#this is one of the aus i think about the most

[peachdues]

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

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

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

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

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

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

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

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

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

Life debts.

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

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

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

He will never be able to wash them clean.

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

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

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

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

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

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

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

They were late.

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

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

The stupid, greasy fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

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

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

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

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

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

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

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

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

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

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

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

But you owed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

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

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

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

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

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

Take your trouble somewhere else.

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

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

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

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

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

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

The Kizuki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

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

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

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

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

Or so he tells himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

Step.

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

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“This can’t be your dream life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Read that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You look like shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

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

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

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

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

“Dunno. Curious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As long as it was more than this.

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

———

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

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

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

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

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

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

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

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

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

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

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

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

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

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

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

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

A cop-out, is what it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

True love.

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

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

He wants out.

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

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intimate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he turns and leaves.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in love with Sanemi.

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

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

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

You won’t.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe; you were safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter how much he wanted to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He will rot you from the inside, out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, you just did.

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

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

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

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

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

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t owe me anything —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want more, and he needs you, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More. He needs more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am ready -“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he needs to see you, first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

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

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

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

But he can try.

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

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

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

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Our second DCXDP au has Danny hiding in Gotham with the cores of Dani, Dan and two other clones who survived. They need DNA to be able to reform but it's in a ‘it doesn't have to be now’ kind of way. Not just Danny’s DNA but another to to balance out their genes.

They'll become babies and be raised up. Dani was melting but forced Danny to promise he wouldn't find someone right away he'd take his time to fall in love first. Dan did the same and the twin clones did to.

Danny decides it's a good idea but keeps the cores safe. He ran to Gotham in the DC universe because the GIW were to close to killing him. His parents, Jazz, Sam, Grandma Ida and the Foleys all followed. Grandma Ida is running some gang down in crime alley having a blast with Sam, constantly trying to hook Sam up with Jason who Ida is in a turf war with. Tucker is happily running a tech company that will soon outstrip it's competitors., his parents helping Jazz is terrifying in Arkham as she tears our corruption.

Maddie abd Jack found out about the Leauge of Assassins and went: study time. Danny, knowing its corrupted ecto and also not wanting to deal with assassins lets then have fun. So Ra’s is dealing with liminal mad scientists who keep stealing the Pits and also have uncovered two Damian clones they kidnapped. Their kids now.

But we’re focusing on Danny who is in college and living a peaceful life which is what he wants most of all. The cores of his kids are always on him just in case and he's casually dating. It's great. He can just be Danny the guy who is super into space and plans on being a mechanic for the watch tower.

Then one day Two-Face attacks the cafe he's at (because of a sale it was having where it was two for one on some sort of new treat). Danny has to run for his life. He gets hit and the bag he has the cores in is harmed. One falls out and he freaks, diving for it. He grabs it just as Black Bat swoops in to save him. She flies him up to a roof.

They land and then she moves to grab one of the cores that fell out. Danny gets antsy but it requires skin contact so it should be okay, she's wearing gloves after all. It'll be fine!

On her part, Cass is wondering why her hand feels tingly but there isn't anything malicious in the mans face so she thinks it might just be the orb she caught being weird. She swings off, noting that she has a hole in her glove.

Danny goes home and doesn't think about it until he realizes that the core the hero touched is growing. And it's getting sick without the touch of its other parent.

Cass on the other hand feels strange. Like she's pulled somewhere. She instantly thinks of the guy and alerts the others to him. They hunt him down to find him on a rooftop. He's surprised to see them, holding an Orb that’s glowing.

“I thought it would take longer…” the man says. He shakes his head. “Umm… rip the band-aids off- I'm nottotslly human.”

The Batfam kinda pauses cause he's giving this info up for free. Cass is eyeing him closely. It's just her, Batman and Robin in front of the man. Everyone else is listening in or in the shadows.

“I ran away from my home dimension cause they were hunting me down to kill me because they believed I was non-sentient. You know sad trench- I mean, John Constantine? I think he put in the word we’re friendly,” the man babbles. The orb shines. “Okay, okay. I need to… Black Bat did your glove have a hole in it when you touched this?”

Cass hums but nods. Barbara has Constantine on the line (and no one wants to know the blckmail she has to make him answer) and he's confirming it's a friendly.

“Okay, okay… this is a Core and it's the heart, soul, brain, everything of an ecto-entity like me. And it… it’s my child. But it needed a second set of DNA. It's fine dormant, it doesn't hurt the baby. But it…” the man swallows. “Skin touch.”

Cass knows in a second what he's leading up to. She touched the orb. It needed DNA.

That's her baby in his hands.

Que the chaos.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #Cass and Danny get together #she spends a lot of time with him for the baby’s health #also it's Dan #slow burn time #Bruce is blue screening cause his daughter is having a baby #the bets did not account for Cass who is ace as fuck #Alfred even lost #Fenton parents roll in with their clone sons talking about stealing them #Bruce has a headache

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance. 

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy. 

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless. 

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one. 

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death. 

But it was closure. 

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted. 

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room. 

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video. 

It felt fresh. New. Clean. 

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months. 

At first, he dreamt of death. 

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance. 

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red. 

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes. 

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before. 

It didn’t even really look like a gate. 

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods. 

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean. 

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms. 

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth. 

Pomegranates. 

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home. 

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them. 

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of. 

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there. 

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up. 

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too. 

He knew her. He knew her. 

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before. 

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you. 

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it. 

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap. 

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came. 

You were always alone. 

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work. 

Not yet, anyway. 

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back. 

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm. 

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet. 

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night. 

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really. 

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes. 

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security. 

Safety - an unknown feeling. 

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place. 

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too. 

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it. 

Then one night, he saw himself. 

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked. 

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up. 

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm. 

Safe. 

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be. 

Certainly not 1988. 

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before. 

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting. 

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello. 

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. 

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy. 

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper. 

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia. 

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get. 

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before. 

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you. 

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one. 

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep. 

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s. 

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington. 

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee. 

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate. 

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit. 

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington au

[hatekawa]

Your art is so good and I really like your style! I was wondering, how do you draw backgrounds so well?

You probably mean that one background in the most recent part of the 3 months au comic which the making of was quite of a journey so im gonna explain it step by step

step 1. Pretend that you know what you're doing and practice (for example this background that I drew over a year ago for RinRee's comic "Broken Bonds" (the characters were drawn by her)), gain some experience

step 2. Get a minecraft reference (if you suck at perspective like me)

step 3. fail miserably

step 4. get more references

step 5. figure out what you did wrong, study (for ex. your references), practice some more (i cant show because my practice were other backgrounds for the 3 months au comic)

in my case what i did wrong was lack of warm up (the last time i drew an actual background was few months ago which is WAY TOO LONG), making it not look like an actual train and in general making the room look too organized and empty. Mikey is a chaotic and artistic soul so it's obvious that he'd have a mess in his room (it's important to think about what a character would have in their room, ex. art supplies, sticky notes/stickers, junk, posters etc)

step 6. try again

BONUS: I genuinely enjoy making backgrounds, so it's easier for me to stay patient and pay the attention to them that they need! :]

#anon ask #i have no idea how to tag this #art advice??? #tutorial... #tuTORIEL #eh eh eh eh eh #why was the skeleton sad? because he was feeling BONELY or something i dont remember

[missnxthingg]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood’s newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.6K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing, mentions of sex, angst 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Very very sorry for the delay! Life was a mess and I needed to get things in order. It's coming to an end 🥺 last one will be the last chapter, but let's enjoy while it lasts. Also, this one is for all of us Lando girlies who love to see him succeed in Interlagos!

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𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

The morning after the fight was a rollercoaster of emotions for Y/N. She woke up feeling cold, the covers kicked to the bottom of the bed, and no one lying next to her. By now, waking up next to Lando felt familiar and too comfortable for her liking. She had grown fond of having him pressed against her every morning, his arms draped around her waist and his nose buried in her neck. It felt weird to not have him next to her when she opened her eyes. And then she remembered why he wasn’t there.

She really wished she could go back to sleep and pretend the previous night hadn’t happened.

Y/N wrapped herself around the covers once again and groaned, feeling almost like a truck ran over her body the previous night. She could blame it on the only margarita she had the night before, but she knew she could only blame the fight she had with Lando. The memories of them confessing their feelings for each other was almost too painful. It was killing them; and maybe it was for the best to call off their “relationship”, if they could even call it that.

As most days in November in Brazil, it was bright and sunny outside, but Y/N was convinced it was for the best if she stayed in for the entire day. Maybe she could catch up on her watching list on Netflix, order junk food and cry her heart out while no one was watching. After all, she was only required to go outside tomorrow, when her PR team asked her to accompany Lando to the paddock during media day.

She managed to not cry just fine so far that morning, but the universe was making it really hard to keep it together. If the emotions weren’t enough, Y/N found out that day that she was nominated for an Emmy Award. It was all over social media, with everyone congratulating her and posting clips of her performance on her latest show. Her phone was blowing up with calls and texts, but she didn’t have the energy to celebrate it.

Suddenly, it all felt too lonely. Y/N had just acquired the biggest conquest of her career, one that she has dreamed of her entire life, and she had no one to celebrate it with. The person she wanted to celebrate with the most was nowhere to be seen. So she cried alone in that hotel room, because there was nothing more she could do. She should’ve been out there celebrating that conquest, but she was weeping for the loss of Lando Norris, of all people in the world.

He wasn’t having the best days himself. After she left, Lando couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep even if he wanted to. He could only think about Y/N leaving their room crying after saying she didn’t trust him; after telling it all went wrong because he could only think about himself. All the work he did to try getting to her heart gone to waste, only because he forgot to apologize. 

After a couple of hours after finally getting some sleep, Lando was woken up by knocks on his door. Max had come for him after he didn’t answer his phone for the entire morning. His best friend understood what happened almost immediately when he opened the door, his eyes blood shot from crying too much. Lando sighed before crying more, feeling completely powerless with the situation he was trapped in.

“I fucked up”, Lando admitted, completely defeated. “And fuck, I love her so much. But she’s gone”.

Max tried to cheer him up, attempting to get the pieces back together before he was required to be on track, talking to countless journalists about his job. Lando didn’t want to talk about anything with anyone at that moment, only to Y/N if he could. In the end, with all the suffering he was going through, she was the only person he wanted to talk with to make it better.

“It’s not her fault. It’s my fault. All me. I’m always the problem”, he thought, all day. Everybody knows that Lando can get himself down a self depreciation hole, but now he actually knows it was all entirely his fault. So it was a little harder to get him out of there.

He heard of her Emmy nomination later that day, while they were waiting for breakfast at a bakery. Lando felt a boast of energy in his body, feeling so proud of his girl’s achievement. But when he remembered she didn’t want him there to celebrate it with her, he felt sad once again. He had to retreat back to his hotel room, because it was too painful to pretend nothing had happened while he was outside. People were starting to recognize him, and they could all see the sadness painted all over his face. He couldn’t do it anymore.

The first time Y/N and Lando met again after the fight was on the Thursday morning, as they were waiting for a car to pick them up at the hotel to drive them to the track. He felt uneasy to be around her, not getting to exchange a single world to her. She had grown into his best friend over the past couple of months, him always wanting to share everything with her all the time. So when she avoided his eyes like the plague, it hurt him too much.

Still, he wasn’t one to give up so easily. Lando approached her as she was distracted and said what he was dying to say the entire day. “Congratulations on your Emmy nomination. I’m very proud of you”, he kept his voice low, almost as if he was afraid to say those words. Y/N was looking away from him, but her eyes met his once she heard the words. It was as if she was trying to figure out if it was a figure of her imagination or if he was really saying it to her.

He finally got to see how bad she was as well. Lando knew her like the palm of his hand by then, so he could see that she was suffering too. But he saw a little bit of the light come back to her eyes with his words. But as much as she wanted to throw her arms around him and give him the tightest hug, she knew she had to be tough. So she toughened up and gave him the coldest response. 

“Thank you”, she nodded, looking the other way the second after. If Y/N stared into his eyes for too long, she would give into him. Only a few words from him were enough to ignite the fire on her heart once again.

“I would like to talk to you eventually”, he said, still facing only the side of her face. Lando watched her close her eyes and hold her breath. She was trying to not cry again. “If you want to, of course”.

“Not now, Norris”, she walked away without even looking him in the face.

It was hard to pretend everything was fine as they walked together in Interlagos, especially with the whole media surrounding them and ready to fire questions if they noticed something wrong. Luckily, since there was no racing happening, Y/N got to stay buried inside the McLaren motorhome until it was time to go back to the hotel once again.

Everybody noticed something was wrong, especially with the look on Lando’s face. His mood was so down that even Zak Brown noticed it. And judging by how Y/N hid herself in the McLaren hospitality until the whole thing was over, he put two and two together. He tried talking to Norris, but Lando kept assuring everything was fine. No one in the team, specially those who knew the relationship was fake, knew what was going on. How did the lovey-dovey couple go from posting cute pictures on social media to no talking in a couple of days?

Impressively enough, the whole thing that happened between Lando and Y/N didn’t affect his performance at all. He secured P2 in sprint qualifying and maintained the position on the sprint race. And if that wasn’t enough, he got pole position for the main race on Sunday. Yet, he couldn’t feel happy about it enough. None of that seemed to matter, because he couldn’t feel joy at all without Y/N.

He could’ve finished in any position – he could’ve won, for that matter – and he would still feel nothing. It hurt too much to receive nothing but an empty “congratulations” and a lifeless hug, just for the cameras to capture. Lando wanted to punch a wall, and he wanted to punch himself for what he did.

Later that day, when he was back at his hotel room with Max, Lando couldn’t control his crying anymore. He had been excellent at not bursting into tears through the past few days, but it was getting too hard to bottle in the feelings, especially when Y/N’s hands felt cold on his as they walked with fingers laced in public. His best friend had to hug him in order to hold him up and not crumble to the floor.

“Come on, mate. You need to stop crying and go get some rest for tomorrow”, Max pleaded, now having Lando sit down in his bed. “I know this whole thing is hard, but I can’t stand to see you this sad when you should be celebrating the perfect weekend you’re having”.

“I think I lost the love of my life, Max. So of course I’m crying”, Lando wiped off his tears, but they kept streaming from his eyes. “I can’t feel happy without her. She’s everything to me, and knowing I fucked her up makes me feel so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid to not apologize to her.  I did everything, but forgot the most important part of it all”.

“Have you tried apologizing again?”, Max asked and Lando nodded.

“I said I wanted to talk to her whenever she was up to talking, but she ignored me”, Lando sighed, throwing his back against the bed. “I would do anything to go back in time and fix this”.

“You don’t need to go back in time to fix this”, Max said. “Look, mate, she has admitted having feelings for you, right? So find the right words, put your pride aside and get her back”.

“You don’t know her. She is as hard-headed as I am. No simple apologize will make her forget the dickhead that I am”, Lando said. “And maybe I really don’t deserve her. She needs someone who has never treated her less than the amazing person that she is”.

“Lan…”, Max tried talking again, but his friend needed to vent more than hearing more advices.

“I would do anything to see her happy again, you know? It’s even worse to know she’s suffering too, because I can never get out of my head that it’s my fault. And I could make her so happy if she gave me another chance. I just know it”.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be hearing those words. Talk to her, tell her everything bottle inside you. This time, remember what I said: find the right words. And if it doesn’t work out, well… you already have nothing. You have to at least try”.

Lando went to sleep that night with Max’s words in his head. Months ago, he vowed he would do anything to make Y/N trust him, and he’s yet to try everything in his sleeves. There’s still one more chance, and he would take all the chances he had to have Y/N back.

When Sunday morning came around, Y/N felt almost hungover with the exhaustion from that week. She dragged herself out of bed for the fifth time that week and put on a sundress to enjoy the nice and warm weather outside. Then after breakfast, she waited at the meeting place in the hotel to get to the paddock, ready to put on her best acting and pretend everything was alright. Today would be crucial, because all the eyes would be on her and Lando through the main event of the weekend.

Through the night, before he fell asleep, Lando thought of a thousand ways to get Y/N to talk to him. And if she was finally going to listen to him, he knew what to say. But all his plans were lost when he saw her standing at the hotel lobby, waiting for the car to take them to the track. He thought of a lot of ways to approach her, but he simply rushed into her encounter. And as if their eyes were magnets, she turned to look at him just a few seconds before the collision. Before she could protest, Lando had her engulfed by his body.

She was taken by surprise with the action, but she was even more surprised to how her body reacted to it. Y/N immediately melted into his touch and let her arms around his shoulder, feeling her chest burning into flames and feeling easy to have him so close. She buried her face in his neck and let all the tears she was holding in for days finally fall in relief.

“I’m so sorry about everything”, he whispered in her ear, holding her a little tighter. “I have so much to apologize to you and the right words to say everything, but so little time right now. I don’t want to go one more second without talking to you, because it's been too much for me. I miss you, Y/N”.

“Lando”, she leaned back and looked between his eyes. Y/N could see how this entire thing has impacted him as well, and it hurt to see him hurt too. So she softly ran one of her thumbs though his cheek and smiled, tired of fighting.

“Y/N”, he encouraged, still too nervous with her response. But he felt a little better to see the smile on her lips once again.

 “Go in that car and win this race. For me”, she held his face between her hands and squeezed it carefully, assuring him that they were okay, at least for now. Lando was so happy that he pulled her back to the hug.

“For you, anything”, he kissed her forehead, knowing a proper kiss would be too far. “I promise that after the race, I have so much to talk to you about”.

“Don’t worry about it now, okay?”, she searched for his hands and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll talk later”.

Lando couldn’t let go off Y/N after that. They still were very quiet around each other, but it was a relief to have her hands laced with his all the time. Even better to have his arms wrapped around her as they cuddled in his driver’s room during his break. And you can bet he felt amazing when she pressed a kiss to his cheek before helping put on his balaclava.

“Good luck, Lan”, she whispered in his ear as he pulled him for a hug. “I trust you”.

And with the words he has been waiting for months to hear, Lando went into his car with the boost of confidence he needed. So far, he hadn’t won a race in Formula 1, but he had been so close for a lot of weekends. Always P2, never the winner. But now he had the confidence who could make him pass anyone in front of him. He was going to win for Y/N, just because she asked him to. So when he crossed the chequered flag before any other driver, he felt his entire life flash right in front of his eyes. Every sweat and tears dropped for this moment, who had been a long time coming. All these years had finally paid off.

Once he parked the car, everything moved in slow motion for him. The mechanics pulling him in for a hug, and all the other drivers who came to congratulate him as well. It could be a scene taken out of a film, quite easily. And when Lando saw Y/N standing right next to Zak Brown behind the barricade, he could feel his heart at his mouth. She was drowning in proud tears, applauding him with all of her strength. So he didn’t care about anyone else who was calling his name; he simply approached her and gave her the biggest kiss they ever shared. 

It’s been only a couple of days since he had last kissed them, but Lando missed her lips as if it had been a year since he last did it. And with that, he felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders, knowing everything was finally alright. His reputation was saved, he had a race win, and he had his favourite girl right there with him. It couldn’t get better than that.

Lando chased her lips once she tried to break off the kiss, not wanting to let go off her yet. But she managed to separate them between giggles. “My P1. I’m so proud of you, Lan, congratulations!”

“I love you”, he mumbled against her lips. “I love you so fucking much”.

Y/N didn’t say it back right at that moment, because there’s still a lot that needed to be said between them before those three words. But she kissed him again, and it said it all. She didn't have to say she loves him because Lando knew it. Looking into her eyes, tasting her on his lips, he knew she felt the same. So he didn’t care about getting no response, because he knew it all in his heart.

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye. I promise you”, Lando pressed another quick peck to her lips before proceeding with everything he’s required to after the race.

Lando stood on the tallest step of the podium and raised his trophy as high as he could. He splashed his champagne bottle to make a mess on everyone, spotting Y/N on the ground and spraying the liquid far enough to reach her downstairs. He was glowing, and anyone could see that. It showed through the pictures, the interviews, the small talks with people from his team. McLaren made sure the debrief was short so they could all go celebrating the moment that has been a long time coming.

He was ready to party, but there was one more thing left to do.

“You stink of champagne”, Y/N was giggling between his arms. He was spinning her around as they walked into his hotel room, finally having some time along after the race. Nothing could kill the big smile he had stamped on his face.

“Smell it. It’s Chanel”, he joked, pulling Y/N for another kiss. Lando had her pressed against the door once it was close, and it felt too good to have his breath taken away once again by her kisses. He wanted to touch her everywhere just to know she was really there, but once his hands darted under her dress, she stopped him there.

“Not now, Lan. We still have a lot to talk before all of this”, she broke off the kiss, and he agreed with a nod. Suddenly, he was nervous once again, knowing the talk they needed to have had the potential to fix or fuck everything. “Hey, where’s that big smile you were giving me before? I miss it”.

“It is terrified of losing you”, he admitted, making Y/N’s eyes soften for him. She rubbed her thumbs on his cheeks and pouted, making him open a small grin once again. “But you’re right, we need to talk”.

“We don’t need to do this right now, Lando”, she said as he pulled her to sit in bed. He cut her before she said anything else.

“But I want to”, he said, pulling her hands to entwine with his. “Listen, I don’t think any amount of words can fix what I did to you in the past, but I'm very, very sorry. For every bad thing I said about you and every time I mistreated you. Y/N, you never deserved to hear those words from anyone, and I'm sorry I took too long to realize that”.

Y/N nodded and waited quietly while listening to what he had to say. But she could tell that he was nervous, so she encouraged him by rubbing her thumbs on the back of his hand. Lando looked down and smiled at the gesture. It showed how much she cared about him, even though he keeps fucking her up.

“You jumped into this crazy idea just to help me in the blink of an eye, and I never showed you gratitude. Even when I didn’t deserve, you were kind, and you took care of me. And I kept breaking your heart over and over again”, he admitted. “And I regret all of that. I'm so sorry, and I promise you, I'll change”.

“You already have changed”, she ran her fingers through his curls and looked between his eyes. “I know you have, Lando, or else I wouldn't have opened up to you. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that it was really happening. So I tried to shield myself as much as I could from falling in love with you”.

Lando nodded, a little sad to know that he hurt this relationship so much that she tried not to feel anything for him. But it was nice knowing she felt the same all along, even though they needed some healing.

“And I know you're not the idiot you used to be with me. I understand that you changed and, for you, I would do anything. I would do it all again if I had too”.

“I'm sorry for being so selfish. I was so busy thinking about myself that I forgot how much I had hurt you in the past. I forgot to apologize, and I thought that giving you flowers and kisses would be enough to mend a broken relationship from the start. I was willing to do anything to make you trust me that I forgot the most important part of it all”.

“You understand my point, right?”, she asked, and he agreed with his head. “You showed me that you’re someone worthy of loving, but I just couldn’t trust you at all, because you never showed regret. But now, looking you in the eye, I know that you truly are sorry”.

“I regret every bad word I ever said about you”, he assured. “I think I made my point very clear, but I want to assure you that this thing we have, with sex and the ‘enemies with benefits’, was never just that for me. I would always have that tingle in my heart whenever I was intimate with you and with all the little nice interactions we had, my ice heart started melting for you”.

“Trust me, I know the feeling”, she assured him between giggles. “I also have to apologize to you. The insults weren’t one-sided. And I know you might think it’s all your fault now, but we both know I was a bitch to you as well. So to start in the right place, I have to say, I’m sorry too”.

“Well… I deserved it”, he shrugged, hanging his head down, but Y/N softly brought it up by taking it between her hands.

“No, you didn’t, Lando. You filled me with compliments, and now it’s your turn to take them”, she said. “You also have the kindest heart in the world. You take care of people, and you’re always the energy in the room. You’ve taken care of me on times I needed, and you brought light into my days. You taught me the purest form of love. You make me laugh, and you make me feel like a princess whenever I feel like I'm a monster. You're a good person, Lando. So if anyone is a bitch to you, they better apologize”.

“I used to be so scare of love, but you make it so easy”, Lando looked at her with adoration in his eyes, feeling so great to have his face between her hands. “I love you so much”.

She smiled at him, knowing for sure that now it was safe to say it back. With her eyes filled with tears, she admitted: “I love you so much too, Norris”. 

Y/N pulled him for a sweet kiss, finally pouring all the feelings she had for him into her actions. And he savoured every single second of finally having his dream girl all to myself. Lando slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer.

“I thought I had lost you”, he whispered against her lips, feeling his eyes welling up with tears of relief. He felt it all too hard in his chest. “I'm so glad you're here with me”.

“Yeah, I thought we were doomed”, she admitted too, lacing their fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze. “But love always finds a way”.

“For you, I'll hang the stars in the sky, only to bring them back down if you want them back”, he confessed, now pulling her face between his hands. “I hope we can finally stop with the PR thing, or the friends with benefits thing, or whatever other stupid label between us, and properly be a couple”.

She giggled with him and nodded in agreement. “I want it all with you, Lan. You and me, to the end of times”.

“Forever, my love”, he pulled her for a hug and pressed countless kisses to the top of her head. “Also, now that you’re finally talking to me, congratulations again on your Emmy nomination. I’ve never been so proud of you”, he poked her sides and she laughed with his actions.

“Thank you, love”, she kissed his nose, making him blush a little.

“I’ll never get enough of praising you for this. I was so happy when I heard the news. I knew you were extraordinary, and it was just a matter of time until they recognized it”, he affirmed. “I almost exploded for not getting to celebrate it with you”.

“To be fair, I celebrated it crying alone in my room”, she confessed between laughs. Lando's heart faltered at the confession and his smile dropped. Y/N deserved a proper celebration to this incredible achievement in her career.

“You're kidding, right? So we have three things to celebrate tonight”, he said, making Y/N frown in confusion.

 “What's the third thing to celebrate?”

“My grand prix win, your nomination and our love, now very much official”, he cracked a smile, making her laugh with his statement. Y/N just had to pull him for another hug and lots of cheek kisses.

“You’re so adorable”.

“Come on, let’s get ready. We have a party to go to”.

As she watched him waltz into the bathroom for a shower, all smiley and happy, Y/N felt her heart lighter again. Everything was exactly where she wished for it to be, and she could finally enjoy it all with him. Love is weird, and sometimes it blossoms in places you would never expect. But it’s good to know you’re loved back, especially by someone as amazing as Lando. In the end, love always makes it right.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstuff @bishhhitsaurion @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins @riccdannyf1 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny @lqvesoph @itscrzy @fangirlvibez @poppyflower-22 @livelovesports @logischeroktopus @happy-jj @saturnbloom77 @cmleitora @formulaal @secretgal66 @taisferrari-blog @sunsshinesunny @eclipsedcherry @tems13 @readingbringsjoy @naanibubbletimmispeach @kenzeyeballs @alilcloudy @architect-2015 @tillyt04 @eringaitskill @honeyhatty12 @dreamercrowd @demig0d0fapollo @mxmtewnz @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @beyond-the-ashes @ijustgomessitupx @floraav @laiba26mindflay3r @books0fever @marialovesf1 @sltwins @ourteenagetragedy @katieschry1 @loveofmylife12 @diaa-20 @urfavsgf @chilisandmilk @elleeeee21 @likedbygaslyy @notturlover @c-losur3 @brizzy-xo @gorgrussell @ellasaddiction2 @morketheduck @kravitzwhore @darkacademicvibes @jenna123456789 @crispymcniall @minkyungseokie @theovalentine @arsyao @phantomxoxo @noobmaster6931 @ohlahlaa @c0rpsecore @rafegirly @darleneslane @annalisenelson @nataliambc @amorydsmt @slytherinholland

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

#delicate #lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fake dating #lando norris fwb #lando norris x famous!reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #ln4 x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris enemies to lovers

[akanemnon]

Is Kris okay? Because they seem out of character

They really aren't. Throughout the first two chapters, there are moments that hint towards Kris actually being a pretty anxious person. The aftermath of the Spamton NEO fight comes to mind, or how panicked they sound when they try to tell officer Undyne about Dark Worlds, or how their first reaction to when the school closet to the Dark World opens is to back away. Kris is not indifferent to everything around them. That tendency to shut down is possibly just a defense mechanism. Think about it. Their parents went through a (presumably) messy divorce, their brother (who they were closest to out of anyone) went far away to college, and they are being controlled by us against their own will. And right now in this comic itself they are definitely NOT having a good time either. By all means, they are chaotic and a prankster, but if given the opportunity by the player, Kris shows those rare moments of their true nature. Thing is, we as the player and most characters in the game itself don't get to experience this side of them very often. Since Twin Runes got rid of the player altogether, we and everyone else get to see their whole palette of emotions on full blast.

Like anon said, they are fearing for their LIFE (and that of their dad specifically, since they think their mother is this Dark World's Knight). There are no saftey nets. No saves. No resets. One wrong step and that's it.

Also, keep in mind that while TR!Kris definitely shares elements with canon Kris, they are not exactly the same character. They are a lot more exaggerated than canon Kris. That is true for most characters in this story. I try to stick to canon as much as possible, but there are deviations here and there (the puppet limbs come to mind, for example). This is still an AU after all.

#ask #twin runes #kris dreemurr #queued post

[risuola]

▶ FAVOR — Satoru has always been unpredictable and straightforward, but even so, the favor he asked for surprised you.

contents: silly Satoru, college!au, roommates, suggestive, humorous (??), male anatomy in brief detail, reader discretion is advised — 0,9k words

a/n: ok, this part is... a little more into 18+ territory but still keeping it light and friendly between the trio. a crack if you will, let's all appreciate the stupid boy Satoru.

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“Question!”

The moment Satoru stepped into the room, you could tell from the look on his face — the typical mischief twisting his features into a caricature of innocence — that there’s something going on his mind that you may or may not want to know.

“Yes?” You encouraged carefully, flipping your eyes back onto the stack of papers in your hands. Notes, that you wished would transfer their contents onto your brain before you fail tomorrow’s test.

“I have the most random question– a favor, actually and you have to bear with me.”

“Hit me.” You were ready for–

“How many dicks you saw in your life?” –well, not that. “Real life, real dudes, that is. Not porn.”

You blinked.

Once, twice. The air seemed a little thicker than just a moment before and you shouldn’t be surprised. Satoru is unpredictable, he’s vibrant, he’s straight to the point most of the time, but that took you a moment.

“Can you repeat the question?”

“Dicks. Penises, cocks–“

“Yeah, okay, I got that.” You cut him quickly, abandoning the idea of studying and now paying him your entire attention. “You have to give me some context, Toru.”

“I’m curious if you girls have a preference? Speaking about aesthetics. Do you, like, judge the look of a dick?”

“Has anyone made you insecure about the look of your dick or what is it about?” You asked, confused, though confusion would be an understatement to describe the state of your mind now.

“I don’t know, no one said anything but, uh–“ Satoru began, shrugging nonchalantly, but there was a subtle uneasiness hidden underneath his lighthearted tone that you could spot with no mistake. “Every time I am with someone, they look at it as if they saw a ghost and most often it gets me down before the party begins, so it made me wonder.”

You put down the notes, abandoning the hopes and dreams about a good grade tomorrow and your fingers found their way to the bridge of your nose, pinching it — a typical gesture when you tried to collect your thoughts.

“I highly doubt any part of you could not be appealing, Toru. Even your feet are pretty—”

“Irrelevant. So, I’m asking do you have enough picture storage in your head to compare or do girls even pay attention to the looks of a dick?”

“Well, yeah, I guess? I mean, I received a fair share of unwanted dick picks, I’d say I know how a cock look like… But I don’t know, I think the judgement happens automatically,” you said, exhaling. “I think I saw once a very unimpressive dick. The rest was rather similar, I suppose—”

“What do you mean by unimpressive?”

“God, that’s embarrassing. It was my first partner, you probably don’t even know him, but the guy had at max two inches, which is fine as long as you can work with it, but he lasted less than ten seconds and on top of that he was hairy like a gorilla what probably took an entire inch off his length.”

“Wait, you had a hairy gorilla boyfriend and we don’t know about it?”

“It wasn’t my boyfriend, we didn’t even end up having sex. It doesn’t matter, okay?”

“We’ll get back to this, but now, dicks.” Satoru got closer and kneeled on the bed. “So, the favor. Can you be honest? Like, brutally, 100% honest?”

“Honest about wha— Wait, you want me to judge your dick?”

“Yeah?” He looked at you with the pleading expression in his blue eyes, his voice got whiny for a moment and you really wished to flick his forehead right now. “Please? No other girl will be as honest as you and Suguru is not really the respectable source of knowledge about the issue.”

“Christ, okay.”

You agreed.

You said okay, but for some reason it still shocked you when Satoru, instead of talking like he usually does, pulled his sweats down. Looking away was your first reaction. You felt like you shouldn’t be looking, but he literally just asked you to judge, so you slowly allowed your eyes to run down his body, leaving his handsome face and landing finally on the now free manhood, and oh boy, there was a lot to analyze.

The word pretty usually wouldn’t be your first choice when talking about penises. They were usually very similar, more often than not unimpressive and overall uninteresting, but Gojo… He was just that. Pretty. Incredibly long, and girthy too, covered in light skin with the baby pink head. He looked heavy, mouthwatering, like a dessert of sorts. The set of veins spread from below his stomach and wrapped around the shaft. He was mostly clean shaven, with just the tiniest happy trail of white hairs that against his light body was just barely visible.

“And?” He reminded you why you are even taking in the view. “Brutally honest, please.”

“You know what… I really, really hate giving a head, but that dick I’d suck for hours. It actually makes me salivate, you’re fucking pretty Satoru. I don’t get your concern,” you told him, finally looking away and getting your thoughts together, forcing them together. Why was it so hot all of the sudden? “If they look oddly, that’s probably because you’re fucking huge. Christ–”

“It makes you wanna give me a head?” He grinned, obviously catching onto the words you said when you weren’t thinking clearly.

“Hold your horses and pull those pants up. You have nothing to worry about, you’re gorgeous from head to toe, you idiot.”

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[jonathansthickthighs]

Yandere Choso Kamo x Reader

Description: You start receiving sweet, anonymous love notes from a secret admirer which start turning perverted over time.

Trigger Warnings: 7.4k words, nsfw, college AU, yandere, afab reader, obsessive love, virgin choso, CREEP CHOSO, pervert choso, stalker choso, masturbation, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), choso is kinda pathetic, he calls reader princess, reader is lowkey into choso stalking her, dark themes

Not edited!

Masterlist

I wish you could grasp the exquisite beauty you hold in my eyes. ♡︎

Your eyes widened as you read the note placed in front of you on your desk, heat rushing to your cheeks. Surely this person must be mistaken, was this note really directed at you? You looked around the empty classroom wondering who could’ve possibly left this note on your desk and if they were even in this class. Even if you weren’t sure if the note was for you, suppressing the smile that was forming in your face felt impossible. Nobody had ever said anything like this to you before. Sure, people found you attractive, but the way this was written almost felt innocent— like there was no malicious intent behind it. The complete opposite of what most men that approached you were like.

You traced your hand over the neat calligraphy, feeling your heart rate speed up at the thought of someone truly thinking this about you. You couldn’t help yourself from reading it over and over, allowing your lips to curl up knowing no one was around to see you smiling at a paper like an idiot.

Unbeknownst to you, a tall, pale man with dark hair styled in space buns, stood there observing you discretely through the small window of the amphitheater door. Your reaction to his note caused his heart to leap with joy, the sight of your smile held the power to brighten even his darkest days. Your response to his message only inspired him to dedicate his time to write you more notes that would make you feel as flustered as he was by you when you spared him a single glance.

Choso stepped away from the door smoothly when he started hearing voices approaching from down the hall, pretending to be entertained by his phone. He glanced at the time on the screen, noticing it was almost time for class, but he opted to wait for everyone else to walk in before him. He always did this. Never had he been alone with you in the classroom even though he always arrived before you. He always stood behind a wall watching you stride gracefully into class earlier than everyone else. You were such a smart, punctual, responsible girl and he admired that greatly. He loathed never being capable of being alone with you, knowing he would be a blushing, horny mess— quite frankly, that’s not the first impression he wanted you to have of him.

Taking a deep breath, Choso walked in, making his way to his usual sit, two rows behind you, yet at a perfectly angle where he was able to contemplate your side profile. The moment he walked past you, your eyes locked. You offered him a small, cute smile and Choso wanted nothing more than to beam back at you, but instead he drifted his eyes away from yours, blushing in embarrassment. You exuded such kindness, always greeting him with the warmth of your pretty smile, even amidst the whispers and judgements surrounding his oddness. You kept smiling for him even when he didn’t smile back.

Choso was a very shy man. He didn’t know how to talk to girls, but that wasn’t something he was interested in doing before he met you. Dating had never been something he took interest in. Despite his brothers’ persistent attempts to orchestrate romantic encounters with women, they would always be left disheartened by Choso’s aloofness, proof of his disinterest in the affairs of the heart until he found you. None of them were like you.

The pale man proceeded his daily routine of observing you, not paying attention to what the professor was explaining. To him, this was his time to learn all your quirks and movements. His own personal course of you. Don’t you dare ask him anything on what the class is actually about because he’ll just answer with facts and observations about you. Like how you chew on the cap of your pen furiously when you don’t understand a subject or how you shift in your seat every few minutes because you just can’t seem to find a comfortable position to sit in.

He finds solace in studying your countenance, captivated by your vivid expressions, particularly your expressive eyes. The eyes are the windows of your soul, as they say. They unveil the depth of your emotions, he could tell when something was off about you by merely looking into your eyes— your feelings always danced within them. Being able to stare into your eyes without fear of rejection was one of his deepest desires in life. Feeling lost was a petrifying emotion, but losing himself to the never ending abysm that lived in your orbs was something he would never be apprehensive of.

You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. There isn’t a second in the day where you are not invading my thoughts. I wish I had the courage to speak to you.

Reading the note that was accompanied by a beautiful rose this time, you pouted, wondering why this person was so afraid to approach you. According to your own judgment, you gave off a friendly demeanor. If only you could figure out who was leaving you these notes. You weren’t afraid of approaching them first if they were too shy to do so themselves. You had been getting these notes for a month now and no matter how early you got to class this person always beat you to it. Deciding to form a plan to get this person to show themselves, you started brainstorming.

You could never begin to comprehend the depths of Choso’s love for you. That’s why you would never understand his reasoning when he followed that disgusting man that harassed you on campus. You would never understood why he had to pull the man to an empty alley and make him suffer. Choso hated that he had been at work when it all went down, he wasn’t there to save you and he would never forgive himself for it.

He was lucky you were able to scape him, but nonetheless you would’ve never went through that horrifying situation if only he had been there to protect you. He came to the conclusion that he needed to know your location at all times. That’s why he pretended to bump into you as you made your way to your other class, slipping an AirTag into one of the pockets of your bag discreetly.

He could imagine look of fear in your eyes when this man tried putting his grimy hands on you— it was enough to drive Choso to violence. He wanted to cause that scum the same fear he had caused his precious girl. The lengths he would go for you were unimaginable. What would you think of him if you knew he had stabbed that man to death that night? Even through his internal turmoil about your perception of him, he couldn’t help but feel proud at what he had done for you. From the moment he saw you, he knew he was capable of anything just to keep you safe.

One thing he felt grandly ashamed of was his perverted thoughts. To him you were much more than just a sexual object, but he couldn’t stop his cock from getting hard at the trivial thought of you. Never before had he experienced sexual desire this intense before, because of that, he was still a virgin at his age. Losing his virginity had never even crossed his mind before. Yet, after he met you, he couldn’t stop imagining how pushing his length into your wet, tight heat would feel like.

Every night he would spend it scrolling endlessly through your social media— which he didn’t dare follow— and staring at your beautiful pictures, smiling at him so sweetly. Choso would stare at them intently, thrusting his cock into his fist desperately, moaning your name, imaging you were riding him vigorously trying to make yourself orgasm on his throbbing cock. Thinking about it was enough to make him explode all over his hand and well built abs. Abs he had spent hours at the gym working on to look good just for you. He wanted— no needed you to find him attractive, if he wanted you to only see him he had to make sure he looked his best.

He had trouble containing his excitement when you were around, you simply were too beautiful for your own good. Hence the reason he stood outside the window of your apartment jerking his cock as he watched you rubbing your swollen clit through the window. He wanted nothing more than to climb through the damn window and attach his hungry lips to your clit, which was just begging for his attention. It wasn’t the first time he watched you masturbate, it was clear as day that you needed some help, his help. When you accepted to be his, he would gladly service you every day and night. It didn’t matter how many times as long as you were satisfied, he promised to put your pleasure above his always.

Choso massaged his throbbing cock thoroughly, spreading the precum that leaked from his sensitive tip all over his shaft. He covered his mouth attempting to muffled his pathetic whimpers from being heard by you. He continued watching as you inserted two fingers into your tight cunt, making Choso’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his skull. He wished he could be the one pushing his digits inside of you. He was sure they would feel better than yours, his were so much bigger, they would reach depths you’ve never reached before. Gods, your moans were the most melodious sound he’d ever heard, you were driving him insane— he wasn’t going to be able to hold it much longer. He needed you to come with him. He didn’t deserve to come if you didn’t.

Your facial expressions were the sexiest thing he has ever witnessed. You were simply godly, there was no other way to describe you. The beads of sweat forming on your forehead and coating the rest of your body gave you a breathtaking glow. He needed to taste your skin, kiss and run his tongue all over your delectable body. “Please…” Choso didn’t know what he was begging for, what he did know was how badly he wanted you. His twitching cock was proof of that.

Choso could see your face contort in pleasure. He learned by watching you so often that, when you made that expression, it meant you were close to reaching your peak. He felt relieved knowing that he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. “Let’s come together, princess. P-please, give this to me.” He uttered in a hushed tone, moaning your name lowly.

He shivered as you started fingering yourself at a quicker pace, arching your back. It was almost like you were inviting him to ogle at your heaving breasts, your nipples he so badly wanted to take in his mouth, noticeably perky through the thin fabric of your oversized shirt. Choso would make sure to provide you with a lifetime supply of his shirts, you would never feel obligated to buy an oversized shirt ever again.

Your jaw slacked open as you let it all out, making Choso undergo through a confusing sense of jealousy over your own fingers, yearning to feel you releasing your sweet nectar around his cock instead. Breath heaving, he fisted his pulsing cock a couple of more times, enjoying the sound of the lewd noises that came out of your perfect lips, before spraying an copious amount semen on the ground. He tugged on his cock a few more time, coming down from his high at the same time as you.

“Goodnight, I love you.” His voice barely a sigh as he whispered longingly. He tucked himself back into his pants swiftly before pressing a soft kiss into the tip of his fingers to then drag them it across your reflection in the window. He jumped recalling he should’ve been at his place by now, having lost track of time completely, knowing he had to prepare dinner for his brothers. So with one last look at you, he disappeared into the night.

When Choso arrived to the amphitheater he was surprised to see a note on your desk already. He quickly approached it, grabbing the note, recognizing your handwriting right away.

I want to meet you.

He stilled in place at the five words scribbled on the paper. You were actually interested in finding out who he was? Choso couldn’t decipher what your intent was, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted you to know your secret admirers identity just yet. He knew you were well aware of the swirling rumors about him, everyone painted him as nothing more than a freak. His demeanor remained reserved and he preferred solitude over companionship, which only fueled the disdain others had towards his persona. He wanted to believe you would never see him in such way, but there was always something stabbing him on the side, whispering the possibility that you, too, might harbor the same prejudices as them.

Choso opted to respond to your message briefly, accompanying it by one of your favorite treats before rushing out of the classroom, aware that you would arrive at any moment.

Just like that, exactly one minutes later you entered through the opposite door Choso exited from. You took notice of the note on your desk from afar and quickened your pace towards it in excitement. Smiling, you inspected the treat placed right next to it. How this person knew what your favorite things to snack on were, remained a mystery to you, but it didn’t bother you as long as they kept them coming. Grabbing the note and opening it, your smile disappeared only to reappear in Choso’s face as he watched your reaction. Your facial expression were just so funny to him sometimes.

No. ♡︎

“The fuck?” You exclaimed out loud in disbelief. No? Just no?! You pondered the ulterior motives of this individual. Had they just been playing a month long prank on you this whole time? Visibly frustrated, you plopped down into your seat, glancing at the note once again to make sure you were reading correctly.

Choso felt guilt wash over him when he saw you get genuinely upset, yet he couldn’t suppress the soft giggle that escaped his mouth at how cute you looked when you were mad. He despised that he made you feel this way, but he would reveal himself to you when he was ready and now, was not the right time.

Routinely, he lingered behind for everyone to enter ahead of him before making his entrance. Like he always did, he passed by your row, his eyes inevitably sought yours yearning for that connection he felt with them. This time, an impulse seized Choso, deciding to give you a tentative smile only to not be greeted by your own— mirroring the same coldness he always showed you each time you beamed at him. Bewildered and wounded, he hurried to his seat feeling like he just received a punch in the gut. Was your behavior due to your exasperation at the note or was it because you allowed everyone to taint your mind with the rumors about him?

The pain he felt by your indifference towards him lingered in his chest. Choso spent the whole lecture overthinking, anxiety building in his stomach and causing him to tremble. There was one thing he was completely certain of.

He hated when you didn’t smile for him.

Gloom filled the rest of Choso’s day ever since you decided to stab him in the heart with your frown. Today he had the evening free from his job and he decided to spend it staring at your pictures with a leaky, throbbing erection straining against his sweatpants. He didn’t deserve to ease himself after the events that transpired today. Staring at one of his favorite pictures of you smiling so prettily, he ran his thumb desirously over your face through the screen of his phone. He fantasized about the softness of your skin as he cupped your gorgeous face in his big hands before pressing his lips to yours. He ran his fingers over his chapped lips imagining how they would feel rubbing against your soft ones.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the door of his room slam open, holding his phone to his chest securely before facing whoever forced him break out of his delusions. “Yo, bro where’s the—“ Yuji cut himself off when he saw the strange position his brother was in. “You’re not watching porn are you?” He questioned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Choso.

This caused Choso to shake his head rapidly, with widened eyes. “W-what? Of course not, Yuji! What is it that you need?” He inquired eager to usher his brother out of his room with utmost haste.

Yuji smiled slyly, sliding into his bed. “What are hiding, bro?” He curiously interrogated his older brother, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

Choso chuckled nervously, his grasp on his phone tightened against his chest. “N-nothing, just scrolling, heh.” Way to go, Choso, you can never hide anything from your prying brother. This caused Yuji to snicker, throwing himself towards Choso, fighting him for his cellphone. “Don’t think I don’t see your raging boner, bro. Let me see what you’re looking at!” He joked, attempting to force his phone out of his iron grip.

“Why are you even looking there, brother? Gross!” Choso quipped back, his voice muffled by his brothers hand on his face. With a victorious laugh, Yuji suspended his arm in the air seeing Choso’s phone in his hand.

Yuji quickly unlocked his older brother’s phone because, of course, he had no passcode. “Whoa, she’s so pretty. Who is this?” He exclaimed in astonishment, scrolling through your profile, bamboozled at the fact that his virgin brother was finally taking interest in an actual girl.

“Yuji, please just give me my phone back.” Choso sighed in defeat, not wanting to talk to his brother about his obsessive love for you.

“Is she your crush?” Yuji questioned playfully, dragging the last word. Choso furrowed his eyebrows together, before nodding awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. His younger brother erupted in a boisterous laugh, rolling on his bed like a madman. “About damn time, bro! I was staring to think you were going to die alone— wait, why aren’t you following her?” Yuji inquired, confused by what he was seeing on the phone screen.

“I— we’ve never really talked.” Choso sheepishly admitted, heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment.

“Unacceptable. Let’s talk to her now!” Immediately after that suggestion, Choso ripped his phone from Yuji’s hand.

“Are you insane? She’s gonna think I’m a creep!” Which he was, but he didn’t need his brother knowing that.

Yuji shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, so help me understand. You don’t talk to her and she doesn’t talk to you. I bet you can barely look at her in the eye. How exactly do you plan on getting your crush to evolve, bro? Are you going to pine in secret forever? Do you think one day she’ll come to our door asking for your hand in marriage out of nowhere?” I wish.

“You know what?” Yuji snatched Choso’s phone back, smirking, before pressing the follow button.

“Yuji, no!” Choso pulled his space buns in frustration, falling back on his bed. He glanced at the watch on his nightstand knowing you most likely had your phone on your hand at this hour. There was no way you would miss the notification.

“Chill, bro, it’s done. You’re welcome!” Yuji beamed as he threw Choso’s phone back to his chest, his grin radiating with accomplishment as he rose from the bed, making his way out of the room with a satisfied stride. Choso groaned, covering his face with hands as he blushed furiously. Not even a minute after Yuji walked out of the room he felt his phone vibrate and Choso’s heart almost came out through his mouth when he saw the notification.

You followed him back.

The next day you walked through the door of the amphitheater with a gleeful spring in your step— your frustrations from yesterday seemingly dissipated. You decided you weren’t going to force whoever was sending you notes to show themselves. They have the right to remain hidden if that’s what they truly desired and you weren’t one to beg anyone for anything. If something was bound to happen with your secret admirer, it would.

As per usual, a folded paper laid on your desk, but you were quick to take notice of the white paper bag that stood next to it. You furrowed your eyebrows as curiosity took over you, almost skipping towards it. The note was brief and straight to the point.

Would you wear this for me?

As you blinked, a sense of puzzlement washed over you upon reading the note. Now they’re sending you clothing items? The bag, securely sealed with tape, offered no deterrent as you swiftly tore it open. Instantly, a surge or heat flooded your cheeks at the sight of its contents. You moved your gaze around, making sure no one was around before pulling out a box that held a pair of panties, colored a deep purple, made out of lace, see through material. Oh, but they weren’t just any panties, it was one of those vibrating underwear that was controlled by someone else with a controller.

You couldn’t believe what your eyes were seeing right now. Out of all the endless note you had received from them, this was way out of the ordinary. None of them had shown anything sexual, not even innuendos. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know wether to feel disrespected or severely turned on at the thought of your secret admirer controlling the vibrations during class. You bit you lips giving it some thought before nodding with determination. You shoved the panties back in the bag, advancing out of the classroom in direction to the restroom.

Choso watched in disbelief as you walked out, scarcely able to believe that you were actually going to wear his gift. Today, he had woken up feeling bold and after the confidence boost he got from you the night before, he had decided to procure something a little more special for you. After you followed him back, he saw it as a signal that you didn’t see him as everyone else did. Perhaps you two would be meeting sooner than he had anticipated, yet first, he wanted to test the waters.

He needed to assess the extent of your willingness to invest in him without even knowing his identity. He would’ve never guessed this would be something that excited him at this extent, his cock was fully erect as he eagerly waited for you to come back. He wished he could see the way those panties would cling to your hips and ass— something told him he would sooner than later. He had specifically bought that color to match his hoodie, which he was wore today in hopes you would wear his gift. And you did.

By the time you were back, everyone had settled to their seats already, including Choso. The moment you stepped into the classroom, he pressed the button in its lowest setting drawing a whimper from your lips, making everyone turn their attention towards you. Your eyes widened, swiftly offering an awkward, yet apologetic smile before ushering to your seat. While you were in the restroom you were able to catch sight of what the box the panties came in said— your secret admirer had failed to notice that the box indicated that the vibrations were controlled by a close-range remote control. Now you were able to confirm that your admirer was in this very class.

Choso smirked as he watched you take a seat, nobody else noticed, but there was a slight wobble to your walk— only a person that observed you constantly could differentiate from you usual stride. He proceeded to change the vibrations to the medium setting, almost chuckling out loud when he saw you jump slightly at the sudden change of speed. He could only imagine how wet your cunt was getting. Such a dirty girl, getting off to being controlled by a man she doesn’t even know in front of everyone. Would you be able to orgasm like this?

The pale man had to contain a hiss as he palmed his throbbing cock over his pants under the table, desiring nothing more than to give it to you on the spot. He could see the noticeable embarrassment on your face from his angle. Shifting on your seat every so often, covering your mouth with your hands as you attempted to take your notes and your eyes rolling back every time he changed the speed. He simply loved watching you look around, making sure no one noticed your odd behavior. Choso never knew this could be so hot.

Choso bit his lip, cock twitching in his now too tight pants, seeing your chest heaving up and down. He could tell you were close, so he decided to change it to the highest speed. He watched you lower your head, tightly shutting your eyes closed as you came, muffling your whimpers with your hand. Unbeknownst to you, Choso was in the same exact position as you as he released in his trousers by simply observing you.

He was thankful he decided to wear dark pants today.

I know I messed up, princess. I shouldn’t have given you the panties in the box. Now you know how close I am to you. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed watching you squirm in pleasure in your seat. This is embarrassing to admit, but you were so sexy that you made me come in my pants. I hate wasting my cum that way when it could easily be inside you instead.

I’ve been thinking about it and I changed my mind about us meeting. How about we meet at the fountain in the middle of campus? Tonight at 8pm. I bought you a little something to wear for me. ♡

You hadn’t stopped re-reading the note ever since you left class. The dark, purple summer dress he had bestowed upon you lay delicately on your bed as you wished time would hasten its pace, eager to encounter this mysterious individual. Excitement bubbled up in your stomach as well as fear, what if this person turned out to be less than benevolent? There was barely anyone around campus at that hour, there no one to save you. Memories of the time that man had tried harassing you flooded your mind, not wanting the past to repeat itself. Yet your longing to meet this person persisted more than your anxieties. That’s why you opted to pack a pepper spray and a pocket knife in your bag without forgetting to share your location with your best friend.

Noticing the time to leave was approaching, you quickly dressed yourself, spritzing one of your favorite perfume on yourself before stepping out the door.

Choso was a nervous wreck, having arrived an hour too early. He had been sweating bullets the whole time as he attempted to get ready, forcing him to endure three showers. How was he supposed to look his best for you when his body wasn’t cooperating? He had wore his best outfit for you and made sure his hair was neatly styled in his usual do.

Now, he was there, struggling to regulate his breathing, trying his hardest to control his sweating. He dreaded appearing like a disheveled mess when you finally met. He kept checking the time, despising how extended each minute felt. He scrolled through your account, attempting to make time pass by faster, entertaining himself with your pictures as he always did when he felt down. He took notice of the time, seeing it was already one minute past eight. Where were you?

You were merely a minute late, yet panic took over him, entertaining thoughts of being left abandoned or worse yet, fearing that something had happened to you on the way here. Rising to his feet, he scanned the dimly lit campus and there was no sight of you. This couldn’t be happening to him. He could almost feel tears forming his eyes and just as he was about to check your location, he heard soft steps approaching through the grass.

He turned around and there you were.

He gulped when he saw you were wearing the dress he had gifted you with so much love. You were so beautiful, his heart twisted in his chest. For the first time it was just you and him— with your knowledge, obviously. He stared into your eyes and you stared right back. Your eyes were wide in astonishment. Choso attempted to open his mouth, but no words came out.

“It’s you.” You stated, your voice almost a whisper. Choso’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, his gaze was fixated on your pretty face and he couldn’t possibly look away. So, so pretty— he wanted to snatch you away and hide you from the world, your beauty shinning for his eyes only. He probably had a lovestruck look on his face and he didn’t even care about hiding it anymore.

“Y-yeah.” That was all Choso could manage to utter out, wishing he had left his hair down so it would at least cover part of his flushed face.

“You’re a shy little thing aren’t you?” You giggled, taking a few steps closer to him. “You can’t even look at me in the eye for more than a second.” You added as you tried to catch his golden brown eyes, surrounded by what seemed like red eyeshadow, but in reality the crimson around his eyes was brought to you by his lack of sleep. Choso kept his gaze on the ground, feeling the back of his neck starting to sweat. “You were incredibly bold the other day, not what I would expect from a man like you. Consider me pleasantly surprised.” He blushed harder at your compliment.

“Y-you liked it?” Choso inquired attempting to meet your eyes again, almost whimpering at how close you were to him. He could feel the warmth radiating from your body.

“Honestly, I found it quite disrespectful.” You started, making Choso’s eyes open up as he started apologizing profusely, but he was cut short. “But that was only at first. The more thought I gave it, the wetter I got. I fucking loved it, Choso.” His dick shot straight up the moment he heard his name leave your lips, he had longed to heart it for longer than you could muster. You drew yourself nearer to him until your soft chest was pressed against his hard one. Choso could stop his eyes from glueing themselves to your chest, being squeezed against his own. He was rock hard.

“Now it’s my turn to be bold with you, Choso. Would you like to go back to my place and show me what you can do with that, instead of a vibrator?” You suggested, biting your lip as you cupped his member in your hand. The golden eyed man couldn’t hold his whimpers when he felt your hand on him. This was not the way he visualized this night, but there was no way he would reject your offer.

“Let’s go.” Choso agreed eagerly.

You grabbed his hand as you both started hurrying towards your apartment which was only five minutes away. He was certain he would never tire of the feeling of your hand on his. He stared at you face, not believing you were truly here with him. He couldn’t stop himself from slipping your hand from his and lifting you up into his arms, carrying you the rest of the way.

“Oh? You seem to know the way to my apartment, have you been stalking me?” You questioned playfully, poking his cheek. Choso stopped on his tracks, looking at your facial expression trying to find the reassurance that you were truly playing with him right now. “Jeez, Choso! Relax a little, I’m only joking. I wouldn’t mind you stalking me, I’ve always thought you were the hottest guy in class.” You winked at him, causing a genuine smile to creep to his red face as he continued his way to your apartment.

The moment you arrived at your apartment, Choso rushed to your bedroom with you still in his arms, placing you gently on your bed. He sat next to you, feeling the sheets of your mattress, reminiscing of all the times he had been in here without your knowledge. You placed a hand on his thigh softly and he flexed it as he felt himself tense up when you got closer to him. “W-wait. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

You stared at him in bewilderment. “You’re being serious right now?”

“Yes. I-I’m sorry. I wanted to let you know in case I wasn’t… good. We don’t have to continue if you don’t want.” Choso apologized, starting to get up and walk himself out of your apartment, only to be stopped by you.

“It’s okay, Choso. I just can’t believe a guy that looks like you has never done anything like this before.” You admitted as you cupped his face gently. The fact that you found him this attractive made his chest inflate with pride— after all, he always tried to look his best for you. “Can I kiss you?” You asked for permission and he answered with an eager nod. You closed the space between you both, massaging your lips into his surprisingly soft ones. Choso placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze, making you open your mouth ardently for him to slide his tongue in. Your wet tongue felt like heaven against his, you kiss was skyrocketing him into an abysm of serendipity. He never thought kissing could feel this good.

You slowly pulled away, a string of saliva keeping your lips connected to one another. “That was amazing, [Name]. Thank you.” Choso gratefully expressed, a lovesick smile lingering on his face.

Your lips formed into a smirk before pushing him back on your bed, climbing onto his lap and crashing your lips into his once again. He responded right away by sliding his tongue across your bottom lips, desperate for you to allow him entrance into your wet cavern and you complied enthusiastically. As you shared the reverent kiss you started grinding you hips against the tent in pants, making him grunt into the kiss. You pulled away from him momentarily to lift off his shirt, revealing his chiseled abs. “Wow, you’re so strong, Choso.” You praised him, dragging your hand over them, making him hiss at the contact.

“It’s all for you, princess.” He admitted, daring to place his hand on your ass that was half covered by the purple fabric of the dress. “Gods, I’ve wanted to grab this ass for such a long time. You’re so damn breathtaking.” He added squeezing your globs firmly.

“You can touch me wherever you want from now on.” You replied shakily, feeling your panties damped more by the minute. Having him feel you up and grope you this way was making you inexplicably horny.

Choso moved one of his hand tentatively up your thigh until he reached your crotch, looking up at you for permission to touch that sacred place. You gave a nod, understanding exactly what he was asking for. Choso wasted no time, running his fingers over your clothed pussy. You shut your eyes, quivering as you felt him graze your sensitive clit, wanting for him to pull your panties off and touch you without a barrier. “Can I taste you?” You slowly unveiled your eyes to find Choso begging you with his eyes to allow him the pleasure of eating you out. You nodded zealously, getting off his lap, standing in front of him as he remained seated.

Choso pulled your dress off, slowly exposing you to him. “I can’t belive how beautiful you are.” He ran his eyes over your body, adorned by some cute purple, lace lingerie, making him grin adoringly. It seemed that you knew by now he loved that color on you. As much as he loved the way you looked in the little piece you decided to wear for him, he needed it off. Now.

He attempted to undo your bra, needing your assistance due to his lack of experience, making you giggle. He slowly pulled the bra off, revealing your naked breasts to him. He couldn’t help himself from ogling your breasts like a pervert, he had wanted to see you fully nude for such an extended period of time— he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

The curve of your waist was inviting him run his hands through it until they reached your hips and with that he pulled you closer to him, until your breasts were close enough to his face. He took one of your perky nipples in his mouth, sucking like he was starved while he pulled gently on your other nipple. He moved his other hand down to your cunt to rub on your clit over the thin fabric, while simultaneously stimulating your sensitive nipples. It was too much for you, moans flew out of your mouth unstoppably. You were incredibly wet.

He moved on to suckle on your other nipple, enjoying the taste of your skin thoroughly. He released your nipple with a wet pop, yearning to taste your juices on his tongue. He hooked his finger on your panties before pulling them down in a swift motion. He pushed you gently onto your bed. He spread your legs apart, groaning at the sight of your sopping wet cunt. “Such a pretty little pussy. I’ve always wanted to have my mouth right here.” Choso expressed as he placed a finger on your clit, always begging for his attention. “You don’t know how many times I’ve jerked off watching you touch yourself.” He let the confession slip out before he could stop himself.

“You’ve watched me touch myself? That’s so fucking hot!” You threw your head back as he started rubbing consistent circles on you clit. He decided he had teased himself long enough and it was finally time to taste you. He started by giving you a long lick, dragging his inexperienced tongue upwards from your entrance towards your clit, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he delighted himself with your taste for the first time. He stilled for a moment before attacking your clit with his mouth. With your guidance he was able to lick at just the right spot, earning breathy moans from you. You chanted his name as he licked your sensitive bud with no plans on stopping until you fed him your nectar.

“Don’t stop, Choso! Put your fingers inside me!” You squeaked out as he quickly complied, your walls squeezing around his fingers and he reached places you’ve never reached with your own fingers. “I’m gonna come soon!” You whined, squeezing his head between your thighs as you arched your back in pleasure.

He speed up the movements of his tongue, delighting himself with the taste of your pussy, thrusting his digits inside you at a rapid pace. He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning into your clit, knowing he was going to make you orgasm with his mouth just like he always desired. Once he felt you clench around his finger tightly he knew it was over. A scream of his name rippled your throat as you let it all out. You shivered as you came down from your, legs trembling in ecstasy. Choso stayed attached to your pussy with his eyes closed, body quivering, lapping up your delightful juices. You had once again made him come in his pants.

Choso stood up from his knees, unfastening his trousers, kicking them off his feet, desperate to finally feel you pussy. You stared at his cum covered cock, taking in his size. “You’re huge, Choso.” You said eyeing him lustfully. The lewd look on your face made his dick stand up completely straight even after having came just now.

You shimmied yourself onto the middle of the bed encouraging him to climb in with you. Choso complied, hungrily contemplating your body. He loved absolutely every part of it. Placing himself on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight, he pressed his lips against yours, missing the feeling of them. While you were kissing he started grinding his cock against your soaking wet heat. His erect member was in desperate need to be sheathed by your warmth.

Choso grabbed his member by the base, rubbing the tip against your entrance teasingly slow, spreading the cum that coated him all over your pussy. “Push it in, please, Choso.” You begged, voice wavering in desire. Hearing you plead for him awakened something different in him, he no longer felt embarrassed or ashamed about anything. You had accepted him. From this day on you had become officially his and he owned your pretty body. Nothing could stop him now, nobody would take you away from him.

Satisfying your plea, he pushed in, stretching out your tight cunt with his girth. He grunted in pleasure as you engulfed him in your heat, burring his head in the crook of your neck. Your jaw slacked open as you felt his immense size enter you, feeling him in your stomach as he bottomed out. “F-fuck, princess. You feel amazing, s-so tight!” Choso complimented, conscious that he wasn’t going to last at all. Your pussy clenched deliciously around him, a sensation he had never felt before. He knew you’d understand.

“Oh, Choso! You’re so deep inside my pussy!” You managed to babble out, already feeling drunk on his cock. You grabbed onto his space buns, undoing them so you could see him with his hair down and what a great decision that was. This man was gorgeous, his long raven locks falling down his face, giving him a more rugged look. You couldn’t stop the moans that escaped your lips at just the mere sight of him.

Choso whimpered your name, ramming his cock deep inside you at a steady pace. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer, princess. I’m s-sorry.” He uttered out shakily, caressing your face lovingly. He started pumping his cock inside you at an inhuman speed feeling his orgasm approaching faster by the second.

“L-let me feel your cum inside me, Choso. Just like you said you wanted in your note!” Your words alone made him quiver out his orgasm with a load groan of your name. He moaned, throwing his head back as your cunt milked his semen out of his, injecting it straight in your womb. You moaned enjoying the warm feeling of his spent filling you up. He continued thrusting erratically and sloppily, stilling inside you, wanting to feel the warmth of your pussy for a little longer.

“I love you so much.” He confessed breathlessly, keeping his head buried in your neck as he caught his breath, relishing the way your body molded into his perfectly. You were meant to be his. Deciding to finally pull out, he hissed as he watched your mixed juices drip out of your hole. This had been the best night of his entire life.

All thanks to you. ♡︎

#yandere #yandere choso #yandere choso kamo #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere choso x reader #yandere choso kamo x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #yandere x reader #tw: dark content #stalker choso #dark choso #jjk smut #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen smut #creep choso

[wasabi-gumdrop]

thinking about modern au Kabru

ivy league college student, probably studying law and political science on a full scholarship. first time living away from Milsiril so he has to promise her, yes mom i’ll call you at least four times a week, no mom i don’t need your amex black card, yes mom the normal credit card is fine i need to learn how to budget like a Normal Person (it has a limit of $20k — that’s not normal Kabru).

Milsiril insists for a long time that she’ll just get him a house off campus so he can have his own space (aka a place she can drop by anytime and possibly live a few months out of the year just to be close to him) but Kabru puts his foot down and tells her the best way he’s gonna make friends is by living with other students (bye mom).

his floor in the coed dorms is the party floor and he always makes sure to invite everybody (his nightmare is accidentally leaving anyone out and having them think that he doesn’t like them). somehow it’s always a good time, everyone leaves with more friends than they came with, it never gets totally out of control, and plenty of girls who are interested in him (and a lot of guys too tbh) bring tons of baked treats so there’s always free food. Kabru is the RA’s favourite person to have in the building (even though Kabru himself is messy but most of the people he’s friends with are nice and clean up after themselves).

he has a porsche (Milsiril gift for his 16th bday) but he’s adamant about not driving it unless he absolutely has to (because he doesn’t wanna look like a douche). BUT he never says no when his friends ask for rides (so he ends up driving all the time anyway). he actually contemplates selling the porsche and going for a more practical car but Mickbell is like ‘dude you are not taking this away from me.’ Kabru sighs and decides to keep it because his friends (Mickbell) like being chauffeured around in a fancy convertible (Rin, Holm, and Dia don’t care, they’re just glad they don’t have to walk to the grocery store).

he’s probably on a casual texting basis with most of his professors and you know he’s going to all their office hours, grabbing beer with them just to keep chatting about life outside of school. and that’s how he winds up in some super secret faculty group chat where he’s now privy to all the college administration gossip.

Kabru is elected for student council during his freshman year and he’s probably the favourite to be sc president one day.

he doesn’t really date (gets too in his head about how he doesn’t wanna ruin any friendships) but he does hang out one on one with a lot of girls and treats them all really well. he probably goes so far out of his way to be platonic that he flies a little too close to the ‘Just Like One of the Girlies’ sun, he kinda forgets that most people interpret it as flirting coming from him. which leads to a few awkward conversations. people feeling led on, a few angry jealous boyfriends, scathing dms about him being a girl stealing homewrecker.

it’s such a nightmare for him and he needs it to end right now. so he begs Rin to ‘date’ him for a week or two and then publicly dump him just so the entire student body gets the message that he is Just A Friend.

Rin stares at him for a few seconds. then she laughs. she laughs and laughs. she laughs for a crazy long time. and then eventually she goes, ‘wow you’re an asshole, Kabru. no i won’t be your fake girlfriend. you’re gonna suffer and i’m going to enjoy it.’

and that’s when Kabru has a moment of enlightenment. ok yeah. asking for that is probably really selfish and mean. maybe he needs to think about girls’ feelings more and that’s maybe more important than his deep seated need to be liked, and when has Rin ever been wrong about anything.

he apologizes. and so begins one of the more serious talks he’s ever had with Rin about being okay with not being liked.

he thinks he can really turn over a new leaf. the whole ‘not worrying about what other people think’ thing goes pretty well — up until Kabru meets the aloof professor for his Monsters and Myths class who keeps forgetting and mispronouncing his name.

Kabru has never needed someone to like him So Bad, he needs Prof. Touden to like him as a matter of life and death, and he’s willing to look stupid for it (fails a midterm on purpose to justify begging for one on one tutoring)

#wow if you made it to the end of this post here’s some surprise labru #kabru says fuck my gpa i need this white boy to like me #i am plagued by demons (labru professor/student situationship) #dungeon meshi modern au #ok but the Kabru Milsiril dynamic is my new favourite chew toy #especially them in a modern setting #all of the lavish gifts and expensive lifestyle that Milsiril would want Kabru to have #perhaps even as a way of depending on her forever (love to an unhealthy degree) #but Kabru is more interested in people than material things #so perhaps he’s a little out of touch financially (thinks a jug of milk costs $12) #but he’s still very much socially aware #enough to know that he can’t just be another annoying trust fund kid with a dumb car and designer clothes and zero fucks about academics #so his social and academic excellence is probably in large part overcompensation for his privileged upbringing #and even the thought of someone not liking him gives him stomach cramps LOL #kabru my love you will always be famous #kabru of utaya #kabru #wasabi rambles #labru #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (6) - A Proposition for You

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 6 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4911

Work count for Story: 23,924

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, arguments, comfort, Alpha Space, close proximity, and scenting.

Story Summary: The Hybrid K-pop group BTS is on tour in America; of course, things don't start out the way they should, but after an encounter with Y/n, things change but will everyone follow Fate?

“Excuse me, Sirs. We have arrived at the AirBnB,” the driver announces through the van's intercom system. The voice pulls Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook's attention away from the scenting session. 

“Thank you, Malcolm,” Jungkook calls out loud enough to be heard past the petition between the driver’s and passenger seats. Looking down, he trails his fingers through Jimin’s hair as the tiny Alpha is now sprawled out across his and Taehyung’s lap with his eyes closed. 

“Minie, we need to get out, my little love,” looking at Taehyung, “Tae? Are you good now?”

“Hmm. Yeah, Kook, I am doing better,” Taehyung opens his eyes, returning to their clear brown. Lifting Jimins legs off his lap, Taehyung moves from his seat and opens the van door. 

“Minie, you cuddle bug. Time to go, I know you are nowhere near a scent high, so please get up so that we can get Y/n to see the doctor.”

Jumping up from lying on Jungkook’s lap, Jimin stumbles out the door and over to the first van, “I will get their door!”

Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle as they watch the dancer trip over one of the van's chairs, but he manages not to fall onto the curb before beelining it to the other van.

“Hey, Tae. Are you going to be okay around Y/n?”

“I think so. It might be better for me to keep my distance until she isn’t in as much pain. I think that is what is causing the most issues for my Alpha. Well, that and keeping away from that pathetic excuse of a Director.” Taehyung growls out the last part.

“I think it would be best if we all keep away from him, though I think Manager Sejin and Namjoon will have to at least deal with him a few more times.”

“Better him than us. Why don’t you go with the others, and I will help out with the luggage so that everything is where it should be?” Taehyung hugs Jungkook around the shoulders, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook looks closely at Taehyung, smelling his clear and unbothered ebony wood. “Alright, hopefully, the doctor will be here soon. I think time has flown by faster than we think. It is already starting to get dark out.”

Buzzing. All you hear is buzzing as your brain short circuits. The desire to melt into the man holding you and run from the predatory eyes of the men watching you causes your body to tense and twitch. 

Suddenly, the van door opening seems louder than it should. It startled you into finally moving away from them and out of the van. 

You didn’t realize how stuffy the van had gotten, but the intensity of the scents within the van does not go unnoticed by Jimin as he watches you bolt from the van right past him towards the packhouse. Yoongi followed close behind with a smirk on his lips.

“What did we miss being in the reject van?” Jimin asks no one in particular. 

“Oh, you guys missed quite a bit, but we will talk about it later. Maybe once Miss Y/n goes in with the doctor,” Namjoon says as the rest leave the van. 

Jungkook walks up to the group and watches you with a confused look. Manager Sejin also joins them.

“You all realize she has no idea what she is to you. She isn’t going to understand why it is nice that she is so instinctually responsive,” Manager Sejin comments using air quotes.

“Yes, Manager-nim. She just was… ah it is hard to explain,” Hoseok bashfully responds as he looks at the floor.

“Well, she isn’t my mate, and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to break it to her, but you are going to have to be careful. I know that much.” Looking at you, a softness of worry crosses his face.

“Do you guys know that she wouldn’t even ask for a bottle of water when she got to the van because she didn’t want to take something from the pack?”

“I have a feeling that she has had to be the one to take care of others and put herself last. She won’t ask for help, and accepting help will be hard for her. Especially, since you guys are so well-known and established as a mate-bonded pack.” Manager Sejin looks at his watch, down the street, and then back to the gathered group.

“The doctor should be here in a few moments. You might want to get her inside and settle in one of the unoccupied rooms, Namjoon-ssi.” 

Manager Sejin bows respectfully to the group and heads to the luggage van, where he can see Taehyung giving directions.

You walked quickly, not running, up the stairs to the front porch—fresh air—cool Air. It was non-steamy, good for your heart, and not going to make you lose your job and blessed air. 

Taking deep breaths, you hope to clear your mind, slow your heart to a normal pace, and regain professionalism from wherever it is hiding.

Muttering to yourself, you are unaware that Yoongi has followed you, but he keeps a distance while listening to your utterances. His smirk grows to the point his eyes are almost closed. Now that you have calmed down, you turn around and almost run into him.

“Ahh! Don’t sneak up on me like that. I need to get you and Evie both a bell. It must be a feline thing.” Glancing past Yoongi you notice Taehyung coming up the steps with some of the staff carrying in the luggage, “Should get one for him too.”

Chuckling, Yoongi shakes his head, “No bell. No house cat. Jaguar.” Taking a step closer, he sniffs, “Better? No conflict?”

You can’t help but smile softly at his concern: “No, I am fine now. I just haven’t had much skinship as one might say… outside of my family pack, as you call them.”

“I know it is a big cultural thing amongst hybrids and even more so depending on the kind of relationship involved. I guess I was just taken back by all the … all that.” You say, gesturing towards the van as if it were explaining whatever was happening inside. 

Yoongi nods in understanding and takes the last step to be by your side, facing the rest of the pack. His tail again wraps around your waist, and you giggle in amusement, returning his attention with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you keeping me on a fur leash?” You ask, pointing at his tail on your waist.

Yoongi looks down at where you are pointing and looks at his tail like he doesn’t realize that he ever put it there, to begin with. With a glare like he is scolding a child, his tail starts to let go, which pulls at your heart a bit.

“It’s okay, Alpha.” You say as you stroke along the very soft black fur, laying it back in its place, “you are keeping me close and safe like a good Alpha should. Thank you for protecting me.”

Yoongi preens at the compliment while holding back a shudder at the feeling of you petting his tail. His Alpha is happy that you recognize his needs and are allowing him to continue.

“Mr. Min,” you start to speak only to get cut off with an indignant huff.

“Yoongi. Alpha. Not, Mr. Min. Yoongi.”

“Ah, umm. Okay. Yoongi,” you say with a blush as you avoid looking him in the face, “I want to thank you for helping me not land hard on the floor back at the office. I am sure I would have been in worse shape if you hadn't tried to catch me.”

“Hopefully, you know that I do not blame you for my wrist. It was just really bad timing.”

“Still hurt. Keep safe for healing,” Yoongi says, leaning down to catch your eyesight and hoping you see the truth in his words. 

The truth is that he will keep you safe not only while you heal your wrist but also your heart and soul.

“Time to go ahead inside. Jin, can you make some snacks with Hobi for everyone? The rest will help with the luggage, and I will go with Yoongi and Miss Y/n to one of the guest rooms on the first floor.” Namjoon instructs the pack.

With different forms of agreement, the boys take off to do their assigned tasks. Seokjin and Hoseok smile sheepishly as they pass you, heading to the kitchen.

Namjoon walks up the stairs, his ears flicking to the street as he hears a car approaching, which could only signal the doctor’s arrival—leaving the greeting to the manager.

“Miss Y/n. Yoongi. If you please follow me, I will take you both to one of the guestrooms that you can use to meet the doctor in. We have some snacks being prepared and will bring those soon as well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to eat in one of the bedrooms, Prime Alpha Sir. Plus, my stomach isn’t feeling so well with all the pain,” ‘and the emotional waves’ you add on in your mind.

Leading you both into the house, Namjoon nods his head, “I see. I am sorry it took so long for us to get you seen. We normally heal rather quickly as hybrids. I think we kind of forgot that humans cannot do that. Sorry.”

“No worries, Prime Alpha Sir. I have a high pain tolerance, according to my mom and Derek, but I guess there is just so much that has happened in a short time that my body is just kind of everywhere. I am sorry if my scent is causing any problems as well. I know it must be all over the place.” 

At that last comment, you feel a tug at your waist from the tail, causing you to stumble back into Yoongi. Who buries his nose in your neck, similar to how you were being held by Hoseok in the van, causing you to blush as you regain your footing. 

“Smells good. Not bad. Y/n in pain but happy,” he says as he releases you. This time, he grabs your good hand and pulls you into the room that Namjoon has opened. 

The room is significantly larger than your bedroom, that is for sure. The walls are off-white, with a dark purple accent wall containing a sitting window. The bed is a four-post queen with deep purple curtains tied back with black lace complimenting the purple and black bedding. All the furniture is in a dark, almost burnt-looking wood with iron accents.

You look around the room with your mouth agape. “It’s so beautiful here, and look!” you exclaim as you walk to the adjoining bathroom. “It comes with a private bathroom!”

Namjoon and Yoongi smile at each other as they smell your sweet pea coming out in waves with a hint of more jasmine, which the boys now understand is an indication of your happiness. 

“There is also a walk-in closet, but my favorite part is the sitting window. Perfect to read in,” Namjoon adds.

There is a knock at the door, though it is standing wide open. The three of you look over to see the manager, Jungkook, and a woman with an old-fashioned medical bag standing just outside the door.

“Pardon the interruption, but Dr. Blackwell is here,” Manager Sejin states, motioning to the woman beside him, who bows.

“Dr. Blackwell! It is good to see you again, please come in. I am sure you were informed that Yoongi is in Alpha Space and will probably like to stay but I will step out if it is needed,” Namjoon greets Dr. Blackwell with a firm handshake. 

Dr. Blackwell is a younger-looking woman but still older than you. Her hair is in a French braid, and she is wearing a pantsuit. Setting her bag on the chest at the end of the bed, she looks at Yoongi with kind eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Kim. I was informed and you are correct, since the patient is not a member of your pack then you will have to leave. Technically Mr. Min should leave as well but I will leave that up to the patient.”

“Oh, umm…” Looking between the doctor and Yoongi, they both seem to await your decision. “Mr. M,” you are cut off by a huff and a tug around your waist, “Sorry, Yoongi can stay for now. If anything gets too private then I ask him to step out.”

Yoongi’s actions cause the doctor and Namjoon to pause before looking at each other. Dr. Blackwell speaks first: “Mr. Kim, I was informed that Mr. Min believes to be responsible for the injury. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that is right, and as a mate ~cough cough~ bonded pack we are all here to support them.”

“Oh. I see and that would explain the familiarity. Thank you, Mr. Kim, that is all I believe I need from you now. Unless you want me to check out your cough?” Dr. Blackwell teasingly asks the Prime Alpha who turns slightly pink.

“Nope, I got it. You got it. Yeah. We will head out with the rest of the pack. Gonna be waiting in the dining room near the main kitchen if you need anything or need to kick Yoongi out.”

Namjoon bows to the doctor and then smiles at you as he walks out of the room, taking Jungkook with him.

In the kitchen, the two eldest have finished preparing snacks and drinks for everyone, including the staff, who gathered around munching on them. 

Pleasant conversations are happening here and there between everyone present. Everyone seems to avoid the topic of you since no one really knows what is going on except the pack and the manager. 

Namjoon watches from the entryway with Jungkook. He has always felt proud of his pack and how they treat the staff like a pseudo-family pack. They have seen other idol groups treat their staff like stepping stones, which never felt right to any of the packmates.

“Hey, everyone,” Namjoon says loud enough to gain the room's attention. “The pack has to have a pack meeting while the doctor is here. I invite the staff to take some of the prepared snacks to the guest house across the lawn and settle in. We won’t be needing any services tonight aside from Manager Sejin.”

“Namjoon-ssi, I will also head over to the other house to settle in, but I will keep my phone on me. Please text me when you need me, and I will come right over,” the manager responds while holding a tray of rolled-up meats and cheeses.

“Sounds good. Bangtan Pack, we need to meet in the dining room. Grab what’s left and come sit down.”

With that, the kitchen is filled with goodbyes, see you later, and other pleasantries as everyone departs. Namjoon, knowing that he doesn’t do well in the kitchen, simply turns and heads to the dining room they will use for the pack meeting. 

The rest of the boys grab what they can. The energy in the dining room is heavy, and they know that they have to discuss this, but the situation is odd. Once everyone is seated, Namjoon takes a look around the table. Each of his mates looks at him expectantly.

“We can all agree that she is our mate, right?” The Prime Alpha asks, wanting to make sure they are at least starting out on the same page. A chorus of agreement floods the room, lifting a weight off their shoulders. 

“Hyung?” Jimin tentatively speaks up.

“Yeah, Jimin, everything okay?”

“Seeing how everyone has reacted to her, I agree that she is a mate but I want to be honest that I haven’t had any time for my Alpha to respond to her. Actually, to be transparent, he backs away whenever she is close. I don’t know why.”

Jimin looks down and picks at the tablecloth until a Hobi takes hold of his hand. “Jimin, you were close with our last playmate and were the first of us to connect with her on a deeper level of friendship. She broke that trust with you,” Hobi begins.

“I am sure that I was not the only one who was shocked that you wanted a new playmate out here. I didn’t say anything because I figured you were trying to rebound.

However, rebounding by finding a new friend is different than finding a new mate. It will be difficult for you and some of our other mates because very few of us have had any experience outside of the pack.”

“Minie,” Jungkook chimes in. “I know you are nervous, and you keep trying to find a way to be around her but not at the same time, which is okay. But you need to make sure to listen to yourself and your Alpha. It is okay if you are not jumping into it head first like some of us are.”

“Hobi and Kook are right, Jimin.” Namjoon finally speaks up. This goes for everyone. We will all take this at a comfortable pace for us and, more importantly, for her. Manager-nim reminded me that she has no way of knowing what is going on and is most likely fighting her instincts because we are already a pack.”

“Remember how long it took us to convince Kook he wasn’t a toy? Or how Taehyung did not open up fully until after Jimin finally took it into his own hands?”

“She is gonna be like that.” Seokjin states, gaining everyone’s attention. “We need to watch ourselves. Some of us are more instinctually driven, but that could drive her away.”

“With that being said… does anyone have any suggestions?” questions Namjoon.

“Yoongi will end up being her safe space, I think.” Taehyung comments more to himself than to anyone.

Hobi shifts in his seat, remembering how self-conscious you were in the van before he speaks up, “She reminds me of myself. She doesn’t have a good self-image. We should each spend time with her.  Show her who we are off-stage, as a pack, as mates with each other, and encourage her to join in.”

“While I think that is a good idea, she won’t join in,” Jungkook interjects. “She wouldn’t ask for a bottle of water for the worry of taking from the pack, how will she accept cuddle time or scenting?”

“True, and besides that, how are we gonna keep her around for us to interact with to even prove anything to anyone,” whines Jimin. “This is so complicated.”

“Six to eight weeks! You have to be kidding. You expect me not to be using my wrist for upwards of eight weeks? What about work? Can I shower? What about chores?” You loudly speak to Dr. Blackwell in response to her diagnosis of a hairline fracture of your wrist. 

Yoongi’s ears are flat at either your yelling or the feeling of failure. His tail had curled around his own waist during the examination, and your pain levels tinted your scent with mold.

Ever remaining calm, Dr. Blackwell continues, “It would be best if you sought help during that time,” looking at Yoongi, “and since you have a respectable pack responsible for the injury there should be nothing to worry about. Isn’t that right, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi nods with an almost blank face as he tries to hide his disappointment in himself. Internally, scolding himself for breaking his mate during their first meeting.

“Mr. Min, I think it would be best to get your Prime Alpha to discuss anything further,” Dr. Blackwell instructs.

Looking briefly at you while you are looking at the floor, cradling your wrist, Yoongi leaves the guest room, quickly seeking out his pack.

“Miss Y/n, have you dealt with hybrids?”

“Yes, my family pack, as Bangtan puts it, consists of a beta fox and omega munchkin, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“I see. That makes sense. You were the Alpha in your pack and that is why you don’t understand what is happening around you.”

Snapping your head up, you look at the doctor. “What do you mean?”

Taking a tentative step forward, Dr. Blackwell places a hand on your shoulder, “It isn’t my place to say anything more than I already have. Just take a moment to think back to what you have learned about hybrids, and be open to the pack around in the next coming weeks.”

“Why would I be around them for weeks?”

Yoongi’s scent hits the dining room before he enters. All eyes are on the door as he comes in with his head hung low. He looks around the table with a frown on his face, and he mumbles, “Broke mate.”

Jin, being the closest to him, reaches out and pulls him to sit on his lap. Being Yoongi’s only hyung, Yoongi goes willingly and tucks his nose into Jin’s neck, “Hyung, I broke mate.”

“Yoon, it’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose. It was strictly an accident,” Jin whispers while rubbing soothing circles on his back. The pack pushes out calming scents into the room.

“Yoongi-hyun, can you tell us what the doctor said?” asks Jungkook.

“Broke wrist. Weeks healing. Need Pack Alpha.”

“Joon, go talk with Miss Y/n and the doctor. Get things figured out. We will take care of Yoongi,” Jin instructs, subtly pulling the elder card again.

“Yoongi, you have done great, and I am sure she doesn’t blame you,” Namjoon says as he walks to the hall, stopping. He looks back to the table. “Kookie, come with me, please. From how the scents are coming down the hall, we might need your tact at calming her down.”

A knock on the wall gains your attention. You see a toothy smile shine at you before he comes bounding over and joins you on the bed. His enthusiasm takes you back, then giggle as he lays his head on your lap, grabbing your left hand to rest on his hair.

“Well, come on in and make yourself comfortable,” you say, smiling as you scratch softly on his hair.

“Are you still in pain?” he asks as his eyes close at the soothing feeling of your fingers.

“No, Dr. Blackwell gave me something for that, and it kicked in a few minutes ago. Though it’s going to be painful for a while,” you inform. Looking up, Namjoon stands next to the doctor with a sweet smile.

“Dr. Blackwell, can you explain the situation please?”

Nodding, she turns to the Prime Alpha, “Mr. Kim, Miss Y/n has what I suspect is a hairline fracture. To be certain, I would need to take her to the local hospital but given your situation that would not be a very easy task.”

“I can say with certainty that be it a hairline fracture or a severe sprain, she will have to wear a brace and not use her wrist for six to eight weeks.”

At the reminder of the weeks of difficulty that will come, your scent turns watery as worry creeps into your mind.

“As you all know, I am both a hybrid and a human doctor which brings me to the next issue at hand. While Miss Y/n is kind of heart and forgives Mr. Min of any wrongdoings, Mr. Min, according to the hybrid culture, is responsible for her recovery.”

“Wait, my recovery? I thought it was just to get me to see you?” Your eyes bounce between the three others in the room.

“That is correct, and as Prime Alpha of his bonded pack, we will provide for her over the next eight weeks. We have the space, the means, and the power to do so, Dr. Blackwell.” Namjoon says, holding eye contact with you. His voice gave no room for argument. 

“Prime Alpha Sir, you… the pack… my work… how?”

“Not to interrupt, but I will excuse myself as this is now a pack matter. Keep that brace on as much as possible. I will leave my report with notes for your employer explaining your health situation and a vial of your pain medications on the dining room table.” Dr. Blackwell says as she gathers her things and bows, leaving the room. 

“Miss Y/n, Dr. Blackwell is right. This is a pack matter now and I think speaking with everyone together would be the best idea. If you would join us, we could talk about what to do next?”

“Umm, yeah. We can do that. I can do that.” 

Moving to stand, Jungkook moves out of the way and holds your good hand, leading you toward the living room where the pack is now gathered. 

Seokjin and Yoongi are on the medium couch, Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok are on the long couch, and the only open seat is a loveseat. 

You move to sit on the loveseat only to have Jungkook pull you to the couch where Seokjin and Yoongi are. “Jin-Hyung, can we sit there with Yoongi?”

Noticing that Yoongi gets stiff at the question, you say, “No, no, that is okay. I think Yoongi has had enough of me. I can sit somewhere else.” However, not only does Jungkook not let go of your hand, but a black tail finds its way around your thigh.

“Sure thing, I will sit with Namjoon.” Seokjin smiles and moves to sit with his Prime Alpha on the smallest couch. 

Next thing you know, you are sandwiched between the bunny and jaguar. Yoongi is on your right, his tail still wrapped around your thigh, with the tip sliding up and down almost absentmindedly. Jungkook is on your left, still holding your hand and resting his head on your shoulder.

Your body relaxes as you lean back on the couch, looking around the room. Mind making jokes about having a fur leash again despite Yoongi not looking at you since you entered the room and how you seem to have become a bunny pillow. After some thought, you realize that you don’t actually mind either action. 

Someone clearing their throat pulls you from your thoughts. Looking towards the loveseat, you see Namjoon sit up straighter and take on a look that clearly shows that it is the Prime Alpha talking and not the cute, funny Namjoon you have seen clips of on Instagram. 

“Bangtan pack, Miss Y/n has a hairline fracture of her right wrist,” at this information, a collective hiss of sympathetic pain comes from the other members. 

“She will be required to wear that brace and limit her use of that hand for the next six to eight weeks. This brings up some causes of concern for Miss Y/n.”

Namjoon looks at you to continue, “Umm… well I am right-hand dominant so doing pretty much anything is going to be complicated. I only have about four days of sick pay saved up right now. So, going back to work will be a hurdle all on its own, not to mention doing any kind of chores or cooking.”

Your eyes wander across the group as you speak. They all look at you like you are speaking something other than English or Korean. When your eyes come to a stop on Yoongi, he is finally looking at you with his eyes now a deep brown.

“Y/n, stay with us,” Yoongi states, not asking. “I am a respectable Alpha Jaguar and it is my honor to care for you back to health. My Alpha already told you outside that he would keep you safe until you are healed. I am here for the long haul.”

Your eyes widen at his declaration, and your mind blanks on what to say or how to respond. 

From your other side, Jungkook cuddles into your side, his nose nudging your neck softly, “We all will be here for the long haul.”

“They are right, you know. We are a bonded pack of mates and we would love to have you stay here with us so that we can take care of you,” Hoseok adds. 

Breaking eye contact with Yoongi, you took to Hoseok as he and the others on that couch smiled genuinely. “What about my job? I cannot leave my work. I have to pay for my flat and food and stuff.”

“Y/n,” your head snaps to the Prime Alpha, “is it okay if we call you Y/n?”

Nodding, you turn your body to face him directly. Your left hand, still holding Jungkook’s, is gripping tightly, trying to ground yourself. 

At your agreement, the Prime Alpha smiles, showing off dimples as he continues, “I figured that you would worry about a few things like that.”

“The room you met with the doctor in is yours while you stay here with us… at the pack house. When we say that we will take care of you, we mean it. We will cover all your expenses; it’s not like we lack the funds to care for anyone. Lastly, in order to keep a job to cover your everyday expenses, such as your flat, cell phone, etc., going, I have a proposition for you.”

Holding your breath, your eyes wide at everything he has said so far, you gulp, “What is your proposition, Prime Alpha Sir?”

“Become our playmate.”

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Taglist - Open

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @smileykiddie08 @kayways @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages @kittycatkrissa @hijabae2019

#ldysmfst fic #americanmate #bts #bts x reader #hybrid #hybrid bts #au #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #angst with a happy ending #plus sized reader #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #alpha beta omega #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok

[rayshippouuchiha]

So, I keep thinking about the Kyouya-nii AU (which is starting to take up residence in my mind), and I keep thinking about two specific things in particular

One - I am unable to think about it without imagining the sunniest, most joyful littol child walking behind his "Awesome Kyouya-nii!" during patrol and thinking (or talking) about how he's the "Coolest brother ever!" while Kyouya has that scowl. Just, the contrast. Scary, and the adorable that's secretly scary

Two - I keep wondering how Kyouya met Izuku, because unless he has some internal feral potential detector (which, I would not put it past him) he probably would have needed to see something that showed off that potential. Like, you know how in the first episode of MHA we see kiddie Izuku getting between those bully brats and the kid they were bullying? I'm wondering if it was something like that.

Also, you have gotten me obsessed with KHR even though I'm very likely never gonna watch or read it

See no this is exactly what I'm going for with this AU.

Hibari sees Izuku stand up to some bullies and is like "nice' and then he sees Izuku spear tackle someone and he's like "Nice" and then the kid gets up all bloody and bruised after getting his ass kicked and just pats himself on the cheeks all "next time I'll go for the knees cause his quirk makes his joints weak" and he's like "Wao" and decides that this small animal is adorable and obviously needs a stronger predator to help it grow into its fangs.

And, well, what better carnivore is there out there than him?

Which of course means that Hibari basically grabs Izuku by the back of his shirt, drags him to ta clearing, and starts educating him in the fine art of ass-kicking. Which then ends up with Izuku crying all over him when Hibari gives him his very own training tonfa and decides that Izuku's obviously far enough along to come with him to hunt down rule breakers on his patrols.

So everyone gets treated to the terrifying sight of Hibari strolling through town with the most adorable little green child trailing after him, spouting praise and just chattering on and on. And there are a few people who are Big Worried about this kid because it's Hibari, ya know?

But then someone sees Hibari beat a thug only halfway down and then step back and nudge the Izuku forward. And before anyone can stop him, because holy shit dude what the fuck that's an entire BABY, Izuku whips out his training tonfa and finishes fucking this thug all the way up.

And Hibari just kind of smiles with his body but not his face, pats the kid on the head 1 time, and then they move on.

#RayRambles #Kyouya-nii AU #BnHA #MHA

[incorrectbatfam]

What's your most basic ship and what is your rarepair/crackship (if you have any)

At the likelihood of peeving off the Arrowfans, my most basic OTP would be Jayroy because they kinda give "I found them in the trash" except they both think they found the other. I have drafts saved for them but I haven't been able to complete anything (yet!).

My rarest one (I posted about them a few times in the past) would be Bart Allen and Jaime Reyes from the Young Justice TV show. Its popularity tapered after season 2 and I haven't been as engaged just because of time/energy, but it's still fun to explore different AUs with them since it's easier than working with big casts like the batfam.

My crackship is Billy Batson and Colin Wilkes. I made a brief mention in a fic years back but I just love to imagine the comedic potential.

#jason todd #roy harper #jayroy #bart allen #impulse #jaime reyes #blue beetle #bluepulse #billy batson #shazam #colin wilkes #abuse #red hood and the outlaws #batfamily #batfam #batboys #batbros #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #arrow family #flashfam #young justice #shazamily #dc comics #personal

[everlastingdream]

The soulmate au

"Querida, why haven't you told us beforehand?" Ms Addams asks. Enid freezes with a glass of water right in the middle of the kitchen.

"It wouldn't change anything, Mother", Wednesday huffs. Enid hears them going down the hallway to the living room.

"Wednesday Friday Addams, you finally found your very own soulmate and it doesn't change anything? We should at least welcome her properly".

Enid felt her wolf ears peaking through her hair. Now that full moon was just a couple of days away she found herself not exactly controling her inner wolf.

And besides! Wednesday found her soulmate?? Soulmates are real???

Despite Addams being a bit... excentric, they were still one of the most old families there is. So if Ms Addams say there are soulmates in their world, then there probably are.

"Because meeting my soulmate is horrible as I said to you it will be".

"Please, my little snake, you even brought Enid to meet us and didn't let her stay in the guest house. And you think I'll believe it's been horrible for you?"

There were days when Enid considered her hightened senses a curse. Like that one time when she woke up because her brother was getting... intimate with his girlfriend in the car in front of their house. Or when she accidentally found out she was Wednesday's soulmate apparently?

Enid tiptoyed to the kitchen door, feeling bad for spying on her roommate's talk with her mother, but still shook to the core. And it seemed to involve her as well?

"Well, Enid should not know about this nonsense. So if any of you tell any single thing to her, I'll poison you without a second thought".

Enid heard slight quiver to her voice, and Ms Addams seemed to catch it as well.

"Darling, but-"

"I'm not her soulmate, you understand?" Wednesday's voice was still quiet but pained and enraged. "She's mine and I'm not hers, okay? I'm an 'extra' Addams".

Silence fell on three of them. Enid felt a little faint even if she didn't understand a thing. But her heart squeezed hard in her chest.

"No, no, no, querida, it can't be", she heard Ms Addams muttering. "Even if you an 'extra' Addams, but is Enid really you soulmate then?"

"She is. And she is happy now. So if she'll learn that I'm not going to live past the 25, then she'll just blame herself because of something she can't control, so not a single word from any of you".

"WHAT", Enid found herself smacking the door open, growling. The hell they're talking about?!

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #part 1? #one of my old drafts

[ladykailitha]

How I would do a sugar daddy/sugar baby AU. (I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me *side eyes the omegaverse*)

I've seen this well done in this fandom, I'm not saying I haven't, but of the ones I've seen they tend to be omegaverse or mafia/shady sugar daddy.

And I want thirty year old rockstar!Eddie with twink Steve. I said what I said. I think we forget that for the most part Steve isn't beefy. When he's "bulked" up, it's his clothing (Eddie's vest) or its his thighs that are "thicc". But Steve (Joe Kerry in particular out of the role) is thin.

So we have rockstar!Eddie with Corroded Coffin touring the country and doing a couple of dive bars because that's where they got their start and hitting up The Hideout, because again that's where they got their start.

Steve, who recently got kicked out of his parents house because he came out with liking men (gay, pan, bi don't care) and lost his job because again with the liking men thing (small town homophobia for the loss!)

So with his last twenty dollars, he decides to hit up on the local bar and drink away his troubles and maybe even get laid for a warm place to sleep tonight.

He gets dressed in his sluttiest clothes. Crop top, cut off booty shorts, sparkly blue sneaks.

Only he shows up on the night that Corroded Coffin is playing. After paying what he thought was a stiff cover charge (was actually a ticket to see the show) he gets in. He has less money than he hoped but he can only hope that someone is willing to buy him drinks.

He settles in next to the bar and realizes his mistake. The rest of the patrons are dressed in metal gear. Leather, black denim, and lots of chains. Steve doesn't just stick out, he sticks out like a prep in a metal concert.

But he can't afford to go anywhere else, and hopes he doesn't get too harassed tonight. So he keeps he head down and hopes of the best.

Only what he doesn't know is that he has caught the eye of the frontman and lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson. The fact that Steve stands out isn't a detriment, it's a perk.

He wants to find out everything about this boy who stumbled into his enclosure.

The rest of the band is rolling their eyes.

Eddie sends out one of the PAs to make sure that all of Steve's drinks go on Eddie's tab and spends the whole concert watching this guy.

After the concert Eddie sidles up to him and they get to talking. Immediately he picks up that Steve is not old enough to be there. So now he's worried he's under age.

They head out for a smoke and Steve admits that he's not twenty-five like the fake ID says, but nineteen. He shows Eddie his real ID as proof and Eddie is relieved.

They start making out and Eddie takes him to his hotel room to have sex.

In the morning, Eddie asks if he can take him home and Steve starts sobbing. He tells him about his shitty day with shitty parents and shitty boss.

And Eddie's bleeding heart immediately goes out to him and tells him to stay at the hotel for as long as he needs, order room service. Just no booze.

Steve pouts at that but agrees. That as long he stays at the hotel he won't buy booze on Eddie's dime.

Eddie gives Steve his phone number if he needs anything. He transfers the hotel room over to Steve's name, gives him a sultry kiss goodbye and leaves to finish his tour.

Steve doesn't have anywhere else to go and is not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he stays at the hotel. He gets to spend time in the luxurious bathroom with it's fancy shampoos and conditioners and hot tub like bath.

He finds that Eddie keeps sending him clothes and jewelry and suddenly the rich life style that he had with his parents pales in comparison to the extravagant lifestyle Eddie is providing for him.

Through all this Steve is still looking for a job as he doesn't want to overstay his welcome. But news hadn't gotten around town that he was gay and even people he thought he could trust are telling him that they can't hire him.

Eventually he gives up. He talks to Eddie all the time and whenever he feels discouraged Eddie will send him something pretty to cheer him up.

Finally Steve catches the fairy that had been leaving things in his hotel room when he's in the shower or out on the town.

Her name is Robin Buckley and she's a summer intern. Her uncle knew a guy who knew a guy that got her the job. She actually loves it, but she has one more year of high school and her parents won't let her drop out to be a PA for a rockstar.

They're concerned that he'll take advantage of her. Robin thinks it's funny because she's gay. Steve thinks it's funny because Eddie's gay and not into under eighteen year olds.

He tells her his story and over the summer they become best friends. Robin had heard that the Harrington boy had run off so imagine her surprise when Eddie's management had her deliver things to his hotel room. Staying in a hotel room in Hawkins is hardly running away.

Eddie comes back and just continues to throw money and gifts at Steve but doesn't ask for sex again. It's not until Steve tells him that he didn't fuck Eddie for his money or even for a warm bed at that point when he went back to the hotel with him, it was because Eddie cared. And god was that sexy as hell.

When Robin graduates Eddie hires her to be Steve's PA and the pair of them get to travel the world with the band as besties.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #sugardaddy #sugarbaby

[xileonaaaa]

Thinking of a wealthy Nanami who is absolutely smitten for you

Nanami x reader au

*He isn’t some uptight goody two shoes.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ ㆍ┈ㆍㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ ㆍ┈ㆍㆍ┈₊⊹

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

!NanamiKento who met you through a mutual friend at a work gathering.

!NanamiKento who found himself entranced at the way you weren’t afraid to speak your mind at any given chance. Not to mention, just how much you seemed to shine in the midst of his drunk coworkers.

!NanamiKento who took to silently admiring your drunken mannerisms as the night progressed.

!NanamiKento who was quick to follow you when you went to the bathroom just to make sure thatyou’d be okay.

!NanamiKento who paitiently waited for you to reemerge from the ladies room, ignoring the groups of drunken women who tried their best to throw themselves at him.

!NanamiKento who ended up getting distracted trying to free himself from one of them who had somehow wrapped themself around his waist.

!NanamiKento who nearly panicked when he happened to look up, and see you getting cornered by a very drunk man.

!NanamiKento who nearly shoved the woman -who was literally grinding on him- off in one move as he made his way over to you to try and help you.

!NanamiKento who found himself frozen in his tracks when he saw you reel back and kick the man straight in the balls, before prying off your pretty heels and clunking the hunched over man on the head a few times.

!NanamiKento who didn’t realize his mouth was agape until he saw you hop over the guy who was groaning in pain on the floor, and grab his wrist, swiftly making a beeline for the exit before you could face any repercussions.

!NanamiKento who found himself actually going along with your very ridiculous act.

!NanamiKento who let you guide him outside, and felt a little cold when you let his wrist go.

!NanamiKento who was about to speak up and ask if you were okay, before his breath was stolen once more when he saw you converting your dress into a bodysuit.

!NanamiKento who quickly looked away to maintain some sort of decency, and only looked back when he heard you bid him a soft goodnight.

!NanamiKento who felt his heart actually stall for a second when you placed a finger to your lips and winked at him, saying “No witnesses.”

!NanamiKento who could only nod and try his best to swallow with his strangely dry throat.

!NanamiKento who went back in that restaurant feeling like he’d never felt before. For the first time, in a long time, he was actually holding back a smile.

!NanamiKento who wanted nothing more than to see you again, and maybe even get to know you.

!NanamiKento who thought about your very brief but strange interaction all week long.

!NanamiKento who actually ended up asking his mutual friend (in a very subtle way) how you were doing, and deep down, he wondered if he’d ever get to see you again.

!NanamiKento who learned that you might be getting let go from the company due to your overly smart mouth.

!NanamiKento who had to keep himself from outright laughing at the thought of your tiny self trying to go toe to toe with your boss.

!NanamiKento who went about his days trying his best to work up the confidence to ask you to dinner.

!NanamiKento who let a whole three weeks pass, before he finally approached you.

!NanamiKento who almost deviated from his usual laid back attire he usually wore out to first dates, simply because he genuinely wanted to impress you.

!NanamiKento who pulled up to your little apartment 30 minutes early, and was surprised when he saw you already waiting by your doorstep.

!NanamiKento who took notice on how you didn’t seem repulsed by his rustbucket of a car. (He’s the type to use the most mundane things for the first date. It’s an easy way to see if you actually want him, or want what you think he’s worth.)

!NanamiKento who sat across from you, listening as you talked about a little bit of everything. If you were just trying to patch up the awkward silence, or if you just loved to talk, he couldn’t tell. He loved it either way.

!NanamiKento who found himself genuinely interested in the things you had to say. Even going so far as to finish his food so that he could give you his full, undivided attention.

!NanamiKento who offered to cut your steak for you, but was taken aback when you politely declined, and dramatically stabbed your knife into the meat, cutting it with force, before popping it in your mouth, and grinning at him.

!NanamiKento who couldn’t help but smile back at you, genuinely feeling convinced that you had to be the most strangest woman he’d ever met. (In a good way of course.)

!NanamiKento who spent the most time in that restaurant just conversing with you, than he’d ever spent anywhere else besides his home.

!NanamiKento who felt a bit sad when he had to take you home, and was quick to ask for a second date before you could turn in for the night.

!NanamiKento who felt just a little let down when you told him that you’d think about it, but immediately perked up when you offered to stay in touch.

!NanamiKento who cursed himself all the way home for not trying just a little bit harder. Maybe he shouldn’t have went with his usual method.

!NanamiKento who made it a point to stop by your cubicle every morning just to say hi, and sometimes bring you coffee.

!NanamiKento who started to notice your very apparent eye bags, and the piles upon piles of work that began littering your desk.

!NanamiKento who felt like something wasn’t exactly right, and took it upon himself to do a little bit of digging through corporate files to see just who oversaw your work.

!NanamiKento who took his time gathering evidence to bring up to the big boss to prove you were being targeted by your own boss.

!NanamiKento who would pass by your cubicle to check on you, and take a chunk off of your enormous pile of paperwork for himself to do.

!NanamiKento who would often see you hurriedly rushing out of the office without your stuff, going who knows where.

!NanamiKento who caught you trying to take the bus one evening, but ended up missing it, and hurriedly stopped you, and asked you if you noticed that you’d left your stuff behind.

!NanamiKento who listened as you explained that you needed to get home to feed your two cats their dinner, and come back before the security guard locked up the office for the night.

!NanamiKento who offered to drive you to your apartment, and was beside himself when he heard your genuine thanks.

!NanamiKento who hesitated when he dropped you back at the office. Feeling a bit concerned at just how dark it was, he asked if you needed him to stay and help you, but his help was of course refused, and a part of him understood why. You were a very independent woman, and he respected that, so he let you go, but not before asking you to stay safe, and bidding you a goodnight.

!NanamiKento who found that through all of his research, he was too late in helping you keep your job.

!NanamiKento who happened to walk in early the next morning to a you tearing your boss a new one. You didn’t use a single swear word, and you didn’t even raise your voice. You gave it to him plain and simple, before storming back to your cubicle and collecting your things.

!NanamiKento who was beyond stunned, tried to stop you, and have you reconsider your decision, but the minute you looked up at him, he was able to see just how much your overtime was having an effect on you. Dark circles were under both of your eyes, you looked a little under the weather too.

!NanamiKento who let you walk out of that office, and made it a point to stop by your place to make sure you were okay.

!NanamiKento who was correct on his assumption that you were sick when you opened up your apartment door to let him in.

!NanamiKento who was glad he chose soup for his takeout option, and did his best to help you around your tiny apartment.

!NanamiKento who returned home that night thinking about something he would’ve never in a million years thought about, had it not been you.

!NanamiKento spent the next coming weeks visiting you, thinking about your predicament, and what he could do to possibly help you out. He knew well enough by now that you were the last person to ever except handouts, no matter how low you were.

!NanamiKento who considered asking you to be his girlfriend, and moving you and your two cats in with him.

!NanamiKento who thought about that possibility for days, weeks, hell a whole month went by, and he started to notice the bills piling up on your kitchen counter.

!NanamiKento who finally broke, and ended up asking you to be his on Valentine’s Day. He was so happy when you accepted, he even smiled!

!NanamiKento who immediately proposed that you move in with him, maybe until you got back on your feet. Hell, if you wanted, you could just stay and not bother getting another job. He didn’t want to ever see you with eye bags again. (You agreed to move in with him, but of course declined his offer of not getting another job.)

!NanamiKento who took note of your reaction when you saw his house for the first time.

!NanamiKento who yet again was surprised that your first thought was at how cold and barren his home seemed when he gave you a tour of it.

!NanamiKento who offered for you to decorate it for him. He didn’t particularly care for stuff like that, but if if made you happy, then he was all for it.

!NanamiKento who came home from work the next night to the smell of a delicious aroma filling his home.

!NanamiKento who was beside himself when he found out that you’d cooked dinner for him, and was waiting on him to get home so the two of you could eat together.

!NanamiKento who’s favorite part of the day was coming home to you, with dinner on the stove, and you diligently applying for more jobs on his sofa.

!NanamiKento who enjoys sitting down for dinner, and telling you about what’s been going on in the office.

!NanamiKento who is always eager to be the taste tester whenever you decide to try out a new dish.

!NanamiKento who doesn’t mind staying in the kitchen and helping you with the dishes after the both of you finish eating.

!NanamiKento who loves winding down, with you perched up on one side of the sofa doing some online shopping for things to decorate his house with, and him laying right next to you reading a new novel he’d checked out from the library. (He was not comprehending anything he was reading because he was too busy thanking his lucky stars that he got to meet someone as wonderful as you.)

!NanamiKento who usually waits for you to get up and start on another task because you can’t sleep, before he goes ahead and orders whatever it is that you have in your cart.

!NanamiKento who is more of a lover boy than you could have ever imagined. He would sometimes show up from work with a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers, claiming that he saw them on his way home, and they reminded him of your smile, so he stopped and got them for you.

!NanamiKento who lets himself relax around you, and lets you in on his more secret, vulnerable side.

!NanamiKento who laughs the most when he’s around you. You’re always making him chuckle, whether you mean to or not.

!NanamiKento who shows his appreciation for you by taking you out almost every weekend, and letting you pick out whatever it is you desire from the mall.

!NanamiKento who’s only reason to continue going to work is to be able to make you the happiest, and most comfortable woman alive.

!NanamiKento who loves you with every fiber of his being, and never knows what expect from you, and to be honest, he loves that the most about you.

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami x fem!reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #soft nanami #tumblr fyp #fypシ

[triluvial]

Imagine being a freman captured by feyd and just as you’re on the cusp of stockholm syndrome he spits on you. To him he’s just degrading you but you see it as an honor he’s giving you his water…

oh I love this. I feel like to fall into this the Reader has to be primed for it.

Like the Fremen seem to live in fairly small groups (aside from the deep south) so if Reader came from a bigger family then their romantic options may be severely limited. Reader, feeling lonely and longing to leave their small settlement just to find romance would be a great start for this AU.

Then when Feyd captures her, she knows he's probably going to be tortured and killed or turned into a slave. She may have read books and heard stories of dark lovers being soft for their one true love but she's not an idiot, she's under no illusions this will happen to her.

But then the first few weeks pass and Reader is unharmed. She's not tortured or raped and doesn't even see the face of any person other than Feyd.

Feyd is likely thinking he'll keep Reader like an exotic pet - the last of her kind once he razes Arrakis to dust - as he torments her with news of Fremen death. (Paul's rebellion is taking way longer ig)

Unintentionally, he's training Reader bit by bit to be totally dependant on him. He brings her food and water when he visits every second day so the relief of hunger and thirst becomes inescapably entwined with Feyd's presence. As he is literally the only other person she sees, he becomes the only thing she can think about, the only thing she ever dreams about.

This is when the spitting scene occurs. It's a declaration of love. Reader's thrilled. She swallows. Feyd begins to spend more and more of his time just thinking about Reader because no one ever reacted that positively to him just behaving however he wanted (this would probably work best if the Harpies weren't allowed to come with him, were killed right after he arrived on Dune or never existed in the first place).

Childish dreams of an Out-Worlder sweeping Reader off her feet and away from her inescapable family and into a life of dramatic romance begin to be mapped onto Feyd's face as Reader spends most of her time alone in the darkness of her cell.

Until I'm thinking Gurney and some Fremen scouts break into the Arrakeen palace for an assassination attempt and while they're there, they free Reader against Paul's orders (Hey, she has a big family at least two of them are on the team). She's ok with leaving until she learns they want to assassinate Feyd. The Harkonnen tactics advanced so much upon his arrival they think they can win if they take him out. Reader knocks them out from behind. This is how Feyd find her. Surrounded by the unconscious bodies of her would-be rescuers.

I couldn't pick an ending here so here's both:

Feyd tests Reader by "accidentally" letting her take one of his swords. She uses it to kill the scouting team to protect him. He proposes with the idea of stringing her along and seeing what else he could make her do for him before locking her up again. However, the horror that his fiancée evokes in the Bene Gesserit makes him so happy he decides to drag it out longer. Then, she tells him about the deep-south holdouts and stops him from relaxing when all the northern Fremen are seemingly dead he has to keep her on his arm a little longer. Then she wins a sparring match against him so he has to keep her around until he can soundly beat her, take everything she can teach him and turn it against her. Before he knows it they've been engaged for a year and there's legitimate wedding planning happening. He still wouldn't call it love but it might be as close as he gets. Reader still loves it when he spits on her.

Feyd gets Reader to fake a break-out and helps her move the unconscious rescuers out a secret escape. When they wake up she claims Feyd found them but she killed him and dragged them all to freedom. She's his spy on the inside and with the confidence of Feyd's supposed assassination Paul and the other Fremen will be overconfident. This would probably culminate in Feyd winning the knife fight against Paul and then saying, "You did perfectly, sweetheart." And Reader bolting like an Olympian into his still bloody arms.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #original #asks #feyd x you #thank you so much for sharing your idea! #Hope i did OK!