your guard up— the said man’s advice runs through your head, knowing you warned him you’d mostly be using his tips as you circle Joy carefully.

Taehyun realizes why Sooyoung is called Joy; he almost feels unnerved looking at her, the carefree smile and relaxed body language entirely enticing, a perfect trap to lure someone into lowering their guard— but Taehyun knows better than to think lowly of anyone you decide to bring in, her light steps and playful jabs enough to tell him that she’s definitely more calculative than she lets on.

Taehyun’s advice gets you a solid punch to the face and a painful kick to the stomach— it hurts like hell and makes you want to fight properly, but the need to allow Taehyun to improve on his own is nagging as you take the injuries and trudge over after the round is over, eyes pointed at him as though to say now what?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Taehyun hisses, annoyed at the way you already seem to be losing— he knows you can fight, yet the results of the round say otherwise as you stare at him expectantly, enough of a reminder that you currently put all strategies into his hands.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs, glancing back at the corner Joy and Yoongi currently converse in, “It’s clear that she enjoys taunting you. A lot.”

Taehyun seems to be talking more to himself than anything, thinking back to what he saw as he continues rambling, “But she seems to have this tell— every time she’s going to strike, she smiles a bit— which is fucking creepy— it’s barely there but I’ve noticed it, especially in her eyes.”

His comments have you both impressed and amused; it had taken you quite some time to figure out Joy’s tell when you first met her, so to watch as Taehyun thoroughly breaks down her fighting style is enough to have you listening to him intently.

“I think she’s aware of it too, because her rear hand always comes a little closer to her face when she does it—” the one-minute timer is up as Yoongi calls you back to the center of the ring, and you’re looking at Taehyun expectantly for one last comment— with his train of thought interrupted, he stumbles over his words, giving up after a moment before he’s waving you off.

“Just watch her tells. Oh, and avoid her kicks, that looked like it hurt.”

The way you scoff mockingly isn’t lost on Taehyun— but before he can call you out on it, you’re off, the next round starting as Taehyun watches you carefully.

Joy’s tell has become much more obvious to him; it only takes a moment, but he’s able to see every small habit and go-to that Joy has, his mind racing with strategies as he quickly realizes you’re doing the same. Joy is a predictable fighter to you— granted, she was your sparring partner for years— and with Taehyun’s new discovery, you allow yourself to exploit what you know of her and use it to your advantage.

You’re able to turn the match around with ease— Taehyun isn’t able to fight the way his eyes slowly begin to stray, away from Joy and to you, observing the way you remain focused, your moves precise and strong as he even finds himself wincing at times.

After a moment, Taehyun realizes that he’s seeing you in a new light— literally and figuratively, the spotlights suddenly turned on as someone new walks in— it highlights your features perfectly, and Taehyun is able to see your expression crystal clear, watching as your focus is shattered and you’re looking over at the entrance; the small moment of distraction costs you greatly, and Joy is able to land a punch straight to your nose before you’re falling down.

You’re placed into a tight chokehold seconds after, still disoriented from the punch as you reluctantly tap out— gasping for air, you’re quickly turning back to the entrance, glaring daggers at Jungkook, who simply smiles at you sheepishly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, cheeks reddening slightly from the sudden attention, “we’re just getting ready to open soon— you looked really cool though, ___.”

A moment passes before you’re laughing softly at his comment— Taehyun can’t help but wonder what might be going on between you two as Joy pulls you up, calling an early end to the match before you’re both exiting the cage.

“That was super fun,” Sooyoung hums, watching as you can only agree reluctantly; she coos at your disgruntled state, patting your head and laughing cutely as she apologizes for her harsh blows; turning to Taehyun, her smile widens, and Taehyun is impressed to find a bruise forming on her jawline as she speaks.

“___ told me you figured out my tells,” she pouts, her tone playful as she crosses her arms, “I seriously thought I finally got past those. Well done.”

Taehyun feels oddly embarrassed as he nods.

“Let’s continue where we left off tomorrow,” you say, glancing over to where Jungkook busies himself at the bar, ignoring the way all of you seem to observe him for a second before you continue, “Looks like you’re not that useless after all.”

“I think he’ll be okay!” Sooyoung says, a bright smile on her face as she looks at Taehyun happily, “I mean, if you keep going the way you are, you’ll definitely survive!”

The way you and Yoongi snicker makes Taehyun’s jaw clench, rolling his eyes at the way they all constantly patronize him— his lack of response is enough to have Sooyoung apologizing softly, saying that she just loves to tease.

“We should go,” you say, throwing your jacket back on and zipping it up all the way, “they’re opening soon, and I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t wanna be in a place like this any longer.”

Yoongi and Sooyoung agree— they mumble something along the lines of “brings back too many memories,” the words making Taehyun raise a brow as he begins to wonder just how many people you knew from that club.

Taehyun feels awkward as he watches them leave— it’s just you and him, and he’s forced to stand around awkwardly as he watches you gather your things, reluctant to leave you for reasons he can’t seem to think of.

“___, you’re not staying?” Jungkook’s soft pout is a stark contrast to the rest of him, decked in full black and piercings that shine under the lights— Taehyun wonders if the bartender is secretly a fighter as well, the muscle that bulges from his arm not remotely subtle, even under the sleeves of his shirt.

“Nah, I’m too tired. I took a good beating ‘cause of you,'' you say, watching as Jungkook only smiles sheepishly. Your body feels sore and you’re more than ready to go home and rest, but the way Jungkook continues to give you puppy eyes suggests that you might have to fight him off too.

“I can patch you up,” he says, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way he flutters his eyes at you, “I haven’t seen you in so long— you’re never at the restaurant, you know.”

“Well, I am kinda busy,” you say, nodding softly at Taehyun who, to your surprise, is still at your side.

Jungkook remains silent for a second. His eyes leave yours as they inspect Taehyun, analyzing the man who simply huffs and crosses his arms in annoyance. Meeting his eyes, Taehyun refuses to back down, raising a brow as he waits for Jungkook to say something to him.

“Aren’t you tired of being around him all the time?” Jungkook finally speaks, clearly set on ignoring Taehyun as he turns back to you— his smile is seemingly innocent as he leans against the counter, ignoring his duties as he continues to try to get you to stay, “I can bet you I’m more fun to be around than him.”

“Noona,” Taehyun says, his voice stern and clear as speaks. This time, you both turn to him; your shock is clear on your face, eyes wide and confused as your brows knit together, wondering where the sudden formality appeared from.

“We should go. This place is opening soon,” he says, watching as your mouth opens in an attempt to respond— though you can’t seem to figure out what to say, and Taehyun is quick to roll his eyes and go ahead— with one last glance at Jungkook, you bid him goodbye, feeling oddly tense as you follow Taehyun outside.

“Shit,” he hears you say, though he doesn’t pay any mind to it as he stands outside— the smell of rain lingers in the air, the city alight and busy even after dark hours— from behind him, he can still hear you mumbling to yourself, your words incoherent and irritated to his ears.

“You know, if you wanted to stay with that guy you could’ve—“ he’s stopped short by the sight of you, brows furrowed together and a sleeve pressed firmly to your nose as you curse under your breath— though the blood that ran out of your nose still clings to your chin, and you have yet to wipe it off as you continue to complain about the issue quietly, digging in your bag as you ignore Taehyun.

“Hey, you don’t happen to have tissues, do you—?”

The answer is a definite no. Taehyun can feel himself acting on impulse— maybe it was because the sight made him cringe, or maybe he was looking out for your safety— but next thing he knows, he’s tugging you along, away from the hidden building and straight to the convenience store a block away.

“Wait, where are we even going?” You ask, unable to put up much of a fight as you focus on keeping the bleeding under control. Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you attempt to tug your arm out of his grip, all you get in response is the feeling of his fingers tightening around you.

“Tissues,” Taehyun mumbles, tugging you into the store without a second thought.

You feel oddly awkward around him— you’re not used to seeing him like this— he’s quiet, serious and not the same person that’s always trying to piss you off with some ridiculous comment. Instead, he’s oddly tentative, and you find yourself sitting at the table placed outside as you watch him rummage through the bag, pulling out one thing after another as you sit there, pressing the tissue he gave you a bit firmer to your nose.

“This wasn’t necessary, you know,” you say quietly, eyes narrowing as you observe him carefully— despite your constant reassurance that you didn’t want him to spend on you, you currently watch him eat his instant noodles in silence, your own still covered up and warm while the two of you wait for your nose bleed to die down— though you pretend otherwise, you notice the way he glances at you every other second to see how you’re doing, offering to pour you a bit of soju that you decline with a soft scoff.

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he comments, his words muffled through a mouthful of noodles— he ignores your scolding to not talk with his mouth full, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you only get a roll of his eyes in return.

“Yeah…. thanks,” you mutter, barely audible as you take the tissue away from your nose slowly— Taehyun is mid-bite as he freezes, eyes darting up to observe you— and you smile slightly, relieved to feel that your nose bleed is finally gone.

“Ugh, that was so annoying,” you grumble, wiping at your face for any blood that’s still there; you’re fussing quietly to yourself, unable to notice as Taehyun begins to rummage through his plastic bag once more, finally finding his desired item before he throws it at you, the small packet landing right in front of you unceremoniously.

“Here,” is all he says, avoiding any more eye-contact as he goes back to eating, the ramen disappearing within seconds from how quickly he eats.

An odd silence falls between you; the ‘thank you’ you let out is barely audible, your demeanor awkward as you open the packet of wet wipes he tossed at you— he simply nods at you in response, and you find yourself feeling tense as you watch him sit back in his seat, shameless in the way he stares you down, clear in thought as he presses his lips together.

“Back at the club,” you begin awkwardly, folding the wet tissue in your hands as you speak, “you called me “noona”— the hell was that about? You’re not one for formalities.”

“But you’re older, aren’t you?” Taehyun says, oddly unfazed by your sudden line of questioning, “Thought I might as well start, if we’re spending so much time together.”

“Not even Beomgyu calls me that,” you say, bristling at the way he quotes Jungkook— you feel oddly flustered by the sudden title, even more so when Taehyun simply looks up at you after a moment— his eyes are wide and innocent as he observes you, and slowly, he breaks out into a soft smile.

“I’m just being polite,” he says, straightening in his seat as he tilts his head, “Noona.”

“Enough of that,” you bark out, gritting your teeth at the way he only grins at your response, “We need to talk strategy— your fight’s a few days away.”

“Right, right,” Taehyun says, chopsticks circling the inside of his bowl as pauses, thinking back to the man he only got a glimpse of in FightX, “Jongseong— what’s he like?”

The sudden question has you sitting back in your chair, deep in thought as you think back to Jongseong— The Cobra, or the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy that stumbled into Minho’s convenience store by what you thought was an accident.

“Can you teach me how to fight?” He had asked you, eyes wide and innocent as he stared up at you, a mere sixteen-year-old that worked at Minho’s store as a side hustle. You remembered pretending as though you had no idea what he was talking about, laughing off the way his curious gaze drifted over the pain patches on your shoulders and your bruised knuckles.

“Where’s your mother?” You remembered asking, incredulous at the way he refused to leave or buy anything; instead, he insisted that you teach him to fight, gluing his feet to the floor despite the fact that you chose to ignore any questions he had about you and your secret hobbies.

“Don’t know,” he admitted casually, and it wasn’t until then that you noticed his roughed up appearance, his face dirtied and bruised, and his hair filled with dirt and twigs, “she doesn’t come home until night time. I’m alone right now.”

“What… happened to your face?” You asked him, leaning on the counter to get a closer look; you remember reaching over to rid his hair of the dirt, watching as he scrunched his face and slapped your hand off in reaction— the sight of him was an eerie mirror of your own before you found Minho, your brows furrowing at the tough front this kid seemed to put up.

“Some stupid kids at my school,” he brushed you off, running a hand through his hair as he felt the dirtiness of it with a wince; looking back at you, he took in your concerned expression, frowning at the sight as he leaned against the counter.

“You know,” he says, raising a brow at the way you study his injuries, “If you’re that worried, why don’t you teach me how to fight?”

His proposition caught your attention— his words were reminiscent of your own, years ago, when you stumbled upon Minho’s small club by accident, a sad attempt to find asylum— and suddenly, you found yourself thinking it through.

“Okay. But just for self-defense.”

“So you practically raised him,” Taehyun says, the very thought of it making you shiver as you shake your head no, your eye twitching at his words, “No? Well, you did train him, right?”

“Well, he trained for a good two years. Yoongi and I trained him for a while since everyone was too busy to deal with another newbie, and Minho…” sighing, you go to open your own instant noodles, now cooled and a bit soggy as you wince slightly at the sight, “Minho had the idea to throw him in the ring after he reached fifteen.”

You still remember his first fight— you remember being strictly against it the moment Minho proposed it, sudden and instant as he quickly escorted Jongseong away from you; you, being freshly out of a match, barely had any energy to fight back properly.

“This isn’t what he wants. This is too dangerous, Minho,” you remembered telling him, trying to reason with him despite the roaring spectators drowning your voice out. You remembered how Jongseong looked under Minho’s arm; small, skittish and tense, his eyes flicking around the cage in attempts to familiarize himself with the layout as Minho’s fingers only dug deeper into his shoulder.

“Of course it’s what he wants,” Minho responded, always quick to leave you helpless with the way he towered over you, a Cheshire smile on his lips as his eyes twinkled with a dangerous delight, “Don’t you remember how you were in your first fight? Could barely throw a punch.”

Before you could argue, Minho continued.

“You know he has potential. What, afraid he’ll steal the spotlight from you and Yoongi?” Jongseong’s eyes flickered to you then— and in that moment, you realized just how long Minho seemed to have prepared him for this moment, the deep breath he took stabilizing him momentarily as Minho leaned down to speak quietly in his ear.

“Do you know how much money you could make from today’s match?” Minho had told Jongseong sweetly, and the two of them looked over to the other side of the cage, where his opponent waited for him, “It’s your first match— but I’ve given you an easy kill, I know you’ll win.”

An easy kill— that was definitely one way to describe Jongseong’s victory. You watched first hand as the fear drained from Jongseong’s face, replaced with a dangerous gaze that you had never seen before; you watched as he threw perfect jabs, calculated and lethal as he landed hook after hook on his opponent.

Even now, you can’t help but feel surprised at how protective you got over him— especially when he was sent flying with a kick to the stomach, crashing against the ground and leaving you tense as you watched the way he didn’t move.

At the memory, you laugh softly— your eyes flicker up to Taehyun’s, your tone grim as you speak.

“That was his winning move.”

His opponent got sloppy— he let his guard down, approaching Jongseong so casually that the punch he got to the jaw was definitely deserved— and though his body crashed to the floor and Jongseong was able to get the higher ground, he didn’t stop.

“He doesn’t care if you’re down. He doesn’t care if he’s won,” you grit out, your appetite lost as you stare down at your cold food, the memory of Jongseong landing hit after hit to his weakened opponent making you frown.

You still remember the look in his eyes as the referee tore him off his opponent; wild and hungry, still lusting for blood as he attempted to shake the authority figure off. Even when his eyes met yours, horrified at the person Jongseong transformed into, he didn’t care, his grin only widening as the referee announced his name, the audience going wild at the way his arm was thrust up in victory.

The spectacle of his lethal fighting style earned him his special nickname; Minho’s triumphant smile left a sick feeling in your stomach, forced to listen to the way the announcers paraded around Jongseong like a killer animal.

After that day, you watched Jongseong grow into the person he is today; cold, calculated, and borderline murderous.

“Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of the kid who came to me looking to learn self-defense,” you chuckle dryly, frowning at the memory, “Then I remember who he’s become, and I can’t help but feel responsible for it.”

“When I met Beomgyu through that god-forsaken club, I was reminded of Jongseong,” the sudden revelation has Taehyun listening intently, leaning in to watch as your eyes drift off to the city around you, foggy and reminiscent as you tell him your story.

“For some reason, I thought that maybe this time, I could prevent him from becoming a monster,” you mutter, leaning your chin into your palm as you sigh, “Though, I don’t think I like this outcome either.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Taehyun quickly interjects, and he flinches slightly at the way your eyes flicker back to meet his, regarding him for a moment before you smile.

“I know. It was yours.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that; he’s not sure if he should, unsure of what he should say or do as you stare him down silently— after a second, you’re breaking out into a soft laugh, tired and broken up as you wince from the feeling of your bruised ribs.

“I’m just fuckin with you,” you say, sitting up at you take in the way Taehyun visibly relaxes, “You didn’t force Beomgyu to do anything. It was all out of his free will.”

“And I kinda know that you lied about the whole thing being your idea.”

Your confession has Taehyun looking like a deer in headlights— it’s enough to make you laugh, easing the tense mood as he asks you how you knew.

“I had my suspicions from the very beginning,” you say, pausing for a second before you add cheekily, “And, Beomgyu told me.”

“Ah,” he mumbles, biting his lip as he tries to smile at you, “Sorry I lied.”

“Don’t be. It’s interesting that you chose to cover for him,” you say, returning the awkward smile as you add, “I should be the one sorry. For slapping the shit out of you.”

The two of you laugh— though, it’s a bit tense, and a silence falls between you two after.

“You… met Beomgyu? At that club?” He asks after a moment, watching the way you nod without hesitation.

“Yeah. He was sixteen, I made sure to kick him out and warn him once I saw how his worried mother came looking for him. And it worked, for like two years. Then…”

“Then Jin’s club opened.”

You raise a brow at his words, pausing in surprise before you’re nodding slowly.

“Yeah, then Seokjin’s club opened,” you repeat slowly, frowning at the way he already knew, “Beomgyu found himself involved there, and it wasn’t long before his mother came to FightX looking for him. Jin’s club wasn’t as shady— I mean, compared to FightX, that place was like a church. I knew I didn’t have much to worry about, but I still decided to train him for a while… just to be safe.”

Taehyun sees the way your eyes are filled with nostalgia, a soft smile forming on your face from the memories.

“That’s kinda how I ended up where I am now. I could only drag Beomgyu back to his house so many times before his mother started treating me like family too,” meeting Taehyun’s gaze, you’re surprised to see him listening to you intently— it has you tensing slightly, not realizing how much you’ve revealed about yourself until now.

“So,” you start, clearing your throat awkwardly from the way Taehyun’s gaze sears into you intensely, “What’s your story? How’d you end up in this scene?”

“Oh, it’s nothing interesting,” Taehyun waves you off, though you refuse to be the only one delving into their personal life as you press Taehyun for details, “Seriously, it’s pretty normal.”

“Well, tell me anyways,” you say softly, tilting your head as you send Taehyun a challenging look, “Might as well get to know each other, if we’re spending so much time together.”

The way he laughs softly at your mocking comment is slightly contagious— and though you pretend otherwise, you notice the bittersweet look on his face as he reaches for the bottle of soju, pouring himself a shot for the first time in a while before he offers you one; with a slight laugh, you accept it.

“I got into mma with a friend of mine— gave me lessons, sparred with each other, all that fancy stuff. We were really close, and getting into this hobby together only made us closer,” he laughed softly at his words, his mind filled with memories as he stared down at the table, “And now… Well. He’s not around anymore. Passed away less than a year ago.”

You frown softly at the way he pours himself another shot— the grief on his face is still fresh, you realize, his gaze hardening as he places the shot cup back down.

“Without him, I felt… lost. I didn’t really know what to do with myself— after a while, I mostly felt angry.” His finger traces around the rim of the cup, slow and steady as he takes a moment to pause, “I hated that feeling. So, I tried finding the next best outlet, and found a few underground clubs. That’s how I met Beomgyu.”

The air is tense from his story; you’ve never been the best at comforting, so you find yourself unsure of what to do. After a moment, Taehyun laughs, taking in your tense expression with amusement, and it’s only then that your eyes fall onto the dimple that digs into his cheeks cutely.

“God, I’m sure he’d go nuts if he knew the shit I got myself into,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head, “I’m not sure if he’d want to stop the fight or get front row seats— hell, probably the latter.”

Taehyun is quick to pick up on the glint of amusement in your eyes— he’s just as quick to reach for the soju bottle and pour the two of you another shot, the air much lighter than it was a moment ago as you watch him give you a bright smile, the sight unusual for you as you find yourself giving him an unsure one in return.

“We only have three days left,” Taehyun says, bringing his glass up, watching the way you shake your head in amusement, “Let’s keep up the hard work, noona.”

“Don’t call me that.” You grimace, clinking your glass with his before you’re both downing the liquid—though you can’t help the slight smile that tugs at your lips in amusement, watching as Taehyun slowly becomes more open with you as you let him finish the bottle— I have to drive, idiot, you told him with a sneer, pushing the bottle back to him when he pouted that he shouldn’t be drinking alone.

Taehyun is oddly light—and lightweight— though, not light enough for you to be tugging along back to your car, grimacing at the way he stumbles and knocks into you drunkenly.

“Noona,” he said to you, his words slow as he smiled at the way you snapped at him to not call you that, “Noona, you think I’ll win?”

“Fuck, I hope so,” you grumble, finding your car in the now-filled abandoned parking lot that was close to Jin’s, “It would be a huge fucking waste of time if you didn’t.”

“Okay then,” Taehyun pouts, pushing you away from him and walking off to his own car, only for you to tug him back to your own as you tell him he shouldn’t drive like this, “Why would I wanna be stuck in the car with someone who acts like such a bitch?”

“I act like a bitch because I care,” you bark, opening the car door and shoving him carelessly, only to watch as he turns back to look at you with that same, stupid, patronizing smile.

“If you say so,” he says, his cheeks a bit flushed as he leans back towards you, “Nooooo...na.”

Your reaction is immediate— he feels as though the punch you land on his arm is enough to sober him, rubbing the sore area with a drunken pout.

“Get in the damn car.”

⊹⊹⊹

You currently stand outside FightX. There’s an hour left before the match.

You pace around in worry, unable to stand still as you hear the ruckus of the club and it’s awaiting patrons inside. Your brows are knitted in a deep frown and you can’t fight the way you bite your lip anxiously as you walk around in restless circles, over and over as you’re left in deep thought.

“Stop that, you’re making me dizzy,” a voice calls out, snapping you out of your daze as you watch Taehyun walk up with a leisurely smile on his face— the sight is almost unnerving, his mood a complete opposite from yours as you watch him adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder, taking a moment before he’s standing before you.

“Aren’t you nervous?” You ask, watching as he simply shakes his head without hesitation, “you’d be stupid not to be— although, that does make sense…”

“Hey,” he says, lips pressed into a line as he frowns at you, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t degrade me before the match. You’re messing up my concentration.”

“Right. Of course,” you huff out, looking away and missing the way that Taehyun smiles, taking in your jittery figure with amusement— his expression is immediately dropping the moment you look back at him, and he’s mentally cursing at himself for suddenly being so weird.

“Are you gonna make me workout before the match or something? Why are we here so early?” He asks, tilting his head and taking in your attire slowly; it’s not what you wear when you train him, but it’s still light and athletic as he raises a brow at your apparel, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear my energy out just yet.”

“I’m not making you do anything, I just needed you to be here so you could get into the right mindset.” you say, and your response is enough to leave Taehyun silent as he stares at you; it’s odd, and you find yourself unnerved by his analytic stare. “What? What’s wrong with you now?”

“Are you worried?” He asks, his question sudden as he takes a step toward you— startled, you try your best to remain unfazed, resisting the urge to take a step back as you take in his sudden proximity.

“Worried? About what?” You say, your responses much too curt to seem natural; mentally, you’re cursing at yourself for feeling so odd, unable to hide what you’re thinking as well as you usually are— especially under Taehyun’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Worried…. That I’ll lose?” He says, leaning in slightly to get a better look at your face; you refuse to pull away, looking into his eyes and keeping your expresion blank despite how close he is— his scent is invading your senses, oddly alluring as you finally get a good look at the man before you, “Or… no.”

Another pause. You don’t know what Taehyun might say next, but judging by the way his lips twitch with the hint of a smile, you know you won’t like it.

“Maybe… worried I’ll get hurt?”

Your eye twitches.

“Hmm. Okay,” he says, quick to catch your small reaction as he backs away, a smug smile on his face— you frown, wondering what he might be insinuating as you send him an incredulous look.

“Okay? Okay what?” You say, watching as Taehyun chooses to remain silent— his sudden refusal to speak to you has you far more annoyed than you’d like, slapping his arm and telling him to look at you, irked by the way he deliberately ignores your request and looks around in wonder, “Okay what? Of course I’m concerned!”

Your sudden confession has Taehyun’s gaze snapping back to yours.

“If The Cobra takes you out, we lose. And if we lose,” you pause, taking in Taehyun’s expression— he’s bewildered, mouth slightly parted as he listens to your irritated words— “If we lose… seriously, will you stop looking at me like that?”

“If we lose…” he repeats slowly, and your frown only deepens in response, “You said we.”

“Yeah…?”

“You’re… coaching me?”

“No, I’m getting front row seats and betting against you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and smacking Taehyun’s bicep in annoyance, “Yes, I’m coaching you. Wouldn’t be here wasting my time if I wasn’t.”

The way Taehyun’s eyes are sparkling under the lights is slightly creepy— you don’t think you’ve even seen such a genuine expression on him before, and you can only take a step back in uncertainty as Taehyun smiles at you; a genuine, soft smile.

“Right, it’s just…” he pauses, clearing his throat before he’s reaching towards you to return the hit you gave him moments ago— though it’s a bit stiff, and you’re raising a brow at the action as you watch Taehyun carefully, “Haven’t had a coach in a while.”

Oh.

You’re sure the thought shows on your face, the reminder of Taehyun’s past life coming back to the forefront of your mind with a slight pang of guilt— though Taehyun doesn’t let you dwell on it, making fun of your face and prodding at you with enough annoying comments that you have to meditating to not slap the shit out of him.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll beat you before your match even starts,” you hiss, your threat enough of an incentive to get him off your back, “Yoongi and Sooyoung are coming as well. We’ll wait for them before we go in.”

“Are they really?” Taehyun asks, and you simply nod in response— the thought of Sooyoung watching him fight wasn’t exactly pleasant, and he finds himself thinking back to the nickname you gave her in the ring, “Joy… what an odd name. Did you ever get a title back here? I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”

“Because I didn’t have one,” you huff, rolling your eyes at the way he seems surprised by that, “My name was enough intimidation for them.”

Wowww, Taehyun cooed, the patronizing gesture enough to have you reaching to smack him on instinct— though it seems as though your move was too predictable for him, flinching out of the way with ease and continuing to send you that stupid smug smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to try and provoke you.

“If you two are done with this weird tension, we’d like to go in now,” the look Yoongi sends you is enough to have your face heating up with embarrassment, unsure of what he might mean with his words as you shake your head in annoyance— grabbing Taehyun’s elbow, you lead him down the steps, watching as Yoongi and Sooyoung follow behind with teasing eyes.

“Yoongi, did you have to bring your men along? It’s already crowded enough in there as it is,” you groan, your head beginning to ache at the sight of the packed club— Yoongi simply scoffs, telling you better safe than sorry as he gestures for the two of you to go inside.

“Go find Minho,” Yoongi nudges you, and you nod firmly at his words, “Make sure to let him know we are also here.”

If you insist, you mumble, ready to go off before you feel Sooyoung grab onto your elbow, tugging you back to get your attention— the moment your eyes meet, she sends you a bright smile, pairing it with a thumbs up as she squeezes your arm in reassurance.

“You got this!” She says, letting you go and watching as you weave through the crowd with Taehyun in tow.

“You think we’ll win?” Yoongi mutters in Sooyoung’s ear, watching the way her smile tenses a bit.

“I prayed a little yesterday.”

⊹⊹⊹

“…from what I remember, he’s very straightforward; very serious— spends a good couple of minutes gauging what kind of fighter you are before he strikes. I need you to be careful during this match, okay? Fight with your brain, not just your fists.”

You’ve been talking Taehyun’s ear off for an impressively long time. Taehyun didn’t think it was possible to see you like this, restless and fidgety as you followed him into the locker to give him a pep talk. There was ten minutes left before the fight.

“Relax, I got this,” Taehyun says, and he’s greeted with an unamused look of yours in return, “I didn’t watch you and Joy beat the hell out of each other for nothing, you know.”

The mention of your matches with Sooyoung is enough to have you cringing; while it was good for Taehyun to get a grasp of what you and Yoongi might’ve taught Jongseong and vice-versa, it wasn’t as good to leave sore after each training day you spent with him.

“Can’t believe I did that,” you mutter to yourself, leaning against the lockers behind you in dismay. Though by the way you can hear Taehyun laugh at you mockingly, you know he picked up on it as well.

“You care more than you let on, noona,” he smiles, your eye twitching at the name; you have yet to get used to this sudden formality, and Taehyun is clearly taking advantage of it, judging by the way his smile only widens with your every reaction.

“Noona?” The source of the voice is from someone you’d never forget; both you and Taehyun are looking over at the entrance in an instant, and you can feel your eyes widen as you take in the way Jongseong stands there, much more grown than the last time you saw him.

“Oh. Hi,” you grit out awkwardly, cringing at how tense you sound.

“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” He asks, walking toward you without hesitation; his hair is black and slicked back neatly, a stark contrast to the messy brown hair he could never bother to style when he was younger, “it’s been three years, you disappeared without a trace!”

You’re not sure what he’s going to do as he approaches you in a hurry— hug you, maybe— because he pauses, taking in the sight of Taehyun sitting in front of you, his eyes narrowing as he takes a moment to take the man in.

“You’re…” he pauses, brows furrowing as he goes deep in thought for a second, “Taehyun.”

Taehyun’s name falls from his lips with pure disdain; Jongseong is looking between you and him, his face dropping with disappointment as everything begins to click together in his mind.

“I was hoping Minho was lying,” Jongseong mutters, taking a step back from you as he meets your eyes; he no longer holds the same, wide and nostalgic gaze that greeted you when you first saw him. Instead, it’s cold and scathing, a reflection of the dangerous man you’re preparing Taehyun to face in the ring.

“You’re coaching him, then?” He asks, and all you can do is nod as you take in the anger in his eyes, wondering what lies Minho has been feeding him to look at Taehyun with such hatred, “I see.”

He’s backing away from you. You feel as though you’re losing him all over again as you watch his eyes turn to you, filled with nothing but restless anger as he sends you a vicious smile.

“Try not to lose another one, noona,” he says, feigning a pout as he takes in the way your jaw clenches at his words. His eyes flicker over to Taehyun, pleased to find that his jab seems to have affected him, as well, “Good luck. You’ll definitely need it.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, waving you off before he’s out of sight. It’s quiet, and you’re unsure of what to say now that it’s just the two of you. Sighing, you look back at Taehyun, only to see that his eyes were already on you.

You gulp.

Taehyun has never looked this angry; his jaw is clenched and his brows are furrowed as he leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs as he jerks his head side to side— the cracks of his neck have you wincing, though you don’t think he cares, his lips pressing together for a moment before he breaks out into a breathy laugh.

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a smile spreading across his face, fangs dangerous as he bites his lip in a failed attempt to suppress it.

“I can’t wait to fuck him up.”

⊹⊹⊹

The place is packed.

It’s deafening as you make your way to the cage, Taehyun stuck to your side as the patrons make a path for you; you try not to tense at the feeling of Taehyun’s hand on your waist, pulling you in and keeping you away from the men that stare at you with a disgusting hunger.

Their excitement is deafening. It makes your head pound and your concentration waver, jolting into Taehyun from the way people try to reach out for you— the call of your name by old regulars isn’t lost on you, but you try to grit your teeth and ignore it.

“They’re here for you,” Taehyun muses quietly, leaning into you so you can hear him. You scoff, shaking your head as you finally reach the cage’s entrance; Jongseong is already inside, waiting.

“They’re here for you,” you say, watching as Taehyun unzips his jacket and hands it to you; he grins at that, and you’re scolding him to put in his mouthpiece so he can’t come up with a stupid comeback.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” you grin, watching as Taehyun can only shake his head in amusement. Your eyes flicker back to where Jeongseong stands, chatting idly with his own coach— your expression turns grim at the sight of Minho giving him tips with a bright smile.

Your hands are warm as you reach out to Taehyun; grabbing both sides of his face, cradling his jaw as you’re pulling him in towards you boldly— he’s slightly caught off guard by your action, eyes widening as he’s forced to remain silently and stare at you stupidly.

“Light on your feet. Be calm. Preserve your energy,” you say to him, repeating all the tips you’ve given him through three curt sentences. He nods, and you nod along with him, slightly amused at the sight of him.

“You got this. I believe in you.”

You’re pushing him into the cage after that.

The floor is scuffed and old. It’s nothing in comparison to Jin’s pristine cage, and Taehyun is finally beginning to take it all in as he looks out, the club packed and rowdy as he scans through the crowd; he spots Yoongi and Sooyoung, the two giving him a nod and a thumbs up the moment their eyes meet.

“Tonight’s match looks quite interesting,” a voice booms out, and Taehyun looks over to the commentator’s table, able to recognize the two faces that beam back at him in excitement— Taemin and Kibum, if he remembers right.

“Not only is it winner-takes-all, but we also seem to have a legend in our midst— if not, two,” Taemin’s smile is ear to ear as the crowd grows louder, and Taehyun is able to spot you shrinking slightly from the sudden attention.

“The king and queen of FightX— sound familiar?” If the crowd’s reaction is any indication of their answer, then Taehyun would say yes. Kibum’s laugh echoes around the cage, and Taehyun feels overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

“Not only that, but apparently she’s coaching this guy too!” Taemin and Kibum are off in their own world as they chatter, and Taehyun can’t help but wonder when the theatrics will end and the match will start.

“Minho even seems to have stepped up for today— the best of the best, hmm?”

Minho is more than willing to indulge in all the fanfare; in the ring, Jongseong only rolls his eyes, clearly as impatient as Taehyun.

“Oooh, now now, we should probably stop,” Kibum grins, nudging Taemin playfully, “It looks like our fighters are getting restless.”

“Right, we should probably get on with it,” Taemin agrees, though the way they both continue to talk says otherwise, “This is what you all came to see, right?!”

More cheers.

Taehyun has begun drowning everyone out at this point. Even when the referee steps inside and gestures for the two to come to him, he can’t bring himself to listen. Instead, he focuses, his eyes never straying from the man before him.

The Cobra seems to be just as concentrated as him. His gaze is dangerous and he’s restless as he shifts in front of Taehyun, lips twitching into a smile as the referee asks them to be courteous, to touch gloves.

Neither of them move.

Three rounds, he hears the referee remind them— then he’s stepping back, gauging their reactions before the loud bell rings out, signaling that the fight has begun.

Jongseong moves immediately— but he doesn’t strike, and Taehyun’s eyes narrow at the way he remains in a low stance, swaying slightly as he remains on guard; his constant movement makes it difficult for Taehyun to hit him, and he’s left unamused at the way Jongseong seems to taunt and bluff with a mocking smile.

He throws out meaningless jabs, not bothering to hit him properly as he continues to grin and mess around. This behavior is a strong contrast to the characteristics you warned him of; He keeps his fists close to his face, a complete opposite of Jongseong, who’s body remains relaxed.

Usually, Taehyun would see this as a weakness; he’s left unguarded, goading the audience that only seems to yell at Taehyun to do something— to take the bait. If anything, the way Jongseong smiles through his mouthpiece is enough to remind him of Sooyoung; confident, skilled, quick and agile enough that he can afford to keep his body open as a bluff.

Taehyun throws a left hook as a test. Immediately, Jongseong is jumping back, dodging it and putting his hands up with such speed that Taehyun could’ve missed it if he blinked. Jongseong’s eyes narrow, and it seems as though he’s realized that Taehyun has caught on to his show tactics.

There’s no room to play around anymore. Jongseong seems to have thrown out any tactics to bait Taehyun, choosing to throw punch after punch instead, a slight form of bait on its own.

Taehyun could fight back. He could retaliate to the blows on his forearms and sides, could try to land a few kicks on the man before him and try to injure him. But he would also waste all his energy in the first round, potentially leaving him vulnerable to The Cobra’s attacks in later rounds. It’s clear that’s what he wants— Taehyun throws a punch here and there to make it seem as though he’s falling into the trap, but your words to preserve his energy ring out in his head all the while.

The action to remain on defense makes Taehyun look like a coward. But he doesn’t really mind, especially with the way Jongseong grows cocky, a confident smile broad on his face as he lets his guard down slightly, laughing along to the scathing comments the audience throws at him.

His rear hand falters for a second. And in that second, Taehyun is able to deliver a right hook, his padded fist colliding with Jongseong’s jaw and sending him stumbling off, the people roaring and drowning out the sound of the commentator’s ramblings.

One minute on the clock, will he be able to get another hit in?! Taehyun is effortless to drown out Kibum’s cries, stepping back the moment Jeongseong is back on his feet— for a moment, the two circle each other, and Taehyun can see the way his opponent’s eyes scan him, mind rapidly thinking of a way to counter his most recent blow.

Kibum is audibly disappointed at the sound of the first round ending. How uneventful, he mourns, and Taehyun is happy to see that you’ve made it into the cage, Minho trailing behind you as you both get a minute to talk.

“Fuck, good job, that was a good hit,” you immediately say, grabbing Taehyun’s wrist and dragging him to your corner. His mouth is sore as he takes his mouthpiece out, taking slow drinks of the water bottle you hand him as he listens to you.

“He’s a lot more different now. Still agile, but it looks like he likes playing with his food now,” you say, wiping off the sweet that’s gathered on Taehyun’s skin gently; he feels oddly tense at the action, your tender gesture making his heart beat a little faster as he wonders instead if he’s finally beginning to get nervous from the match.

“He definitely knows you’re not one to play with now, but it’s still good to feed into it sometimes,” you pause, your hand stilling on his chest, the thin towel the only barrier between you as you look up at him sternly, “I know I said to preserve more energy, but get more hits out. He has really good stamina.”

Taehyun tries to sear your words into his head as the referee calls for them to get ready for the next round, the two of you exchanging a reassuring look before you’re off.

Like last time, Jongseong doesn’t seem too keen on being friendly before the match.

Taehyun takes your advice quite seriously— though Jongseong is also able to get more hits on him this way, his bottom lip cracking open after a particularly rough punch. Jongseong, Taehyun realizes, mostly fights with his upper body. He’s quick on his feet and dodges hits easily, but Taehyun has yet to be pinned down or hit with a kick— he tries to keep this knowledge to himself, the next five minutes uneventful as the round ends without any memorable hits.

Could it be that The Cobra has met his match? Taemin mused into the mic, grinning at the way the crowd only booed in response. Ignore that, you muttered in his ear, rolling your eyes at the way the two commentators were still just as annoying as you remembered.

“He only punches,” Taehyun comments, his brows furrowing as he looks over to Jongseong’s corner, “No kicks, clinches, anything. It’s odd.”

“Because he’s saving it for the last round,” you tell him, reaching up to brush the hair from his forehead— you’re serious, trying your best to hide the worry on your face as you warn him, “I’m telling you— he likes to play with his food. Be extra careful, I’m sure he’ll try pulling something new on you.”

The referee calls the break to an end. Pressing your lips together, and you’re nodding as you step back to leave.

“Go all in now. Everything you got, now’s the time to use it.”

The way Minho laughs as you meet him at the cage entrance has you scoffing; Taehyun can see the older man talking to you, though he’s unable to try and see what he’s saying as the referee calls the fighters to the center.

“Last round,” he reminds, placing a hand on both their shoulders, “Clean, fair fight, okay?”

Jongseong nods— then, he reaches forward, offering his gloves to Taehyun.

The slight twitch of his lips is mischievous. Slowly, Taehyun does the same; their gloves touch softly, the commentators quick to point it out as the match begins.

Jeongseong throws a punch instantly.

It’s like a switch has been flipped in his mind. His eyes are filled with eager bloodlust and alight with adrenaline, throwing hit after hit at Taehyun with no signs of stopping. All Taehyun can do is defend himself, unable to get an opening as he’s forced to take the blows Jongseong delivers.

Taehyun thinks he might have an opening the moment the man backs up, hands going down and leaving him unguarded for a second— but as Taehyun throws out a punch, he’s met with a harsh kick to his side, shocking him and knocking him off balance as Jongseong quickly uses it to his advantage.

He’s disoriented with how quickly Jongseong wraps around him; limbs tangled, arms around his neck in such a strong chokehold that Taehyun can already feel his head pounding. Is he gonna tap out? He can hear the commentators asking, forcing him to grit his teeth and throw punches at Jeongseong’s head and sides in an attempt to throw him off.

It seems to work; he’s somehow landed a punch directly to his nose, and the man behind him is stunted by the blow, his hold faltering and giving Taehyun the opening he needed to escape.

Quick to get up, Taehyun slowly catches his breath. Two minutes on the clock! He hears them yell. Jongseong has yet to get up, the blood dripping from his nose making his eyes widen in shock, watching as he struggles to stumble to his feet, still disoriented from the blow.

Jongseong’s eyes meet Taehyun’s; he’s tired, a panting mess and reflection of him as he slowly makes his way to Taehyun, stumbling slightly and heavy on his feet as he winces— an easy finish. For a second, Taehyun can feel himself relax, the tension in his body releasing as he watches Jongseong carefully.

Jongseong takes in Taehyun’s shift instantly— Taehyun is jumping back before he can process it, eyes widening at the way Jongseong aimed a right hook for him, the swing of his arm ripping through the air as he stumbles slightly from the lack of impact.

Then, he’s knocked back.

Taehyun can barely process the way his body moved with such acute precision, spinning and twisting just as you taught him as he lands with no problem, the feeling of him colliding right into Jongseong oddly instinctual; he watches as the man jolts from the impact, his body stiffening and his eyes rolling back as he can only fall from the impact to his body— to his head.

The sound of his body colliding against the floor is loud, Jongseong’s face blank as he simply lays there, eyelids flickering and mind swimming in and out of consciousness as the referee runs to him.

After a moment, the winner is declared.

Taehyun is unable to process anything— the sounds of the audience roaring, the feeling of his arm being thrust into the air, the sight of Jongseong lying on the ground still— he doesn’t process anything, eyes drifting around and looking for one thing like habit.

There you are, face alight with joy as you cheer furiously.

Taehyun laughs slightly— it’s a bit pained, and he winces at the feeling of his sore body, the referee finally letting go of his hand as he stumbles out towards the exit, and straight towards you, pulling his mouth guard out with a wince.

“You did it!” You grin, your voice clear as day, even through the bewildered chatter of the rest as you wave him over. “Fuck, you really did it!”

Taehyun thinks you might hit him again, like you always do; instead, he feels you grab his face, your own alight with euphoria as you tug him into you and crash your lips against his— he barely has enough time to process things before you’re pulling away, your expression sobering as you take in what you just did.

“Hey!” Yoongi calls out, attempting to weave through the crowd as you turn around to the source of the distraction, “Find Minho, make sure he doesn’t try to slip away!”

“Right,” you respond, turning back to look at Taehyun— he’s left frozen and bewildered as he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as you feel a heat rush to your face.

He attempts to call after you, but you’re slipping away before he can get you to stay.

He can still feel the ghost of your lips against his.

⊹⊹⊹

“You guys are insane,” Beomgyu huffs, laying back in his bed with a slight wince, “My mother would be mortified if she found out what you did to get this money.”

“It’s a shame we had to get it at all,” you say, glaring at Beomgyu and watching as he shrinks under your gaze, muttering a quiet sorry, sorry in response. Sighing, you shake your head, taking in Beomgyu’s condition with a smile, “you know, after all these expenses, I think we might just have a bit left over.”

“We could go on a trip,” Beomgyu says without hesitation, and you shake your head in amusement.

“Focus on getting better first,” you scold, smiling at the way Beomgyu lets out a yes ma’am! In response, “I need to go. Visiting hours are over.”

“I’m supposed to get discharged in two days, don’t forget me!” He calls out, and you choose to ignore it as you exit, stopping in your tracks as you close the door behind you softly.

The last thing you expected was to see Taehyun waiting for you, patched up and changed as he leaned against the wall.

“Hey,” you smile, albeit a bit awkward— he says nothing, and you clear your throat, nodding back to the room behind you nervously, “Visiting hours are over. Uhm, maybe come back tomorrow?”

“I’m not here to see him,” he says, raising a brow at the way you only send him a confused look, “I’m here to see you.”

“And what could you possibly want from me?” Your steps are brisk as you begin to walk back to the exit; Taehyun is just as quick behind you, trying to get your attention to no avail.

“What do you mean what could I possibly want? You’re not one to act stupid, noona,” he says, hot on your trail as you finally make it outside.

You know he’s right— and yet, you feel terribly awkward about it, refusing to look back at him as you begin to wonder where you could have parked, wandering around the quiet lot— you’re a few feet away from your car when Taehyun grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks and turning you around harshly, his eyes angry as he looks at you.

“You kissed me.”

“What?” You say, trying to shake his hold off as you look up at him with shining, innocent eyes, your right one twitching for a second, “What is this, some kind of adrenaline-induced hallucination? Don’t be weird.”

“Hallucination—” he’s in disbelief as he begins cornering you, your back pressing flat against the driver’s door as he practically towers over you, his free hand planted by your head and caging you in, “The way you felt against me felt very real.”

You gulp. This was weird— this was new, something that you definitely had not accounted for, because as you stare at Taehyun, his gaze intense and his face inches away from yours, you can’t help but feel your face heat up.

“It’s— it meant nothing,” you stutter out, heart pounding at the way he very clearly doesn’t believe you, “I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

“It meant nothing?” He whispers, his voice low and breathy as he leans in even closer; your eyes are shutting from how close he is, able to feel his breath fan across your cheeks as he lets out a soft laugh, “If it meant nothing, then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been—”

“I don’t appreciate you lying to me, noona.”

You’re silent. Your breaths are shaky, lips parted as you wait for him to say something.

After a second, his lips press against yours.

For a second, it’s gentle; unsure, waiting for you to pull away and tell him to leave you alone— instead, you let out a breathy sigh, your lips beginning to move against his.

The moment you reciprocate is the moment he loses control. His hands are coming up to your face, cupping your jaw tenderly and tilting your head up to him, his lips needy and messy as he pries your mouth open, tongue prodding at your mouth before he’s pulling away to sink his teeth into your soft lips— the pained whine you let out has his mind reeling.

You’re breathless and dazed by the time he finally pulls away— you think you can feel your knees go weak at the sight of a string of saliva connecting between the two of you, watching as he smiles at you cruelly, his gaze dark and hazed as his thumb runs across your bottom lip fondly.

“I won just for you,” he breathes out, eyes darkening from the way your tongue runs across the pad of his finger mindlessly.

“Don’t you think I deserve a reward for working so hard?”

⊹⊹⊹

Taehyun’s apartment is nice— well, at least you think. You didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at it.

However, you can confidently say that his bed is nice— you practically sink into the soft mattress, the once neatly done sheets beneath you now a mess from the way you’re squirming under Taehyun.

All he’s done is kiss you— yet, you feel so terribly fucked out and needy, unable to keep your hands off him for even a second, your fingers weaved into his hair and tugging as you feel him moan into your mouth.

“Even now you’re so fucking mean,” he hisses, feeling the way your nails rake down his back; leaving a red trail against his skin, his shirt discarded long ago as he currently worked to get you to do the same. “Shit, I just got out of a match, noona.”

“Shit, you’re right,” you pant, and Taehyun frowns above you as you begin to pull away, “poor baby is too hurt to fuck—”

“I didn’t say that,” he groans, and you’re surprised by the way he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you back down into the mattress firmly. He takes this moment to tug your shirt up, throwing it in some random direction before he’s smiling at the sight of you, “Fuck, you have such a smart mouth.”

“Guess it rubbed off,” you say, your words wavering pathetically mid-way, all from the feeling of Taehyun biting and sucking at your neck ruthlessly while his hands came up to feel your breasts, slipping under the fabric and circling your nipples teasingly.

“Yeah? I taught you that?” He asks, nipping at your skin and taking off your bra with swift hands, “Maybe I should teach you how to be good for me then.”

You’re unable to gather your thoughts and bite back— his mouth is sucking at your nipples messily, tongue making a show of it as he groans at the feeling and traces shapes on your skin, too focused on the messy teasing to notice the moment his hand slips past your waistband and cups your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet for me noona,” he sighs, middle finger running up and down your slit teasingly, feeling the way you practically soak through your panties, “This wet for me already?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you grumble, mouth falling open at the way he begins prodding your entrance teasingly, pushing into your hole then going to circle your clit slowly over the fabric.

Taehyun laughs. The way you refuse to submit to him isn’t surprising in the slightest, watching as you refuse to give him reactions with dark eyes, trained carefully onto your face as he feels you get wetter from his motions, taking in what works and what doesn’t simply from the way your face reacts— even if you try to hide it, much to his annoyance.

“What’s wrong noona? Don’t you feel good?” He asks you quietly, his hands already dragging your pants off agonizingly slowly, biting his lip to suppress the smile that threatens to break through, far too amused by this strong front you seem to put up, “I’ll do better then, don’t worry.”

Taehyun is sinking down to his stomach before you can process anything, hands running along your thighs teasingly before they’re hooking under your knees— lifting them up, pressing them against your stomach, able to look down at your glistening pussy with ease.

You’re scrambling to hold on to something the moment he gets his mouth on you— he’s pressing you into the mattress, willing to control the way your hips jump as he presses his tongue flat against your slit, drinking up your wetness and teasing the tip of his tongue along your fluttering hole. The moans you let out are pathetic and embarrassing, your face heating up as you begin to squirm the moment Taehyun wraps his lips around your clit, face buried in your pussy and hair soft tickling against your thighs as he eats you out.

The sounds are enough to make you cover your face— Taehyun is shameless as he eats you out, slurping and sucking and moaning against your cunt loudly— it’s almost as though he were doing it on purpose.

“Taehyun, Taehyun, fuuuck…!” You can’t control your mouth— the sound of his name coming from your lips is enough to make Taehyun moan more against your pussy, cock rutting into the mattress below him as he listens to the sounds you make intently, smiling against your cunt at the sight of you finally breaking under him.

You feel dizzy— the way Taehyun fucks you with his tongue has you whining stupidly, his hand leaving your leg and coming to circle your clit as he continues to fuck you— after a moment, he decides he’s had enough of your squirming under him, his hands reaching to cup your ass before he’s pulling you back into him; your legs are falling over his shoulders, and his face is pressed against your pussy as he grants you no escape.

His grip is bruising on your skin; your thighs close around his head, but he pays no mind to it as he continues to lick at your pussy, gathering your arousal on his tongue before he’s looking back up at you with innocent round eyes, showing it off to you and forcing you to watch as he lets it drip back onto your cunt.

It’s all so messy and overwhelming; you don’t even register the moment you cum on his tongue, your mind going blank and your body relaxing under his hold as he lets you ride out your orgasm, his tongue eager to lick up your release as he lets out soft hums against your cunt.

“Taehyun,” you whimper out weakly, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging at it in order to get him to stop his ministrations— you can hear him complaining to you softly as he refuses to give in, the soft whine of his name only making him want to give you another orgasm— you have to tug harder on his hair to pull him from you, his lips and chin shining with your arousal as he smiles coyly at your reaction; his tongue darts out to lick his lips, wiping at his chin before he’s coming back up to hover over you.

“What happened baby? Just wanted to make you feel good,” He tuts softly, grinning at the way you struggle to come down from your bliss. You don’t seem to realize the moment he’s become completely bare, the feeling of his cock poking at your inner thighs making your snap back to reality, feeling the tip smudge his precum all over your skin as he leans down to kiss you; it’s slow and messy, and he’s eager to push you lips apart and allow you to taste yourself, cradling your jaw as you feel him smile against your lips.

“Why don’t you be quiet for a second? I like you more that way.” the way he frowns at your words has you breaking out into a teasing smile, running your fingers through his hair as you laugh softly— though it quickly falters the moment you feel him rubbing against your slit, his tip running up and down and catching on your clit as your body jolts from the sensation.

“Noona, do you hate me?” He pouts at you, watching as you fail to formulate proper words from the way his tip prods at your entrance, teasingly beginning to stretch you before he pulls out. This continues for a moment, and it’s clear he’s waiting for a response you clearly refuse to give him; frowning, he continues his motions, slowly rutting against your pussy as he looks down at you with sharp eyes, watching as you whine at him to stop teasing— he shakes his head, telling you to answer him, his voice sharp and low as he tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that has you stuttering your response out weakly.

“N—no.”

“Then why are you so mean to me?” He continues, tilting his head as he finally pushes the tip in; he watches your expression carefully, drinking up the way your brows furrow and your eyes become glossy.

“I… your reactions are cute,” you admit, clenching around Taehyun tightly and watching the way he hisses at the feeling.

“Yeah? They’re cute?” He repeats, straightening up and kneeling as he looks down at you. Your fucked out expression could make Taehyun come on the spot, but instead he grabs a hold of your waist, settling in between your legs and pulling you in close to him.

He’s inside you with one swift push; the yelp you let out is embarrassing and you’re quickly slapping a hand over your mouth, eyes fluttering at the sensation of Taehyun fully inside you, thick and twitching wildly. Taehyun takes your hand away immediately; his fingers are lacing with yours, and he’s smiling sweetly as he looks down at you.

“I think your reactions are cute too,” he’s moving after that, his thrusts slow and deep as he waits for you to adjust to his size. You’re holding tightly onto him as moans and whines fall from you, the sounds only fueling Taehyun further as he slowly begins to fuck you faster.

“Feels nice, noona?” He groans, eyes trained on the way your tits bounce with his every thrust. The way you refuse to admit to him how good he’s making you feel has him rolling his eyes, letting go of your hand and gripping your hips before he’s bringing you back into him, bottoming out and rolling his hips slowly into your cunt as he feels the way you tighten around him, his cock taking in every flutter of your walls around him as he lets out pleased sighs.

“What, too embarrassed to admit that it’s me making you feel good?” He asks, biting his lip as he concentrates on not coming too soon from the way you squeeze him, “You didn’t seem embarrassed when you kissed me in front of all those people earlier.”

“It was in the heat of the moment…” you answer back pitifully, unable to hide the way you can barely speak from the way he fucks you.

“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” he hums, and you’re not given room to fight back as he goes back to fucking you— careless, pulling you back into him, enjoying your sounds with a wicked smile, unable to take his eyes off you for a moment.

The moment his hand slips to rub circles on your clit, you feel your mind go blank— the sounds you make has Taehyun cursing under his breath, the feeling of your walls clenching around him and sucking him in driving him mad as he gets a hold of your thighs, pressing them against your body and putting you into a mating press as he continues to fuck you.

“Tae— Taehyun, ah, please,” you whine out, left defenseless to the way his hips slam against yours, losing his pace and letting out soft groans as he feels himself coming at the sound of your whines of his name— his cum is barely able to stay inside with the way he continues fucking you, cock rutting into your sensitive pussy as you whine at him to slow down.

“Wanna see you do that again,” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to gauge your expression, “Like, a few more times.”

Your pussy tightens around him in response, and he has to bite his lip to suppress the moan that bubbled up his throat. After a second, he’s slowly fucking you again, feeling his cock harden inside you from the sight of his cum escaping you with every thrust.

You don’t know how many times he makes you cum after that— you might’ve blacked out halfway through, Taehyun’s obsession with making you come undone leaving you filled with cum and undeniably sore— he’s insatiable, leaving you a mess under him as you let him use you how he’d like, manhandling you into all sorts of positions as he continues to groan about how good you feel, reassuring you just one more, with your every whine, yet lying each time.

You’re only able to think straight once you’ve found yourself pulled into Taehyun’s chest— the rise and fall of your bodies is relaxing, and you don’t even remember Taehyun cleaning the both of you up as you lie under his covers, the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around you very much welcomed.

“So, did this also mean nothing to you?” Taehyun mumbles into the crown of your head, nuzzling into your scent as he struggles to stay awake.

“No. This definitely meant something,” you say, equally as tired as you burrow further into the warmth of his chest. You can hear the deep rumble of his chuckles above you, his hands running across your back soothingly as he speaks.

“And what did it mean?”

A pause. You think you both know what it means, but you won’t give him the satisfaction as you nip at his skin teasingly.

“Means you’re okay, I guess.”

You refuse to admit that Taehyun has you wrapped around his finger— though it’s definitely reciprocated by the way Taehyun laughs at your comment, pulling you in even closer still and cooing jokingly that you looove me, hmm?

God, even now, he was insufferable.

But you kinda liked that about him.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt angst #txt fluff #taehyun x reader #taehyun x you #taehyun x y/n #taehyun ff #taehyun imagines #taehyun oneshot #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #taehyun smut

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her-satanic-wiles · 20 days

Text

Guess Who?

Papa Emeriti I, II, III & Cardinal Copia x Plus Size!Reader

Game night takes a turn when you end up blindfolded and tied on the table, at the mercy of all of your beloved Papas. The name of the game: figure out who’s touching you. You win: you cum. They win: they use your body however they see fit.

For @da-rulah, because I sent her a scenario that hurt her wittle feewings, and so now I’m facing the consequences of my actions. I hope you enjoy, Bee. ✌🏻😘

Masterlist

Words: 9.2k.

Reading Time: 37 min.

Warnings: aftercare, alluded/implied sex work, anal play, biting, bondage (using a rope), breath play, breeding, bukkake, choking, cream pie, cum eating, cunnilingus, degradation, fellatio, fingering, finger sucking, free use, gang bang, groping, MMFMM, objectification, plus size!reader, PIV sex, praise, premature ejaculation, pussy slapping, rope play, rough sex, running a train, sensory depravation (blindfold), skull fucking, spit-roasting, squirting, tag teaming, talking about you as if you weren’t there, tickle kink (if you squint), unprotected sex, (wrap it before you tap it folks), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex,

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @xshadyladyx @x1nd1g0x @likeloversentwined @high-above-the-city @copiaspet622 @sister-of-sin-claudia @foxybouquet @inkstainedrat @ad-astra-per-aspera1976 @ravensbars @ultrahalloweengirl @susulbr @frog-scream @ghulehunknown @namelessghoulindisguise @onlyhereforghost @mercbeans

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Game night was usually a night reserved for only the brothers Emeritus, who usually enjoyed card games with only the three players. Every week without fail, the three men would gather in the wine cellar of the Ministry and play cutthroat games of Uno while drinking bottles of the Ministry’s finest by candlelight. It wasn’t often they’d invite a fourth in, rarely finding a person close enough to all three of them that they’d be able to relax and have fun with. But it wasn’t unheard of. Which is why the decision was unanimous when your name was thrown into the middle.

You were the favourite of all the Papas and the whole Ministry knew it. You were their closest friend and companion, the one who had the most in common with them and compassion for them. The one who made them feel the best both in and out of the bedroom. Yes, okay, the relationship you had with them all was… unique. It wasn’t often in any part of the world that brothers would share a woman and be happy doing so. But if it worked for all of you, you’d hardly say no. There was something so deliciously degrading about being passed around the Ministry’s highest ranking men like a commodity to be shared - as though you were nothing more than an object. It was so delicious because it wasn’t true. Of all the people you’d been with during your time at the Ministry, no one had treated you more kindly, more respectfully, and prioritised your pleasure quite like the Emeritus brothers. And so, almost every evening, you’d find yourself ‘rented’ for the night, and would end up tangled in the sheets with one of the Papas. And every time you needed to perform a ritual, it was always to one of them you’d call.

They’d tried getting you in on game night a few times before, but it just so happened that you were usually busy and had made plans before they’d been able to ask. How popular could one person be?

It turned out you didn’t have so many friends that they all kept you busy, rather you had one friend who took up most of your time away from the three Papas: Cardinal Copia. The Cardinal had inadvertently kept you all to himself mostly because you were his closest friend. Copia was the kind of man to put all his effort into one relationship rather than several, which meant you were the only one of his friends he wanted to spend time with. As that was the case, he had taken up so much of your free time, he made it impossible for the Papas to pin you down and drag you to game night. So, they dragged the bumbling Cardinal to game night, too.

The five of you were hunched round an aged table, the thing losing its integrity from the little upkeep that was done to it over the years. The layers of stain and paint gave it a more plastic feel, and one of the legs was propped up with the King James’ Bible, the book itself dirty from years of shoes resting on it. Clockwise, Primo headed the table, followed by Copia, You, Terzo and ending with Secondo. You only had two cards left, and felt smug at that. The closest person to you was Secondo, who had 3 cards. Everyone else was five cards or, in Copia’s case, much more. The typical banter and shit-talk ensued, you teasing Terzo about how you were going to win, Primo constantly pulling the cheapest moves like adding +2 cards or reversing so that Copia would have to draw more or wouldn’t get to play. Copia promising violent vengeance every time Primo screwed him over, which would earn titters of amusement from Secondo and Terzo.

Finally, Terzo had played his card allowing you to drop your penultimate one on top of his, your red 4 landing on his blue 4, with a cheery “Uno!” falling from your lips, despite Primo and Copia’s conversation that was murmuring in the background.

Secondo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Cardinale!” He called, breaking up the conversation. “It is your turn.”

“___ hasn’t had her turn yet.” Copia protested.

“She just did.”

Primo smirked, a devilish smile on his lips. “Our dear ___ didn’t claim ‘Uno!’. You have to take five cards.”

“I did!” You exclaimed, offended at Papa Primo’s accusations. You told him as such.

“I didn’t hear you.” Copia claimed.

“To be fair, Cardinale, you were talking.” Secondo insisted, fighting your corner.

Terzo sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “There is nothing for it, amore.” He exclaimed. “Two insist you did not say it, two insist you did. Therefore, you must be punished some way, no? Either, take five cards like my fratello told you to do, or…”

“…Or?” You asked impatiently, bracing yourself for Terzo’s ultimatum. You knew it would be a suggestive offer, but you didn’t know exactly what he’d choose.

“Or, you take off that pretty little habit of yours and play the rest of the game in your underwear.”

Secondo jumped in. “___, you don’t have to do either.”

Primo, who secretly hoped you’d choose Terzo’s second option, also chimed in. “Well, you do have to take five cards if you don’t get naked for us.”

“Papa?” Copia asked, eyebrows raised. He clearly wasn’t expecting Primo to go along with it.

“What? You cannot expect an old man to be completely adverse to a beautiful woman stripping herself bare for my enjoyment - provided she consents, of course.”

Terzo, “If anyone objects, speak now or forever hold thy peace.”

Everyone immediately shot subtle glances at Copia, expecting the only man in the room who you’d not fucked yet to object. But, with blushing cheeks, he sat back and much to everyone’s surprise, remained quiet.

You slammed your card on the table and stood from your seat, hands immediately flying to and removing your veil. “This is bullshit.” You said, undoing the buttons at the front of your habit before pulling the whole thing over your head. You were met with sounds of appreciation, whistles, hoots and hollers - most of which came from Terzo who was more than happy to watch you reveal your gorgeous, plump body in order to win the game. You sat back down, breasts and stomach jiggling with the force, thighs splaying out against the chair as you sat. You watched as Secondo was mesmerised by your curves. He said nothing, wanting to keep things with you as respectful as possible, but he loved your body: loved watching it bounce each time he fucked into you, loved laving and sucking on your nipples, biting them just to earn that sound from your throat. It didn’t matter that he was a middle aged man with the total ability to control himself, when it came to you, he was a constant horny mess.

The game continued, Copia had his turn, Primo, Secondo, Terzo, then back to you. Finally, and with much grumbling from the rest of them, you played the final card and won the match. “And I did it all whilst naked.” You bragged. “This is why you never invite me to this nights - you know I’ll kick your ass.”

“We don’t always play Uno, you know.” Primo stated, resting his elbows on the table.

“Doesn’t matter, any game you throw my way I’ll win.” You responded petulantly.

“Oh you think?” Terzo asked, eyebrows raising.

“I know.”

“Prove it.” Secondo sounded from the other side of the table.

“Name the game, Papa.”

“What did you have in mind, fratello?” Questioned Terzo again.

Secondo sat back, his body language oozing confidence with a menacing glint in his eyes. “A game even our friend over there can play if he’s willing.” He gestured to Copia, who swallowed nervously. “We got some rope down here, some cloth. We strip you naked, blindfold you, and touch you however we want. You have to guess who it is. You guess correctly, we make you cum then move to the back of the line. Guess incorrectly, and we get to do what we want to you. You have to guess the majority correctly in order to win, if you don’t, well, we’ll decide what happens to you. Think you could win then?”

“Easy.” You challenged.

“Oh, you think so?”

You stood up. “Copia, you in?”

“I- I…” He stammered, torn between wanting to play but not wanting to ruin your friendship.

“Whatever you choose, I’m happy.”

“I… I’ll play.”

Primo patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“Well then,” you reached round your back and unhooked your bra, throwing the fabric to the stone cold floor and feeling your nipples harden at both your arousal and the change in temperature, “let’s play.” Your panties were the next to go, followed by your shoes and socks, leaving you stood on the wine cellar’s floor naked as the day you were born. With each move you made, your body jiggled slightly, earning more groans of appreciation from the men who remained. Terzo even coming up behind you and pressing himself against you, hands roaming all over your body and grabbing handfuls of you where he could.

“Can’t wait for you to guess incorrectly so I can fuck you dumb, tesoro.” He whispered into your ear before biting it.

“Leave you with blue balls.” You teased.

“We’ll see.” He stepped away from you and gave your ass a slap, watching it wobble with the force. He bit his bottom lip and moaned like he’d just eaten something delicious. “We will see.”

Secondo had gone and returned from getting the rope and cloth he saw, and began to bind you up in it, using the rope to tie your hands behind your back. “Your safe word is ‘bottle’, amore.” He told you placing a chaste but gentle kiss on your shoulder blade. “Does this feel okay?” He asked pulling on the rope.

“It feels fine, Papa.” You replied, feeling heat gather in your core and your breath already labouring.

“You ready for the blindfold?”

“Yes.”

And with that, your vision was blinded, your sense of sight plunged into darkness as Secondo tied the cloth gently behind your head, checking to make sure you were comfortable, before guiding you into position. You were lay against the small table, your head barely supported, with most of it hanging over the edge. You were lay on your back with your legs spread, your hands taking the weight of your back as it arched over the top of them. Your breasts had, for lack of a better term, pancaked as gravity was inistent on pulling them down. But even though Terxo made fun of that term, he loved the way you looked on your back for him. Your cunt was entirely on display with just how wide your spread legs had opened your labia, your wetness already visible to the men who stared at your body hungrily, like animals about to feed for the first time in weeks.

You felt Secondo kiss your thigh once before disappearing to join his brothers. Then, you heard all four of the men, in unison, say, “Carta, forbice, sasso!” Followed by skin slapping on skin.

Those fucking idiots were playing rock, paper, scissors to see who was going to go first. You heard a few grumbles, but couldn’t make out who made what noise.

You heard footsteps.

The sound of a glove sliding against skin. Twice.

Those gloves falling to the floor.

Then you felt it. A thumb running up and down your slit, gathering your wetness before finally rubbing over your clit - tight, little circles designed to drive you mad. Your hips bucked at the touch, a gasp escaping your lips at the surprise touch. His four fingers rested on your mound as an anchor, allowing more precise movements, and for him to put more pressure on your clit. You struggled against the rope, your hands moving out of habit wanting to reach your nipples, to pinch and pull at the buds like you usually did when someone played with your bundle of nerves. But the rope bit at your skin, burning slightly as you fought against it and making you scream out in frustration. “Fuck!” You breathed, body writhing beneath the calloused thumb. You wanted to try an work out who was doing it to you so you could win the game, but your mind went blank the second his thumb touched you.

The teasing was very much a Terzo trait, but the use of his thumb wasn’t. Terzo usually teased using his mouth or his cock. He didn’t have the drive to use one of his hands. Secondo used his hands a lot, loved to plunge them deep inside you and finger you open for him, having you screaming and begging for him to touch your clit. Which is how you knew this wasn’t Secondo. It couldn’t be Primo - he didn’t have the heart to tease. He’d always give you what you asked for in a heartbeat. Which meant it must have either been Terzo or Copia. As you’d never had sex with Copia, you couldn’t be sure what his methods were - and this touch did feel foreign. “Is it… is it Copia?”

You heard laughter from the other side of the room, followed by a “Dammit!” from Copia. “It’s me.” Copia pulled up one of the chairs and situated himself between your legs, getting himself ready for the task of making you cum. You felt his hot breath against your centre, erratic little puffs that hit your wet skin as he breathed through his nervousness. He took his time with you, almost as if he was psyching himself up. Copia had fucked before, and he was good at it. But he’d never fucked you. You could imagine that he was nervous because he wanted you to think he was good. And, if you had use of your hands, you’d tangle them in his brown hair and stroke his head gently, reassuringly. But instead, all you had were your little grunts of desperation to softly urge him on.

His moustache was the next thing you felt, tickling against your folds as his mouth made contact with you. The course hairs ran against your sensitivity as his tongue darted out to lap up the juices that were spilling from you. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing, screaming for something to fill it while Copia toyed with your clit, but he made no move to fill you, instead putting more pressure on you with his tongue as he continued to move up and down your slit, until finally he made permanent contact with your clit.

He tightened his tongue to make the tip more pointed to get a precise lick to your clit, swirling around it with his muscle and causing you to cry out in response, fighting against your restraints. His hot breath kept coming out from his nose, heightening your senses and making you hyper aware of just how much of a mess you were as tit hit the wetness seeping from you and making you feel cold. Your nipples were so hard and needing someone to play with them while Copia continued to drink you down like he was dehydrated.

He alternated between using his tongue only and pressing filthy kisses to your folds, practically making out with your cunt to get you off quicker. You could hear the sound of his lips smacking against your body, in between the broad strokes of his tongue he was providing for you. Tiny grunts would escape his lips as he ate you alive, treating you like the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you held down as much as he could so he could devour you easily. You could feel your high coming faster than you’d anticipated, or even wanted, but he was working you towards that end so fucking well, you were losing your breath and your mind.

“Copia, fuck!” You screeched, breathlessly. Your nails were scratching against the wood of the table, feeling the gross stickiness from the drinks’ condensation underneath your body, but feeling more filthy and used than disgusted. Your brain reminded you that you weren’t alone, that there were three other men watching this go on with just as much pleasure as you. You wondered if they were touching themselves. If they were watching you writhe with pleasure and stroking their cocks at the sight.

Copia’s lips wrapped entirely around your clit, moustache now soaked from your cunt, and he sucked. Hard. That tongue he used so precisely before was now slapping against your clit again, this time much faster than before. Because of this, the surprise change in pace and pressure, your orgasm hit you so violently, every single one of your nerve endings exploded beneath his touch, and set off a chain reaction around the rest of your body. Your muscles tensed, your breath was snatched from your lungs, your eyes (beneath the blindfold) closed even tighter, and your mouth had hung open in a perfect ‘o’, allowing a strangled moan to leave from your tightened throat that had closed in the strain of your orgasm. All the while, Copia refused to let up, keeping the pressure going even when you were trying to kick him away. He didn’t stop until he was sure your orgasm had subsided. He pressed one final kiss to your clit before he stood up and walked away, leaving you alone and spent on the table, recovering from one of the best orgasms of your life.

“Did that feel good, tesoro?” You head Terzo ask from the other side of the room. No one had approached you yet, meaning you couldn’t gauge whether Terzo was next or not.

Your brain was still scrambled, and you were barely able to manage a “uh-huh,” to respond to him, which earned a chuckle from all four of the men in the corner.

When the laughter died down, you heard more footsteps approaching you, stopping this time at the right side of you. You felt the silk of a robe glide over your bear skin, but as all of the Papa’s robes were made from the same material, you could only rule out Copia at that point.

You jumped in surprise at the feeling of four fingers immediately touching your stomach, rubbing two large, soft circles into the skin just to tease you. Those four fingers broke off as his hands went in two separate directions. The first moved upwards, running up over the mound of your breast, stopping to play with your right nipple - pinching and pulling at the bud just as you liked, and had needed for the past however long they’d been playing with you. The second hand moved downwards, mimicking the actions of the first by pinching and pulling, except this time it was on your clit. He wasn’t as rough with your clit as he was your nipple, given that your were still probably sensitive from your orgasm, but the torture was too fun even if you were suffering a little.

Those fingers that were playing with your cunt slipped inside your hole, immediately curving upwards and hitting that sweet spot that had you singing so beautifully for them. You only had the opportunity to cry out once before you felt the hand on your breast reach up to your neck, and squeeze the sides gently. His fingers were rough, working to hit your g-spot over and over again and make you squirm at his touch, and you felt your body shake with the force of it. The way he was using his hands against you, plus the roughness of them and the pit stop at your breasts made you confident enough to make your second guess.

“S-Secondo?”

Your stomach and heart sank when you heard dark laughter coming from the guys in the corner of the room. Secondo’s gruff voice sounded from far away, loudly speaking over the sound of your wetness squelching as the fingers inside you kept up their pace. “Wrong, amore.” He said, all too happily for you to be comfortable.

You smelled wine and sandalwood when the man leaned down so his mouth was level with your ear. “You’re mine now, tesoro.” Terzo claimed, his voice dark and heavily accented. His words were stretched telling you he was smiling as he spoke, unable to form them correctly. He revelled in the deception, removing his hands from your body and bringing his fingers up to your lips. “Open up for me.” He commanded, and once you obeyed, he put his middle and ring fingers covered in your cunt juices into your mouth. “Clean yourself up. Suck on them like you do my cock.”

You took those fingers into your mouth beautifully, putting on a show for him in hopes that he’d go easy on your body when he took what he wanted from you. A gutteral groan sounded from his mouth as he watched your lips stretch around his thick fingers, tongue grazing along the underside as you cleaned yourself from his digits. You bobbed your head fluidly, like you usually did when you took him in your throat, moaning around him and rubbing your thighs together. He always liked to know he had an affect on you - maybe appeasing his ego would help you out.

He removed his hand from your mouth and you heard him walk to your feet. His hands pried themselves in between your thighs to show your cunt to him like a piece of meat being inspected by a customer. You waited with baited breath as he decided what to do with you, no doubt in your mind that he was staring at your wetness with that glint in his eyes: the one that shows his excitement but could be mistaken for sadism if you didn’t know him. Or maybe they were the same thing. You felt his fingertips trace up and down the inside of your left thigh, before that hand disappeared. With the other on your right ankle keeping your legs spread and the other one missing, you could feel anticipation pool in your stomach.

SLAP.

His hand had come down hard on your cunt, fingers colliding brutally with your sensitive clit and stinging at the connection. You screamed out, body jerking with the attempt to slither away and close your thighs, but Terzo had already got himself between your legs, and there was nothing you could do but take it.

SLAP.

“Terzo!” You screamed, feeling your sensitivity dial up several notches with the second slap.

“Do you need to use your safe word, tesoro?” He asked.

“No.”

“Brava.”

SLAP.

“Want you nice and red for me when I fuck you dumb, tesoro. I told you that earlier.” This time, he rubbed his thick fingers over your clit, soothing the wound he was inflicting. “You’re already dripping enough. I could just slide in now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, Papa!”

You felt his arms wrap around your thick thighs and pull you towards the edge of the table. The rustle of his fabrics reached your ears telling you he was getting his cock out ready for you. Then you felt it: his heavy girth rubbing up and down your folds in typical Terzo fashion, the head rubbing against your cunt, encased comfortably by your lips. Every now and again, the tip would catch against your opening, and you held you breath for the push in that wouldn’t come until you least expected it. But when he did finally push inside you, your mouth fell open at the stretch. You were so sad you couldn’t watch his face, the look of it as he bottomed out on you always had you tightening around him. You were desperate to see his face crumpled up, showing you he loved being inside you.

“So fucking tight, tesoro.” He commented as soon as he was fully inside. You felt the crown nestle against your cervix, teasing you, reminding you that he was about to ruin you in all the best ways. He left you waiting for his true torture to begin, as you vaguely remembered that the only one who’d be cumming now was him.

He pulled out so his tip was almost entirely out of you, and then slammed back into you. The room echoed with the sound of the table scraping across the floor with the force of it. That sound, combined with your screams and whines, created the perfect symphony to Terzo’s onslaught.

Terzo always knew how to play you like a fiddle, pushing all of your buttons to have you walking beside the Gods. Today was no exception. Your legs had been extended to rest on his chest and over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around your thick thighs for leverage as he thrust all the way into you.

Terzo fucked you like he paid for you, his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt as quickly as he could move, taking only his pleasure from your body. You were lucky with all of your lovers, they were all giving and had just as much fun making you cum as they had doing the same for themselves. But sometimes, when you’d behaved in such a way to earn a punishment, you’d see all three of them be incredibly selfish and just take. Letting them use you like that, given the stark juxtaposition of their regular behaviour, always had you dripping for them, enjoying being nothing more than a living toy - a warm hole to sink into.

You clenched around Terzo’s cock as he fucked you - used you - for his own enjoyment. And, over the sounds you and your body were making, you heard Terzo’s rough voice. “Come here!” He said to someone else in the room. You heard footsteps that stopped beside Terzo. “Wrap your hand around her throat.”

The person obliged, their footsteps ending up by your head and then dropping their hand to your exposed neck. Terzo already had your body bouncing against him, ricocheting against his thrusts every time. The hand, because of this, had a little trouble grabbing onto your body, but eventually he managed it. His fingers and thumb rested against your esophagus and squeezed inwards, not restricting your airflow completely, but just enough to have you feeling the effects. Your mind had almost entirely melted, thinking of nothing other than Terzo’s cock pounding away inside you, hearing your own desperate whimpers as the hand around your pretty little neck heightened your pleasure and sensitivity.

“Who is it, tesoro?” Terzo asked, breathlessly. “Whose hand is that around your pretty little neck?”

The hand loosened enough to allow you to concentrate fully, but still rested on you to remind you of its presence. You had no idea. Not a single thought floated in your head. “Nuh!” You grunted with a particularly rough thrust. You had to guess someone. “P-Primo?”

You heard laughter, then Terzo’s voice cut through your brain. He made the sound of a buzzer, the kind of noise you hear when you get a question wrong. “Fuck her throat, Copia.”

“Fuck!” You exclaimed in irritation, kicking your feet against Terzo’s shoulder, gently.

More laughter sounded.

“Is that okay, ___?” Copia asked.

“Of course.” You replied. He obviously wanted verbal consent, so you gave him just that, hearing him walk towards the crown of your head and adjust himself so his cock was completely free. You were maneuvered so that your head hung off the edge of the table, allowing a completely flat throat, and letting the Cardinal slide into your open mouth easily.

He hissed at the feeling of your tight, wet throat engulfing him with no trouble, thanks to the position you’d been put in. Copia tried to be kind to you, thrusting softly down your throat, and pulling out often to give you some breathing time. But you began to notice that the longer he spent inside you, the more he forgot his manners, and would spend more time fucking you between the breaths he gave you. This would make you clench tighter around Terzo’s cock, in part because your body was reacting to the loss of oxygen, but mostly because the feeling of being so thoroughly used had your mind swimming. Your body loved being degraded - reduced to nothing more than a set of holes to be used at any given time. Besides, you felt like Satanic Tinkerbell - you thrived under as much attention as you could possibly get, and felt like you’d die without it.

“Cazzo!” You heard Terzo grunt. His movements grew more and more erratic the closer he got to cumming. “Look at her throat.”

“Don’t.” Copia hissed again. “If I look, I’ll cum.”

“I can see the outline of his cock down your throat, tesoro. Every time he fucks inside you, I see it.”

You whined around Copia’s cock which spurred him to thrust forward a little more violently than he meant to. He wrapped his hand back around your throat and squeezed, crying out at how much tighter you got. “Oh merda! Oh cazzo!” Copia screeched. And, with no warning and just a strangled grunt, you felt Copia thrust into you one final time before he emptied himself into your throat, hands still wrapped around your throat, but with no pressure to them. He poured so much of himself into you, his body overreacting to his first time inside you. You heard Copia’s disappointed sigh as pulled out leaving you to swallow his load with a slight ache in your throat. You felt a string of your saliva spill onto your cheek, only to get the cloth covering your eyes damp where it settled and got soaked up. pulled out of you, “Wanted to last longer.” Copia commented.

“She tends to have that effect on people.” You heard Primo say. You remembered the first time Primo fucked you, too, and how he also didn’t last as long as he wanted… in fact, it was the same for all of them. You couldn’t help the sense of pride that washed over you reminiscing over that fact. “You gotta build up stamina to enjoy her completely.”

You tightened. Out of all of them, Primo was the kindest towards you - so to hear him talk about you as if you weren’t human did something to you that you should feel ashamed about. But instead it only made you wetter.

“Merda!” Terzo groaned. “Gonna fucking cum into this slutty cunt. You want that, tesoro?”

“I want it!” You begged, breathlessly.

“How much?”

“I w-want you to fill me up so-oh bad, Papa! Fuck. Want y-you to fill me up and…” You cut yourself off, remembering that there were others present.

Terzo spanked your thigh and dropped his voice down to a quiet, husky plea. “Fucking say it. I dare you. Finish that fucking sentence.”

“Want y-you to fill me up and fuck a baby into me. Show everyone who I belong to.”

“You fucking whore!” Terzo exclaimed appreciatively. “Sathanas!” And that was all the warning you got before Terzo also emptied himself into you, cock twitching in over sensitivity as rope after rope shot into your cunt, his fingers digging into your plump calves as he tried to keep himself grounded. His knees were buckling at the force, and you felt his whole body tremble as it fought to keep him upright.

When his orgasm subsided, Terzo pulled out of you, a grunt coupling his unceremonious actions. He gently returned your legs to the table, trying to make sure that you were safe and comfortable again, before fiddling with his clothes. You assumed he’d turned to walk away, which is when you heard Secondo’s voice.

“Nuh-uh!” He scolded, clicking his fingers. You’d seen him scold Terzo before, there was no doubt in your mind that the click was followed by Secondo pointing to the problem. “Clean up your mess before someone else gets in there.”

You imagined Terzo rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. He pulled up a chair, sat on it, and buried his face in your folds without warning. His tongue delved as deep as it would go, licking his own cum out from your cunt. Where his tongue wouldn’t reach, his fingers did, and every drop of himself was gulped down with attitude. He didn’t care a button for your pleasure this time, purely being down there just to clean you out to be used again. When he had finished, he patted your thigh twice and left you waiting and wanting for the next person.

“Wait,” you said quickly hearing all movement in the room stop, “if I keep my hands to myself, can you untie me? It’s starting to hurt.” The rope was burning against your skin now to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore. And, given that both of your arms were tied behind your back and you were laying on them, your arms felt dead and your back had begun to ache.

“Of course.” Terzo replied without thinking. He turned on his heels and rushed back to the table, his hands on your shoulders. “Sit up for me, tesoro.” He ordered, his voice much more kindly than it had been before. He helped you to sit upright. “That’s it - brava ragazza.” You felt his deft hands working at the rope Secondo had tied, making short work of it given that it was tied well. Once your wrists were free and the rope had been discarded, you felt Terzo’s gentle touch on your wrists, no doubt a little red from the irritation. “Ah, my poor amore.” He pressed his lips to them. “Battle scars, no?”

“So dramatic.” Secondo muttered from the other side of the room.

“I have some hand cream,” Primo said walking towards you, “it’ll be good enough until you get to one of our rooms and can be taken care of properly.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You replied, a soft smile on your face.

You felt Primo and Terzo rub the hand cream into your wrists, their fingers working to moisturise the skin and help repair it as quickly as possible. Primo always kept stuff like this in his pockets - hard boiled sweets included. He was such a grandpa sometimes it made you laugh. Prepared for an apocalypse - you’d tell him that every time he pulled something out of his bag or pocket that would help.

Once they’d finished, Terzo pressed a kiss to your hand and walked away, while Primo rested his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek as he pulled you in for a sweet kiss, the kind of kiss that had you sighing and leaning into his touch. “You’re doing so good for us, fiorellina.” He praised. “Just a little longer.”

Primo left you alone and everyone watched as you lay back down for them, body splaying out against the wood. Your hands went to the edges of the table, clutching on to try and stop you from grasping onto the next man who took his place between your legs.

Terzo’s voice sounded from across the room. “You have to get this next one correct, tesoro. Or we win.”

“I will. Of course I will, are we kidding?” You responded, determination in your voice.

The room was silent while the next man moved towards you - his footsteps slow and deliberate. His warm breath fanned out over your body, before finally you felt his tongue lave over your body: it ran all over your stomach, your thighs, back up to your breasts where he licked and sucked on your nipple. You moaned at the sensation, your hips bucking upwards as his mouth brought you so much pleasure. You had to resist the urge to clutch onto his head as you usually did whenever someone ran their tongue over your nipples. But that was when you felt it: a second tongue mimicking the patterns on your nipple and replicating it on your clit, pulling another moan from your mouth.

It was obvious that this was Secondo and Primo - although Copia had two chances, you doubt he’d have a third - or even that Terzo would come back for seconds.

“Secondo and P-Primo.” You said quickly.

“Well of course,” Terzo said, matter-of-factly, “but who’s doing what, tesoro?”

You thought you could get away with it, that they’d give you a break and let you have the win - but evidently not. “S-Secondo is - fuck -” you pushed your hips into the man’s mouth who was licking your cunt fervently. “Su-ucking on my clit.” It had to be, this was his style. He wasn’t usually gentle with your body, not when he’d been deprived for as long as he had been.

“And you think Primo is on your breasts?”

“Y-yes.”

“Take off the blindfold.”

You quickly lifted it off your eyes and immediately flinched at the candlelight, despite it being low. You’d been in complete darkness the whole time, it was hardly surprising that you were struggling to see. Your eyes were blurred, and they took a while to completely adjust, but when they did, a wave of relief washed over you. You were right. Your hands immediately flew to Primo and Secondo’s heads, putting pressure on Secondo’s because he was where you needed him the most, but everyone knew that Primo’s ministrations and work on your nipples would have you tipping over the edge in no time.

Primo lifted his mouth off your nipple and attached it to your lips, fingers tweaking the opposite bud in lieu of his tongue. This kiss was just as tender as his first one, filled with such passion you felt yourself grinding on Secondo’s tongue much faster in pure desperation.

“You are doing so well, fiorellina.” Primo echoed his words from earlier, voice low, those words clearly meant for your benefit and your benefit only. “You please us so well. Take everything we give like a good girl.”

“Papa!”

“Do you feel good?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Is my brother doing a good job?”

“Yes!”

“Tell him, fiorellina. Ask him to make you cum.”

“Please!” You begged, your mind so far gone you could hardly stand it anymore. For the first time since you looked down at him, you were able to drink in the sight of the man between your thighs, roughly sucking on your clit and pistoning his fingers in and out of you now like a man on a mission. You could only see the top of his head, given the rest of it was hidden by your cunt. You could only just see the bridge of his nose above your mound, his hands wrapped around your bruised, jiggling thighs, and him looking up at you through his lashes, a scowl on his brow with his determination to tip you over the edge. There was almost a predatory look in his eyes as he sucked you into his mouth, and it made your cunt clench tightly around his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Papa!”You called out to him, your stomach flipping at the sight of him. “Your t-tongue feels so… good. I’m so fucking close. P-please make me cum, Papa-ah! Wanna cum. Wanna cum so-oh I can… I can feel your c-cock deep inside me. Fuck! Just like that. Don’t stop. Please don’t fucking st-op. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Secondo had pushed his face further into you, his tongue roving deliciously over your clit every time he sucked on it harshly.

“Cumming!” You announced via scream, your back arching off the table and mouth hanging open in pleasure. Your voice stopped, cut like someone had just turned the sound off but continued to play the video. Your second orgasm was violent, and wet. So very wet. Your vision was the first to go, dark patches swimming over your sight and eyes glazing over and rolling back as drool poured from your open mouth. Your hands cramped where they were clutching onto the table, your desperation forcing them there right as your orgasm hit lest you draw blood from your Papas. Secondo growled into your cunt as you released your cum onto him and the table below, the sound of your squirt hitting the floor as it poured from your body, combined with Secondo sucking it down greedily had your toes curling and your orgasm continuing. It felt like it went on forever, sending electric pulses all over your body until you couldn’t stand it and damn near passed out. All the while, you had Primo in your ear whispering to you; reminding you to breathe, telling you it was okay. You barely registered the fact that his hand was resting on top of yours, fingers bent to completely cover you.

Secondo stood from his place between your thighs and moved to your head to kiss you, letting one of your hands wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you as his mouth engulfed yours. Your other hand, which was still trapped beneath Primo’s, pulled out from its position and also pulled him toward you, breaking your kiss with Secondo so you could kiss Primo just as passionately. You felt Secondo’s fingers traverse the length of your body, before dipping back into your hole. “Mmmf!”You protested, muffled by Primo’s lips. You broke the kiss to look at Secondo. “Please not your hands!”

Secondo smirked. “You want my cock, hm?”

“Yes! Fuck. Please.”

“On your stomach then, amore.”

You climbed off the table before bending over it, letting your body squish against the wood so tantalisingly, you heard appreciative groans coming from everyone in the room. Secondo came back to his original position, and fumbled around with his robes before he positioned his cock at your entrance. You could feel the weight of it against you as he ran it through your folds, gathering your slick to lube himself up. The head of his girth rubbed against your sensitive clit, still twitching from the orgasm he gave you. Each rub caused you to whimper from the sensation, mouth hanging open and brow furrowing in pleasure.

When Secondo finally sank in, the stretch was divine. Secondo was so, incredibly thick and long, he reached depths that you had never felt before. Despite already being fucked once, your cunt was still forced open as though this was the first cock you’d taken in a long, long time. Your hands clutched onto the table again, grasping the edges tightly to ground yourself as you cried out, his own hiss of pleasure echoing in your ears as he, too, felt the effects of your extraordinarily tight pussy. He gave you time to adjust to him and his size once he’d buried himself all the way to the hilt, hands on your ass cheeks, gripping tight enough for the fat to squeeze between his fingers. A string of expletives in Italian fell from his lips, punctuated by a bite to your right hip. He thrust inside tentatively at first, hitting your cervix so deliciously, your eyes rolled back into your head and a delirious smile played on your lips. Secondo kept rocking into you, hitting that spot over and over again, gradually picking up the pace until he was fucking into you at a rough pace - the perfect pace.

Primo stood in front of you, watching your face as you took Secondo’s cock. Your hands unclasped from the table and moved to Primo’s clothed cock, standing to attention underneath his robes, and began to fumble with the fabric to free him. You wanted his cock in your mouth, just as much as you needed Secondo’s. You gave Primo’s cock two strokes at first, staving off the arousal just enough to get him into your mouth without him blowing too soon. Primo was always a delight to give head to - he was always so gentle, so appreciative, hands in your hair and sweet touches, never taking too much unless you were offering it and giving you kind praise as you worked hard to get him to cum.

Your first lick ran from base to tip, causing his toes to curl in his shoes at the pressure. But once you were at his head, you swirled your tongue around it, taking the whole tip in your mouth and sucking like you would taking cake mix off the spoon. You hollowed your cheeks to make a better suction for his head, and relished in the feeling of his hands in your hair, grunts of desperation slipping from his lips. You moved your hands to his hips and silently pulled them forward, sucking more of him into your mouth until that tip was right at the back of your throat, dipping down into your throat. All the while, you looked up at him through your lashes, big, doe eyes maintaining eye contact with him while your lips sinfully stretched around his cock.

“Oh my,” Primo commented, chest heaving from his lack of breath, “look at that. You look so pretty like this, fiorellina.”

He began to gently fuck your throat, pulling out completely to give you the opportunity to breathe, and bending down to kiss you ever now and then, before eventually feeding his cock back into your mouth, and repeating the process all over again.

In the meantime, behind you, Secondo was fixated on the way your cunt swallowed him whole, greedily pulling him back in and clenching down on his shaft as Primo sent those praises to you, and they shot straight down to your hole. You could hear Secondo’s own grunts and groans as he felt this, and just how feral he was becoming the longer he was inside of you. You were feeling so good, you were creaming on his cock, and Secondo couldn’t take his eyes off the juice that had gathered at the base, pulling and snapping with each time he pulled out then slammed back in.

He pushed his hand underneath your body and began to play with your clit again, stealing a moan from your mouth, muffled by Primo’s cock that was buried all the way to the hilt down your throat again. Secondo chuckled at your response, “You like that, amore?” He asked, his tone delightfully condescending, filled with a false sympathy that had goosebumps forming on your skin. “You like taking two cocks at the same time, hm? Like being used by four men in one day?”

“You should have seen the way her eyes lit up just now, fratellino.” Primo said, stroking your hair.

“Her cunt is clenching - I know how much she likes being a whore for us. Listen to her.” True enough, underneath your muffled whines and moans, everyone could hear the sound of Secondo fucking into you, how your wetness splashed around him and made it so, embarrassingly clear just how much you loved this. Secondo laughed again. “Look over at Terzo and the Cardinal, amore.”

You did as Secondo asked, pulling Primo out of your mouth to look at them over your shoulder. Terzo was, as expected, brazen with his thoughts, his cock completely out of his trousers again and his fist wrapped around it, darkened eyes trained on your body as you bounced off Secondo’s cock, and swallowed Primo’s with enthusiasm. Copia, on the other hand, clearly just as affected as Terzo, was still dressed from his earlier encounter with your mouth, but his hand rubbing over his cassock as discreetly as he could manage. You tightened again momentarily, relishing in the fact that you had four men rock hard and desperate to bury themselves in all of your holes.

“You should have seen the Cardinal earlier, tesoro.” Terzo teased. “How eager he was to fuck your throat.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, eyes watching your friend rut into his own hand. at the sight of you getting fucked relentlessly. There was something so incredible about being the centre of everyone’s attention, and the object of all their desires. How a man who you’d never even seen in a sexual light before, and you were sure hadn’t thought of you in one, was now trying to cum for a second time at the thought of you. “M-my hands are - fuck! Papa! - My hands a-are free.” You hinted, before taking Primo back into your mouth and curling your hands into loose fists, creating two new holes for Terzo and Copia to use at their pleasure. Of course, they leaped forward, and before you knew it both of their cocks had been spat on, then slid into your fists, and began fucking your hands as they would your cunt.

You were stuffed full, almost every hole imaginable filled with the cocks of the highest members of the clergy, at the mercy of the Emeritus brothers as they had their wicked ways with you. The rigorous snaps of Secondo’s hips had you bouncing along the table, meaning Primo could stand still and you’d take his cock completely hands free, with Secondo doing all the work.

From your peripherals, you watched as Copia used your hand, his own resting on the table as though he were too shy to touch you, despite wrapping his digits around your throat and making your airways tighter for him to fuck as he pleased. Terzo, however, a man used to being deep inside you and taking his pleasure from your body, had leaned over and landed a few, stinging slaps to your ass, watching as it jiggled with both the force of his hits and the backshots Secondo was giving you. That same hand he put in his mouth - his pinkie to be precise - salivated all over it, and then began to rub it over the rim of your ass, making you jump in surprise. And then, when you’d relaxed to his touch, he inserted the tip into your twitching hole, only down to the mid knuckle, but that combined with Secondo still playing with your clit had you tipping over into your third orgasm, body tensing and cunt fluttering around his cock.

Primo had pulled out, allowing you to breathe through it, crouching down and wrapping his own hand around his cock, stroking himself furiously. “That’s it, fiorellina. Cum for us. You’re doing so well for us. Such a good girl. Ah! Sathanas! I’m close.”

When you came back to your senses, you fixated your eyes on Primo’s desperately moving hand, willing it back into your mouth, but Primo wasn’t having it.

His voice dropped to a whisper so only you could hear him. “Can I cum, fiorellina?”

Unable to speak through your exhaustion, you nodded.

“Close your eyes for me.” He ordered.

You did as you were told, and mere seconds later you heard Primo groan and then his cum landing on your flushed cheek, nose, and upper lip.

“Oh, fuck! Look at her now!” You heard Terzo say, in awe of your fucked out state, covered in cum. “Shit, me too!” He pulled out from your fist and stood where Primo once was, stroking himself until completion over your face, groaning as the first rope of cum shot out and landed on your forehead. It dripped down onto your cheek, joining the first load of cum, along with hitting your nose.

It didn’t take much longer for Secondo’s orgasm to hit him, his thrusts becoming sloppy and fast until he buried himself as deep as he could inside you, falling onto your plush body as rope after rope spilled in your tight, wet heat. His hands were gripping onto your flesh so hard, you were sure he was going to leave bruises, bruises you were excited to see for days after so you could remember what happened on your first game night with the boys.

Copia was the last one to cum, his own stamina keeping him going just as was promised by Primo earlier. But even still, a few more thrusts and he was done, his own cum joining Primo and Terzo’s on your face but this time it hit your mouth and chin, dripping onto the floor when the load was too big to stick to your skin.

You all sat there for a moment, catching your breaths from the intensity of the evening. Primo, as predicted, was exhausted and making a joke about how his old body couldn’t keep up to everyone. Terzo had picked up that same cloth that was on your eyes earlier and used it to wipe the copious amounts of cum that had painted your face; the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a look of disgust on his face as he finished cleaning you up as much as he could. “You did so well for us, tesoro.” He said, his voice low and warm. “I would kiss you but…”

You laughed, “I understand.”

“Grazie.”

“I still won, though.” You announced, smugly. You yelped when you felt Secondo spank your ass.

“Alright then, champion.” He said. “Let’s get you properly cleaned up.”

Secondo helped you get your habit back on once he had pulled out of you, and let you lean on him as you walked. Your legs were like jelly from both the position you were in and from the three orgasms the men had put you through. You bade each of them a good night before Secondo pulled you to his room, running you a bath upon arrival. As the water filled the tub, he stripped you naked again and had you sit on the edge, a damp, soapy cloth in his hands using it to properly wash your face, and clean you of any cum Terzo hadn’t managed to get. “You let us be too rough for you, amore.” He gently scolded you, watching as your face reddened beneath the warm water.

“It’s nothing I don’t enjoy, Papa.” You retorted, equally as soft. “I’d use my safeword if I didn’t. You know it makes me feel good when you use me. I feel better the more animalistic you get.”

“I don’t think we talked about the reason why before.”

“It’s the fact that you want me so much, you revert back to primal instincts and take me fiercely. Like you’re staking your claim.” Your thighs squirmed at the thought.

“You didn’t get enough just now, amore?” Secondo asked, clocking your body’s response. He knelt down and spread your legs, watching your labia part and wetness seep out again. He frowned. “Your poor pussy took such a beating - she’s so red.”

“She can take more, Papa.”

He looked up at you darkly. “You want your Papa to fuck you again? Fill you up with another load of cum, hm? You’re that desperate for cock you want your Papa to fill you again even though you’ve just taken four?”

“Please, Papa.” You whispered, feeling your nipples harden with arousal.

He licked a stripe up your cunt, from your hole to your clit and had you jumping. “In the tub then, puttana. Let me claim you properly.”

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mileskisser · 6 months

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𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐂 | wk: 397

pairings. vamp!batfam x gn!batsib reader

warnings. these are just general ideas/hcs I had for the batfam, not a fic. death, murder, general batfam content no specific series or iteration.

What if…

• Bruce came from a long lineage of vampires, and the people who murdered his mother and father were vampire hunters.

• After his parent's murders he finds out from Alfred that he's a vampire, and that Alfred was also a vampire.

• Time skip to him adopting Dick

• Instead of Dick becoming orphaned and getting adopted by Bruce, he dies alongside his parents. Only to be brought back by Bruce biting his neck and turning him into a vampire.

• Insert conflict between Dick and Bruce about him only saving Dick and not his parents as well + possible survivors guilt; this leads to him going off to do his own thing after his days as Robin ( + him not wanting to be in Bruce’s shadow )

• Incomes Jason's tragic tale

• I think he’d be one of the few non-vampire Batfam members since he got brought back by the pits

• Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian, Cass, and Duke would all be vampires in this au. Steph, Barbara, Jason, and Reader would be some of the few humans they’d have around.

• Damian is half demon half vampire (insert -Damian- alpha/single/emo/half-demon/vampire/prince)

• Tim would come from a line of vampire hunters, getting turned into a vampire one night by accident and being taken in by Bruce (idk much about his lore & parents so let's just say that he ran away or they disowned him but couldn’t bring themselves to kill him)

• I think Damian’s introduction would be the same

• Same with Cass but her parents would be vampires.

• I think Bruce would have a rule in place similar to the “No killing” rule, just that they can't drink human blood

• Reader is introduced to the Batfam by accidentally stumbling across it during a rainy night, stereotypically breaking into a “what seems to be abandoned mansion but is actually the home to a bunch of immortal vampires.”

• They couldn’t turn away a weak–half dead human, so they take them in and let them stay “temporarily”

• Obviously their stay was not temporary, over the few days that the storm rained over Gotham, Reader grew close to the members of the batfam.

• They all came to a unanimous agreement to keep them there, even if they had to hide their identities (both vampire and vigilante)

• Possible yan au / or something with obsessive themes

aaaaa sorry for this being short and booty, I wanted to get a post out & write some more but my laptop keeps lagging whenever I do anything. Ill def go back n edits some stuff :((

#🕸️🎸#batfam x reader #dc x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #platonic yandere batfam #yandere dc #gn reader #platonic yandere #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #bruce wayne x reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere bruce wayne #yandere jason todd #yandere dick grayson #yandere tim drake

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mydearlybeloathed · 10 days

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── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑! 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your people have a legend: mermaids only ever fall in love once. you never put much thought into it, until you come across a band of human pirates.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: romance dawn trio x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: sleep who's she? ~7k baby (1.7k intro, 1.4k luffy, 2k nami, 1.9k zoro)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: my contribution to mermay... on the last day of may, it gets increasingly more unhinged, sanji kinda gets bullied, robin is carrying the last two relationships, my own made up mermaid courting rituals, biting, a bit of violence

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: i had this playlist on repeat while writing 🙆

The last island had warned the waters to come were infested with dark creatures of slithering scales and tempting voices. Creatures that pull you in deep and leave you out to dry a corpse. Born from seafoam, storms, and desire. Mermaids.

“Mermaids?” Zoro drawled.

“I met a mermaid once,” said Usopp, and everyone groaned unanimously. “She tried to take me down, but my charms were just too much, so she let me go.”

Everyone surely believed him, of course.

And of course the motley crew ignored every reservation and warning and sailed headfirst into the treacherous sea. At first, nothing at all was out of the ordinary. The morning fog hung tentatively over the water splashing at the ship's hull as it powered through. Sure, the sun could’ve shined a bit brighter through the thick clouds, but it was a lovely day for adventure.

Nami stood at the helm keeping an eye on the horizon, relishing in the breeze hitting her face, when you heard an odd buzzing in her ear. She swiped at the air and rubbed her ear on her shoulder, but the sound only grew louder. Puffing her cheeks, she turned to ask Sanji to get her the bug spray, when she noticed he too was messing with his ears.

She laid eyes on each of the crew scattered around the deck, enjoying the cool weather. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, faces screwing up as though in pain.

“Do you guys hear that?” she asked needlessly, gathering their attention.

Zoro cupped his ears, nodding. “Yeah, it’s like…”

“Buzzing,” Luffy finished. He kept swatting at the air, searching out for some fly assaulting him.

“No, it’s… it’s singing.” Sanji faced the waters, the words of the village folk coming back to him as his eyes widened. He whipped back around to lock eyes with Nami just as she put everything together too.

She gasped. “Mermaids.”

The ship rocked and the weather shifted drastically in seconds. Already thick clouds doubled in number, drawing close and creating a swirling mass in the sky. Waves rumbled and rose to crash over the deck, sending the crew into hysteria to grab their bearings.

And on top of it all, the most beautiful melody rose above the chaos, filtering into the ears of the crew and blocking all else out. Usopp’s hands slackened around the rope he held steady, eyes glazing over as he leaned toward the far off sound. Sanji’s eyes flickered up to the sky, roamed over the gray clouds, and fell to the waters below, his mind dizzied by the beauty and lithe of the voices. Zoro stumbled drunkenly over his own two feet, desire furling in the pit of his stomach, legs carrying him to the edge of the ship to catch a glimpse of the one singing to him. Luffy froze midclimb up to the crowsnest, head darting this way and that, mind clouded. Nami gritted her teeth, resolve formed to not give in to the angelic, mystifying, amazing song sung just for her—she left the helm unguarded, leaping to join her friends in calling out to the seas.

The crew’s voices overlapped in thier pleading for the woman to come near, to give them all that the song promised. Their every dream would come true, if only the mermaid would help them into the water. The pod of mermaids encircled the ship, their harmonies intertwining in one mind. The ship might have kept on drifting, guided by rough waters manipulated by the mermaids’ hand, and crashed right into the reef and all the crew would be scooped up by the she-beasts, thrust into the deep to drown,

If not for one voice which rose above the rest in a demanding, desperate order: “STOP!”

Instantly, the clouds parted and sun bled through. The song fell through to indignant shrieks, splashes dying down to ripples as shiny tails descended into the blue. Nami blinked awake, feeling hungover and headached, looking blearily out on the water. Vision clearing, she caught a sight she would never forget; a woman lain on the far rocks, a single beam of sun illuminating the vibrant scales running along her skin till they met at a tail dipping into the water.

The fact that their ship was headed right for those jagged rocks was an afterthought. She lurched back and sped into motion, barking out furious orders and smacking the men upside the head to push them into gear. Sanji stood frozen at the ship’s rail, gripping the wood in a vice, eyes glued to the creature. “Nami, it’s—”

“I know!” She gripped his shirt and whipped him around, slapping the side of his face a few times. “We’re going to crash!”

Sanji blinked, shook his head, and raced to grab a flinging rope, jumping high and tying in down in one swoop. Nami bolted to the steer, an eye out the window as she pulled with all her might to change their course. Usopp soon joined her, guiding the ship bit by bit to the left’s clear passage. She fell backward when Zoro’s shout reached them, “We’re clear!”

Risking a moment of peace, the navigator cupped her hands over her face, allowing her body to calm all its flighting-fighting instincts. The calm lasted for all of five seconds before the screaming began.

“Luffy! What—Why—What?!”

Nami sprang upright, locking eyes with Usopp, and the two sighed in unison before heading above deck. Whatever Nami expected, it wasn’t the terrified, shivering form of a mermaid baring her two fangs at a looming Luffy. The others stood a ways away, unsure what to do with themselves, but certain they didn’t want to get involved with this.

“Luffy!” Nami cried. “Did you drag her up here?”

Given the mermaid’s following hiss, Nami assumed that was the case. Luffy inched closer still, and the mermaid lost all her gusto, face falling as she scrambled away form him, dragging her tail behind her.

The mermaid was beautiful; that was the common thread of thought. Her damp hair hung all around her face, nearly covering her deep eyes. Scales creeped up her torso and faded into skin around her chest. Her every movement was caught by the sun, her scales shimmering rainbow reflections into the air around her.

“Stay back,” she hissed out, eyes narrowing upon Luffy. “Demon.”

Usopp scoffed, grabbing the mermaid’s sharp attention. “What, long-nose?”

Ruffling, chuckled awkwardly, he looked around at his friends for help, receiving nothing but raised brows. “I just mean—you’re the mermaid.”

The mermaid blinked slowly. She seemed to have forgotten the threat before her, all attention directed at a quivering Usopp. “I’m the demon? I’m the one who saved you. You think my people decided to let you live on their own?” She laughed, and the sound had a pretty ring to it. “No. I commanded them.”

Her eyes darted back to Luffy as he took to sitting criss-crossed in front of her. “I should have let you and this demon-child die on the rocks.”

It soon became obvious she knew Luffy ate a devil-fruit just by one look at him, and she was not happy about it. Luffy only tilted his head at her hostility, a little frown on his face. “Are all mermaids this rude?”

You balked, gaping before snapping your mouth shut, not dignifying him with a reply. Luffy persisted. “I like your tail. What do you mean you saved us? Why?”

Curling your tail closer to yourself, hands holding your upper body up, you glanced from the pirate captain to each of his crew. They didn’t look too threatening, but you’d learned long ago to never trust a human’s looks. Many a mermaid died on the grounds of humans looking nice. So Luffy’s question begged an answer. Why did you save them?

You shrugged a shoulder, eyes drifting out to sea. “My people need to eat.”

Usopp gulped. “We’re very gamy. You wouldn’t like us—”

“I wasn’t done speaking,” she quipped back, a brow raised. “Mers are carnivores by nature. Normally, we steer clear of humans.” You sneered at the word. “We find your kind to be a predator, and we’re a peaceful people.” The swordsman scoffed and rolled his eyes at that.

“But times have changed. The fish have fled this sea.” You took a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “My people are starving, and they look to me as their princess for guidance.” Quickly clearing your throat to hide how the topic gloomed you, you snapped, “All that is to say that I strictly forbade the hunting of humans despite the starvation. They disobeyed me. That is why I helped you.”

You faced them all as your tail began to glimmer even brighter, slowly but surely parting down the middle. Your face contorted slightly as your scales seemed to mold into your skin, leaving you bear before the crew of pirates. You shivered in the breeze, raising your gaze once more. “Any other questions?”

There seemed to be none, silence running around the deck, and you prepared to jump back into the water before your parents sent the guard to find you, when the demon-child spoke up.

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded, face taken by seriousness. “How do we bring the fish back?”

You blinked once, then twice, and then a third time for good measure, but nothing in his expression betrayed hilarity. He wasn’t pulling your fin. The devil-fruit eater meant to help you.

Demon. That’s what he was. You knew this fully well. It’s what your parents taught you from a young age. Devil-fruit eaters are the enemy of the sea, and thus the enemy of the mers. You’d followed this rule all your life… but then you looked at the one they called Luffy, you really looked at him right in his face… and none of that made any sense anymore.

Sure enough, Luffy led the charge against the oil corporation mining near your peoples’ home, threatening convincing them to move elsewhere. Within a few days of the miners’ departure, some mers managed to coax schools of fish back to their reefs. With the ecosystem and chain of life restored, the Straw Hat Pirates had no reason to stay.

And really, neither did you. What you did have, however, was a reason to go with the pirates. Adventure, the life you’d always dreamed of, away from the reef you’d felt tethered to for so long… and a certain member of the crew who had caught your rapt, undying attention.

There’s a legend that mermaids only fall in love once, never to find another who would fill the gap in their hearts. You would always call it foolish romance… but really, there might be something to it.

LUFFY

You were a goner the moment he offered to help you with those big, genuine eyes of his. As much as you tried to deny it—and you did try to deny it—you were falling in love with a human. A devil-fruit eater at that. What had you been reduced to?

And yet, there was no denying it. Especially not when you couldn’t bear to go an hour without laying eyes on him. Your mother said it was normal for mers to feel… possessive over the one who holds their affection, and that fact was not lost on you as you slithered through the water, approaching the pirate lazed out on the rocks he’d dragged you from about a week before.

Your eyes rose above the water first, little grin still below the surface. Luffy looked so relaxed, eyes on the clouds, every once in a while glancing at his crew on the anchored ship nearby. You braced your hands on the cool stone and launched yourself upward, fanged smile gleaming as water splashed Luffy’s legs. His laugh had you keening closer, dragging your tail along the rocks. Luffy grinned for all of two seconds before the seawater sunk in. Instantly drowsy, he tried to offer up another smile as you winced.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “I always forget.”

He laughed it off, already recovering as he shifted to face you. Luffy’s eyes followed your tail to where your fins dipped into the sea. “If only I could swim with you. Bet it’s fun.”

“If only.” You shared a smile for a little too long, but it never grew uncomfortable. Lingering in the moment, you gazed over at his ship, melancholy taking over as your smile faltered. “So… you’re leaving soon?”

“In the morning.” You clicked your tongue and tried your best to act nonchalant, failing miserably as you pursed your lips and combed through your hair.

“Why not tonight?” you offered with a tight grin. “You should get away as fast as possible. I don’t know how one becomes pirate king but it's not by sticking around a boring reef and its boring princess. Ha! I’ll even help bring your anchor up faster! Then you can be out by sundown.”

The silence crept up your spine, getting you all antsy as you lowered your gaze to the rippling waters. Shoulders tense, you could feel Luffy’s eyes on your profile as you picked at the algae along the rocks. He probably thought you were an idiot, rambling like that. And if so, that was fine. It would make him leaving so much easier.

Luffy inched toward you and ducked to meet your gaze. “Come with us.”

“What!” You hit an octave the best soprano would envy, losing your grip and slipping right off the rock back into the water. Your hands grabbed at the slippery stone, panic all over your face before you plunged under the surface.

You drifted under the waves, unmoving as the words replayed over and over in your head, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Glancing up at Luffy’s bright laughter, you caught sight of him peering down into the sea, his face muddled by reflections and ripples. He couldn’t be serious. He just couldn’t.

Luffy grew nervous when you didn’t resurface, leaning over the water to catch a glimpse of your shimmery tail, when as quick as lightning you broke the surface and came nose to nose with him. Blinking wide, you breathed deeply, so close you felt his every exhale on your skin. “You mean it?”

“‘Course!” Luffy offered you his hand despite the fact he’d lose all his strength the moment he touched your sea-soaked skin. “Wanna join my crew?”

Yes. You wanted nothing more than to follow him to the end s of the earth and then some. Part of you had been hoping he would ask. The rest of you longed to take his hand and smother him in hugs till he pried you off him. But… the water swirled around your tail, threatening to carry you off in a current, and your lips quivered down.

“I… I can’t!” you cried, dipping underwater before he could catch you, darting off into the blue. Panic bubbled in your chest, strangled gasps sending pops of air into the water around you. No matter what you wanted, you were bound to this reef. Your home, your kingdom… and above all that, to ever think of running off with a human was foolish beyond measure! So you wasted away all night long, lamenting around the sea, hiding above the coral and sands.

Luffy watched the water all morning, trusting you would show despite your disappearance implying otherwise. Nami set a hand on his shoulder. “Luffy, she’s not coming.”

He had to hope. You wanted to go, he saw it in your eyes, and he wanted you to go too. Luffy didn’t think he could bear leaving without you, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. He knew from the moment he met you that he needed you on his crew—but why? He searched his head for an answer, coming up short. Giving the sea one last hopeful glance, Luffy sighed and gave Nami the go-ahead.

The ship had barely sailed off when a shimmery, sparkling thing leaped out of the water, shouted his name, and plunged back into the blue. Luffy raced to the ship’s edge, a smile creeping up his face. You raked a trail of seaspray behind you as you darted just below the surface. Again, you propelled yourself out of the water. “Wait!”

Luffy threw his head back laughing, holding down his hat on his head. He shot Nami an I told you so look, to which she rolled her eyes and turned, lest he catch her pleased smirk. A round of chuckles ran amongst the crew as they slowed the ship’s leave, not that it mattered; Luffy was already slingshotting his rubber arms out at you, and the next time you appeared arcing through the air, your shout turned into a yelp as his arms wrapped around you and pulled you in. Another panicked shout of his name left you before you collided with the rubber man, the pair of you rolling to the deck.

You worried your tail crushed him, the hefty weight of it landing on his legs, but all reservations fizzled out the moment his arms wrapped you up in a warm embrace. Luffy’s head found your shoulder, your hands hooking around his shoulders. “I’m covered in seawater…”

“Don’ care,” Luffy muttered into your skin even as he weakened and sank into you. “I knew you’d come with us.”

“With you,” you corrected instinctively, pulling away to stare right into his eyes. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

He giggled softly. Luffy’s arms unraveled as he opted to instead cup your shoulders. “Good.”

From then on, where one went, you’d soon find the other. Not only on your end; Luffy quickly grew so accustomed to your presence that he began to wait for you to start eating, much to the amazement of his friends (Zoro almost admitted he was jealous before he saw the hints of puppy love in his captain’s eyes, and decided to let it go for now).

You still had some things to wear off before you fully let yourself admit you were falling for a human. Luffy seemed to be completely comfortable just going around holding your hand, swinging them between your bodies as your cheeks warmed. Luffy never strayed far from your side, comfortably resting an arm on your shoulder or some other contact. You never completely told him off for it, somewhat liking how his warmth contrasted with the cold of your sea-ridden body.

Now, it’s a given that Luffy cannot swim. He ate a devil fruit—everyone knew this fact very well. But now Luffy had his mermaid with him! All his faith went into knowing you would always swim to his rescue should he need it, so what’s the harm if he got a little bit more reckless surrounding the sea?

(The harm is to your stress. By God, he would be the end of you one way or another).

The number of times one of the crew has called your name, given you this tired and sorry look, and pointed out to sea. Luffy was likely to be flapping about in the distance. The most recent occurrence, Sanji set a hand on your shoulder and went to let down a rope ladder. “I’ll help you back up, lovely.”

Outwardly, you might gripe about holding his hand and having to save his devil-fruit ass from drowning every other week—but inwardly? You’d turn hell over before you let Luffy die. So you held his hand tightly in yours, wearing a smile so small only Luffy’s keen eye could see.

NAMI

Without really realizing it, Nami had fallen headfirst for your awkward, waterlogged, fishy kind of charm (and she wasn’t at all going to complain). She first started feeling it when the freshly victorious crew met your mer royalty parents at the surface, your tail mesmerizing as it dipped just into the water, your upper body propped up onto some scattered rocks. Your eyes filled with hope the longer you spoke to them in words too far to reach. Majestic. That’s the only word to describe you.

Well, majestic and graceless. That second descriptor was added when you rolled off the rocks into the water, beaming up at your parents before doing a figure eight around the sea and vaulting into the air. You flipped tail over head, cackling as you hit the water with a splash. A tiny laugh left Nami, eyes shining.

She was the first to help haul you up a rope ladder, hands clutching your damp arms. Nami met your smile steadfastly. “What’d you tell them?”

You giggled, cheeks warm at how you practically laid across her legs, the rest of the crew gathered around. “I just told ‘em I found something worth leaving for.”

(You’d told them you found a pretty human girl and had to leave with her or else you would probably die).

You promised to return for your birthright throne one day, though that promise hurt you. You had a duty to your people after all, no matter how pretty Nami was. But until then, you had today, and you would make the most of it.

Love wasn’t enough of a word to describe what you felt looking at Nami, and obsession was a bit too extreme (though Usopp would teasingly disagree). You simply… couldn’t help but gravitate toward her any chance there was, ever in her orbit. Where Nami was, you were soon to be found. Nami never told you to screw off or give her space; on the contrary, when your shoulder brushed hers, she pressed into you fervently, skin to skin and warm.

It only took a month for you to throw all caution to the wind and do the only thing you knew—go forth with the mer courting rituals (you were hopelessly at a loss, only doing what you’d seen the older mers do to beckon the attention of their intended).

Nami, clueless, accepted each gift of dazzling seashells and shimmery pearls with alighted smiles, taking you in her arms even when you smelled of the kelp forest you’d swam through to find the treasures. She laughed off the bites you gave her wrists, arms, and sometimes shoulders, snickering about how it tickled. And she sat and listened to every song you sat her down to listen to, closing her eyes as the melody calmed her, never needing any actual enchantment to draw her in.

In turn, you assumed her habir of buying you things was some sort of human ritual. Why else would Nami’s cheeks be so rosy as she handed you a luxury hairbrush you’d raved about seeing in a shop window?

“Did you see this new pearl she brought me?” Nami leaned toward Robin giddily, rolling the pearl in her palms. Her lip between her teeth, she stifled a too bright smile. “I’ll have enough to make a bracelet if hse keeps this up.”

“Then I’d say you’ll soon have a bracelet,” Robin mused, turning a page in her book. Nami tilted her head, eyes narrowed.

“What’s so funny?”

Robin’s lips curled up into a grin, eyes darting up to meet Nami’s. She barely contained her mirth as she flipped the book around and handed it over. “Nami, she’s been courting you.”

Jaw slack, Nami poured over the open page, heart stuttering. She slapped a hand to her temple, huffing a laugh. “So by giving her gifts, I’ve been courting her back?”

Humming, Robin took her book and closed it gently. She turned to face Nami entirely, brows raised. “You don’t seem upset.”

“I’m not,” Nami quipped, cheeks warming instantly. Robin chuckled behind her hand. “I—I mean—Uhm…”

The older woman stood and set a hand on Nami’s shoulder. “I’d expect an invite to swim fairly soon.”

Sure enough, not a day later, you shyly slinked up to Nami as she headed to the galley for dinner. Your hand found her wrist, tugging her aside as Zoro and Robin passed by wearing matching grins. You stared at your feet uncharacteristically, shuffling back and forth. Nami felt hot all over. She reached out a lissome finger to wrap around your pinky, whispering, “What is it?”

Swallowing thickly, you huffed a confident breath and snapped your head up. “Would-you-go-on-a-swim-with-me-tomorrow?”

A little smile worked its way up Nami’s face. Your eyes squeezed shut the second you finished your sentence, wincing like she might lash out. “I’d like that.”

Your whole face lit up, eyes wide as saucers. “O-Okay. At sunset. We’ll be docked at that island by then, right?”

Nami nodded and pulled you into the galley. Right as she passed through the door, before she could catch the teasing glances of the others, she turned and mumbled, “It’s a date.”

Nobody questioned it when you hissed your fangs at poor Usopp, booting him out of his seat right next to Nami, and promptly plopped down next to the grinning navigator.

Sunset came to slowly, in your opinion. All day you’d been tripping over nothing, nervous hands making your awkward legs even more coltish than usual. Around evening, the ship tipped too far left far too quickly, sending you careening right into Nami. You dragged the both of you down to the deck, face hidden in your hands as she laughed brightly.

And finally, the sun descended across the sky, shooting oranges and yellows and pinks into the clouds.

The wind kissed your face as you leaned against the ship’d railing, eyes darting back and forth over the rippled waters below. Fish flittered at the surface, bubbling her and there, muttering awful curses at each other. Nami sidled up beside you, eyeing your profile before gazing down.

You snickered, drawing her attention. “Fish hear all sorts of swears and insults from the sailors. I wish you could understand them because I will never be caught translating that mess.”

Your laugh trickled off as you looked at her, eyes trailing up and down her form. She wore one of her bikini tops and a pair of shorts, nothing too special, but something flared up in your chest at the sight of her. Skin prickling, you whipped around and found Sanji not too far away. The cook took a drag of his cigarette, admiring eyes set on Nami. Your fangs peeked out of your lips, trilling a low hiss. Sanji choked and nearly dropped his cig into the sea, catching it betwixt his fingers at the last second.

Nami’s laughed gently, taking your arm and swinging one leg over the ailing, then the other. You gazed into her eyes deeply. “C’mon,” she smiled. “I thought we were swimming?”

With that, she jumped off the ship and plunged into the sea. You jerked forward, watching bubbles fizzle up from the deep before Nami’s head popped back into sight. She kicked into deeper water, calling for you. Taking a moment to sike yourself up, you stood precariously on the ship’s railing, preparing to make a graceful dive after her—when your foot slipped.

Yelping, you tottered offbalance and fell face first off the ship, just barely flipping around to land feet first in the water. The water fizzled and bubbled all around you, the usual sting of scales surfacing from the depths of your skin causing you to squirm slightly. Your senses enhanced instantly, so Nami’s rich, boisterous laughter flowed down from the air to the sea, embarrassment flooding your body. Slowly, you swam upward, water parting over your head and dripping donw your face.

Eyes hooded, you came to face to face with Nami’s state of hilarity, clutching her sides as she struggled to remain above water. You waded toward her, hands finding her sides and giving her a break from kicking even as your eyes avoided her own. She hooked her finger under your chin, grin cheeky. “I thought it was cute.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” you grunted.

Nami rolled her eyes and kicked away form you. “I thought we were swimming?”

“Not here,” you said, coming back to your sense. You reached for her hand and led her along the coast. “This way.”

You placed her arms around your neck and sped through the water, taking the pair of you far from the prying eyes of the crew and nearby sailors. Nami tucked her face into the crook of your neck, chuckling as seaspray stung her skin. Your tail propelled you toward a secluded cove you once visited with your aunt’s migrant pod, and you reached your destination in no time at all.

Now, Nami had done her research. She knew what to expect… But then you actually started to swim, your tail not making the usual constant up an down movements. You took a deep breath, eyed her hopefully, and parted the water by arcing your arms outward. Using a single, powerful thrust of your tail, you glided through the water like a piercing arrow, rotating in a spiral corkscrew. You circled Nami, who treaded water with a confused furrow in her brow.

She had been picturing the Dance of Sea Hearts all day, and yet she hadn’t come close.

Taking a breath, Nami gulped some air and ducked under the surface, flinging open her eyes. The salty water stung her eyes but she remained wide eyed, gaze trailing after your lithe curves and spirals. She caught your eye and the whole world seemed shifted all at once.

Suddenly pickiing up speed, you swam on your side round and round Nami, creating a current that spun Nami in a circle. Cheeks puffed of air, she went up for another bout of air and sank back down in one fluid motion. It was odd sort of dance, your fins brushing her skin and your hands tangling in her hair, taking her hands and spinning Nami in circles till the girl’s lack of oxygen and dizziness created a euphoric lightedheadness. But she trusted you, so she rose up for air and descended under the waves once more.

When you finally started to sing, Nami wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to return to the surface. You were one person yet your voice sounded like a choir, echoes forming under the water and overwhelming every living creature in the vicinity with the beauty of your vocalizations. She remembered when she heard your people singing her crew to thier watery depths… and this was nothing like that. Their voices beckoned her forth with promises of jewels and safety of wealth… but you didn’t promise anything other than the safety of your love.

Nami’s lips returned to the surface, sucking in as much air as she could. As the water closed around the crown of her head once more, you floated right in front of her, careful to not allow any enchantment into your voice. You wanted to do this right, not the way your people usually took the hearts of humans. Lips parted, you strung out your song—the song your father sang to your mother, and her mother to her father, and his father to his partner, and so on.

The dazed look in Nami’s eyes was nearly concerning, and you nearly feared you’d let slip some magic, when her hands cupped your cheeks and her forehead collided with yours. Bubbles flew form your mouth, song halted instantly. Nami gave you a tilted grin, picking up the melody where you’d dropped it, and you were putty in her hands.

Deeper the pair of you sank into the waves, your arms enveloping her body and holding her close, your tail curling around her legs. Noses brushing, your voices twinned together as your smiles rose to greet each other. Nami tapped your arm rapidly, on the brink of suffocation, and you swiftly swam the both of you back to the surface.

Gasping in air, Nami curled her arms round your neck, lungs no longer straining under the power of the sea. “Are we, like, mermaid married now?”

You laughed awkwardly, nosing her cheek. “Not exactly… Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“I do.”

“And?”

She pecked your lips. “I like you too.”

Though your heart threatened to sink, you accepted her kiss wholeheartedly, vowing to someday make her understand the depth of what you felt for her. The night grew long and full of laughter, splashing water hitting your faces as you committed a dance of your own making: having fun.

ZORO

Zoro knew the moment he laid eyes on you that you were dangerous.

With sharp fangs, fins that flared when angry, and the most hypnotizing eyes that made him feel things when he looked in them—you were close to the myths he heard growing up on his home island. Except, unlike the myths, you were kind, and maybe that’s what made it worse.

Zoro also knew something else the moment he saw you jump in the way of a sword strike from an oil miner and proceeded to tear him to shreds. With a mumbled curse and flushed face, he felt a thump in his heart as you heaved, dark eyes taking him in like you intended to devour him whole. But then you smiled, corners of your mouth curling to reveal shiny teeth that should have been threatening, and all he could think was a very firm shit.

He wasn’t getting a crush on a mermaid.

Yet, he found his eyes always drifting to you one way or another. And that voice—you swore you never used your enchantments on anyone, finding it unethical, but you had to be doing something to him. Each morning you went up to the crows nest and sang a song. Zoro was able to name every single one by now, but he’d rather die than admit it.

(But you knew, having a keen eye to catch his eyes fluttering closed whilst you spun your melodies).

You composed yourself far better despite feeling a similar tug in his direction. You were a princess, after all—albeit a feral sea princess, but you held poise nonetheless. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that every time you laid eyes on Zoro you had this innate desire to bite him. Maybe then the cook would get the message and stop staring.

Either way, it was really only a matter of time before the culmination of looks, touches, and songs took its final toll on you both.

You sat with Robin on the steps leading up to the helm, you head propped in your hands, eyes unabashedly laid upon the swordsman training on the deck below. Robin’s eyes drifted up from her journal, flicking between you and the source of your admination, before shaking her head. “You could talk to him, you know.”

Blinking, you glanced her way. “I do talk to him.”

“I mean,” Robin laughed. “Talk to him. About you and him.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that. It would complicate things.”

“And constantly undressing him with your eyes doesn’t?”

You cast her a little glare. “Don’t test me.”

Rolling her eyes, Robin shoved your shoulder, nearly sending you falling donw the stairs. “I’m sick of watching you two. It’s sickening. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of your own romantic customs?”

Cheeks burning, you stammered over incoherent words and wobbled to your feet. Pausing to breathe, you peered over your shoulder, losing yourself for a moment as you caught sight of the grace with which he moved. He moved on from lifting weights, instead going over his katas and form with sword, the Wado Ichimonji.

Robin’s chuckles brought you back to reality. Pouting, you gritted out, “Shut up.” You whirled around and meant to march right up to Zoro—what you were going to say was the issue of future you—but you walked head first into a broad chest and fell in a heap of limbs on the ground.

Zoro’s eyes went wide, motionless as you glared up at him only for your eyes to soften instantly. Zoro huffed a laugh and reached out his hand. You eagerly accepted his help, jumping back to your feet and falling right into your habit of admiring every detail in his face. Your surprisingly strong grip remained on his wrist, your eyes darting between the flesh of his arm to his chesnut eyes. Zoro frowned deeply, confused, trying to tug his hand away and reeling at how strong your vice was.

Blinking quickly out of your trance, you released him, stared blankly, and bolted below deck. Zoro watched carefully, having half a mind to call you back; he’d walked over to talk to you, after all. He liked talking to you (it was a shocking revelation he was still having trouble accepting).

Robin felt like an intruder on such moments, yet always found herself in the middle. She snapped shit her journal and Zoro’s head snapped in her direction, quickly darting his attention elsewhere. Robin let loose a sigh of exasperation.

“Ridiculous.” Before Zoro could process whatever that meant, Robin was gone, leaving Zoro clutching his hand ot his chest and wondering why his skin crawled with the lingering sensation of your touch. He really couldn’t take much more of this. And neither could the crew.

“Every time they speak I feel like I’m walking in on a hook up,” Nami complained to Sanji. “They make asking about the weather feel sensual.”

Sanji chuckled to that. “Patience. Not everyone is as emotionally aware as you, darling.”

A week passed, and the usual brief glances and looks of longing exchanged readily. And then came the night of your watch. Everyone always knew when you had watch because you made it everyone else’s problem the whole day. Groaning and grunting, you lamented your lost sleep, and the others usually chuckled behind their hands whilst you sighed.

Usually, you spent your watch alone, charting the stars to pass the time and singing old sea shanties to keep yourself awake. But tonight was different; tonight, someone joined you.

Zoro’s footsteps thunked against the deck, startling you from your daydream. Shoulders dropping, you sent him a smile and went back to leaning against the mast. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” Zoro sighed. He followed you gaze to the night sky. “Have they moved?”

“Have they—?” You paused to stare at him, mirth glittering in your eyes. “Have the stars moved?”

He flushed from his neck to his nose, only worsening at the sight of your blue-moon smile. “You know—are there new ones? Constellations. Don’t new ones appear when we’re in different areas?”

His frantic explanations only humored you more, dragging tiny chuckles out of you even as you nodded. “I know what you mean. Sorry for laughing… There are new ones. See there?” You sidled up to him and pointed to the left side of the sky. “There’s the South Mother. I could never see her back at my reef.”

Zoro’s brows met. “South Mother?”

“I think you call her Ursa Major,” you explained. “To us, she’s our ancestor, banished to the stars for loving a human.” Realizing how close you’d drawn to him, you glanced at Zoro before swiftly clearing your throat and stepping away. The tranquil quiet filled the space between you, before the stories of your childhood rose to the surface of your memory.

“My mother always told that story as a warning. Never deal with humans. They get you cast among the stars.” A tiny scoff left you, smile forming. “But my father? He told me South Mother was a revolutionary. Why shouldn’t she have loved a human? If she found one worth her time, then that’s her choice.”

You chanced a look at Zoro, locking eyes with him. You found it in yourself to not look away. “I always liked my father’s version better.”

Zoro nodded tentatively, unsure what to say if he should say anything at all. He settled for sitting against the mast, motioning for you to join him. You dropped down quickly, taking a spot on his right and resting you head against the wood. Minutes went by in blissful silence.

“Can I bite you?”

The question caught him off guard, Zoro lurching up to stare at you. His jaw agape, he found your expression to be one of utter seriousness, blinking at him expectantly. His swallowed thickly. “I—In what context?”

You shifted around to face him, waiting for him to do the same. “In the context that I want to bite you so no one else does.”

Reeling, Zoro managed a laugh, lips curling upward. “I don’t think you have to worry about anyone else biting me.”

“So you don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Gods, what was he doing? He lowered his gaze, watching your hands fidget nervously with your boot laces. You were nervous… Glancing up, he saw that same nervous energy swarming your face. “Can I ask why you’re worried someone else will bite me?”

You thought back to your conversation with Robin, and her advice, and regretted ever bringing any of this up in the first place. It was all so stupid. You’d done so well of pushing all of this down… but he was waiting for an answer, and you’re quite certain you’d give Zoro anything he wanted.

“In my culture,” you started, “we bite those we… feel things for. It lets others know they’re talking with someone.”

Zoro understood what you actually wanted to say, no matter how hidden in your words it was. “And you want to talk with me?”

You wanted so much more than that. Honestly, you were clinging to your composure. He’s lucky you even asked first. “Yes. I do. And I don’t want you… talking to anyone else.”

Squinting at the space over Zoro’s shoulder, you awaited the blow of rejection. Surely, Zoro had other options. He was a warrior—strong, wise under all that moss on his head, and kind. Yet slowly, Zoro moved into your line of sight. His heart thundered around in his ribcage, his next sentence feeling silly, yet true.

“Humans do something similar,” he offered. “You bite me… and I’ll bite you.”

You hadn’t expected to get this far. Nodding gently, you threw caution to the wind along with all the pretense. “All that is to say… I… Well, I understand the South Mother because I met you.”

Zoro’s gaze softened, his hands drawing you closer till his exhale fanned your face. You knelt before each other, a single question in his eyes, to which you nod and lean in if only to be near him. His hand cradled the back of your head, lips dancing across the skin of your neck, finding the spot that made you squirm and biting. Zoro had no fangs to sink into your flesh but it hardly made a difference; the mark was there, along with several others littered along your shoulder.

Letting out a shaky breath you gripped Zoro’s jaw before he could go any further and brought his face level with yours. Running your tongue over your two jutting fangs, you muttered, “Where?”

Zoro craned his neck to the side, his breathing heavy and pupils consuming his irises. You gently traced the line of his jaw, completely enamored, before latching onto the skin where his neck met his collarbone. Careful to not wound him, you bit down just enough to leave your mark. Zoro’s slight hiss had you soothing your tongue over the mark, remembering the feel of his lips on your skin, and copied his earlier ministrations. Zoro would deny it over and over, but he whined, and you would take that knowledge to your watery grave.

Come morning, imagine the crew’s surprise walking into the galley expecting the usual dance of awkward feelings, only to find the pair of you thick as thieves showing off the fresh territorial markings splayed across your necks.

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@100520s @murnsondock

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